#hurt derek

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Any fics where Stiles goes to Derek for help or to stay with Derek because he has nowhere else to go? Either he’s been pushed out of his friend group or has a fight or misunderstanding with his father?

I think so.

The Promised Land by StaciNadia

(1/1 I 1,952 I General)

Pushed away from the pack, Stiles has had enough of Beacon Hills.

A Growl-to-English Dictionary by churkey

(4/4 I 14,866 I Teen)

In which Derek finds his words and Stiles learns to growl.

Til We Ain't Strangers Anymore by WriteByNight

(7/7 I 35,994 I Explicit)

Stiles should've expected Derek to suddenly disappear since the werewolf was in the habit of taking off without notice. However, Derek always showed up when they needed him.

As the weeks pass by, Stiles is no longer confused and a little hurt. What started as heartache begins to get worse the longer Stiles goes without seeing Derek. Eventually, his body begins to shut down and his only hope seems to be Derek...but nobody can find him.

There's no cure for a broken heart. Except, maybe, the cause for the broken heart himself.

- - -

Or the one where Derek takes off without warning and Stiles finds out he could be Derek's mate and the distance between Derek and Stiles, along with Derek's refusal to develop the bond, is slowly killing Stiles. Without Derek, Stiles will die, but no one knows where he is or how to contact him. And Stiles is barely keeping it together.

The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific

(2/2 I 82,866 I Explicit)

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Wheels up [S. R]

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer has just been released from prison and things seem to get complicated when Mr. Scratch attacks again. You want to know what's going on with your boyfriend, but when you confront him, you don't expect him to yell at you like he does.

contents: spoilers for season 12-13, directly based on the episode of the same name, established relationship, hurt/comfort, spencer being mean for a moment, mentions of migraines and schizophrenia, apologies, crying and I think that's it.

To say that you were worried was an understatement, because to cut all the tension around the team you would no longer even need a knife but a sword.

You had just gotten over the bitter pill of the fact that your boyfriend had been unjustifiably imprisoned when now Scratch had done this: the ambush, Walker's death, Emily's kidnapping… he just couldn't seem to get enough of this sick game.

“We also never stopped to ask why Scratch was in Honduras in the first place,” Simmons murmured next to you.

García, he and you were trying to review as best as possible the existing research on Peter Lewis that you found in your deceased friend's office to see if you could discover any other details, even if it were the slightest thing that could reveal the whereabouts of your unit leader. 

“Reid'll figure this out. “He's really amazing at this kind of thing.”

Garcia had barely finished saying this when a roar made her jump in her place and look back. Spencer Reid had just furiously thrown a book against the glass windows. You exchanged a worried look with your friend and the three of you silently agreed to go to the meeting room to investigate what was happening.

When the doctor arrived, he began to rant about what he had managed to discover. He talked about hallucinogenic plants found in Honduras and how this was related to Scratch, but you honestly couldn't pay attention to anything he was saying. You could only focus on the purple spots around his eyes, his messy hair jumping every time he said something, the sweat that glistened on his forehead, the erratic and rushed tone of his words and how he constantly rubbed his face or neck. 

Spencer wasn't well. 

You had seen him like this when he had feared he was developing an outbreak of schizophrenia and you had hated every second you had accompanied him to get tested, every second of uncertainty, every time you knew his vision was blurring. And now this was a thousand times worse, because you didn't even know how to help him. Shit, you didn't even know if he wanted your help.

While he was in prison he had refused to see you many times and it had broken your heart every time. He claimed that he didn’t want other prisoners to see you talking to him because they would try to use you to threaten him or that he didn’t want you to see the state he was in because he feared that after seeing the bruises and wounds you would no longer love him.

You respected him, but at the same time you felt that he was building a barrier between you so that in case he couldn't get out of there you wouldn't be tied to a prisoner and could live your life normally. That was why when Emily managed to build a solid case to prove his innocence you felt like you were going to die of joy, and when you saw him leave the prison the first thing you did was run into his arms to make sure he was safe.

But Spencer wasn't, because you knew he had only left there so he could help look for his mother: Diana Reid. During the course of everything you had barely seen him, you two were too busy with your own affairs to have a moment as a couple, but even so when you solved everything you let him go with her; after all they deserved it and you were happy that he had a quiet moment.

But Peter Lewis seemed to have other plans.

“What?” Spencer asked, noticing the way Penelope was looking at him. She looked like she was about to cry behind her blue glasses and you felt sorry for her.

“You threw a book at a window. It was jarring”

“Took me 60 minutes to deduce what should have taken me 60 seconds,” he muttered, clearly sounding furious with himself, “and if Emily dies because I was too slow, I'll be throwing a lot more than books.”

“Spencer” you tried to stop him, but he had already started on his way to the exit.

You always wanted to believe that you were his weak point, he had told you that on more than one occasion. When the team couldn't reason with him, they sent you instead.

Reid will do anything you tell him, Morgan used to say, whether it's convincing him about something silly between friends or something more serious. 

And so it was, because every time he was upset all it took was for you to make flirtatious eyes at him and steal a kiss for him to forget about it.

One day you're going to be my downfall, did you know that? he used to laugh. You're going to ask me to bring the stars down from the sky and I'll have to figure out a way to do it because I don't know how to say you no.

However, this time he didn't seem to understand any reason. He was just walking towards the exit and you were stumbling after him to catch up with his quick pace.

“Spencer,” you insisted, reaching out to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him. You didn't expect him to stop abruptly to the point where you collided with his chest, in the middle of the desolate hallway you had arrived at.

“What?”

The sharp tone and angry look he gave you unnerved you slightly, but you managed to clear your throat in search of your voice.

“Honey, it's obvious that you're not fine. You need to rest"

"Rest?" he spat, incredulous. “Do you think I can think of resting when we have a situation like this?”

“That's not what I meant. I'm just saying that no one expects you to be here after what happened, you can at least take a break” 

The sigh he let out was enough for you to know that whatever was coming was surely not good.

“Huh yeah? And what is that break I'm going to take going to cost us? Emily’s life?”

“You know I'm as worried as you are.”

“I'm not worried, I'm sick. I'm sick of this damn case, I'm sick of one thing after another happening to us and I'm sick of failing." 

"I know but…"

“No,” he interrupted you, leaning back when you tried to lay a hand on him. “There's no but. Today I don't need you to tell me what I have to do” 

“I'm not telling you what to do, I'm asking you to take care of yourself. How much sleep have you even had? When was the last time you ate?"

Your tone of voice had come out more recriminating than you intended and if you were already tense, this exchange was not helping at all.

Hearing no response, you continued.

“If you're not going to rest, at least let me help you.”

You wanted him to have the confidence to tell you anything, to be able to explain why he was acting so strange or to at least take two minutes to admit that things weren't right. But Spencer had changed a lot in that prison, because if before it was difficult for him to talk about his feelings, now it seemed practically impossible. You were the only one he dared to do it with and you didn't even think you were that exception to the rule anymore.

If you had known what was to come you would have preferred to stay for the moment he took to take a deep breath.

“Do you know how you can help me? Stepping aside”

“Spencer”

“I'm sick of this too! I'm tired of everyone coming and offering me their faces of compassion and their words of encouragement as if they really understood me. They don't do it, nobody does it, not even you. This is... it is a huge and heavy accumulation that has accumulated for years and years and when I think that it can't be worse, life surprises me by saying that yes, it can be worse. So just shut up, let me do my job, let me catch Scratch and for the love of God stop treating me like I'm a child because on top of all the stress of the case I have to deal with that too and honestly it's killing me” 

Your boyfriend turned around without waiting for a response and a part of you was grateful that was the case, or else he would have seen the tears that had already gathered in your eyes.

You were shocked and felt your face burning with shame, with a hole in your stomach that wouldn't be easy to fill. You were no longer even worried about the man, nor sad, but you felt very different; it was as if Reid had infected you with his anger.

Still with wet cheeks you hurried to walk in the opposite direction, finding yourself at the end of the hallway to meet a very worried Penelope García. Without letting her tell you anything, you asked her to continue with the investigation and the entire time you swallowed your pain.

You knew that Peter Lewis' desperate face when he was hanging from that building and the way you and Luke left him to die would haunt you for a lifetime, but you didn't feel even the slightest bit sorry for it. Even a part of you wished that man had died a slower and perhaps even painful death. Whatever the case, he was gone and you could feel a second of peace at night.

Spencer was right, the most important thing now was to save Emily. Later there would be time to attend to marital discussions.

When you got home you were sweaty, tired, and had a headache that you knew a shower could probably solve, adding a glass of good wine just to be safe. However, clinging to that peace of mind that solving the case had provided you was only a mechanism to postpone confronting the problem that was still latent. You hadn't spoken to Spencer for the rest of the day since your fight in the hallway and although your heart ached you knew this was the prudent thing to do.

Fighting had never had a place in your relationship because both of you were too rational to be carried away by impulse. You had disagreements and arguments, but you had tried to resolve them like adults or you had let the matter rest until you were cool-headed enough to speak calmly. You suspected that right now you were doing the latter, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn't be the one who would look for your boyfriend to talk to.

You were hurt by the way he had reacted to your advice, but a part of you also understood that Spencer had been going through too much and that, in some ways, he had some right to want his own space. Or maybe both of you were partly to blame; you for demanding something that didn't belong to you and him for not having said things tactfully enough.

But you couldn't help but miss him. You had spent so many months away from him that you longed to be in his arms, shower him with kisses and hear the soft beat of his heart just to make sure he was real.

Still lost in your thoughts you searched the living room for your briefcase to grab your cell phone, hoping to find something to distract yourself, and upon unlocking it you discovered that you had several missed calls from Spencer. It wasn't like you were ignoring him on purpose, rather it had been an oversight on your part, but when you were about to dial his number a new call was announced on the screen. It was him.

"Hello?"

“There you are,” he murmured, sounding tremendously relieved “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I just left the phone in my briefcase and that's why I didn't hear your calls. I'm sorry"

There was silence for an awkward moment and then he spoke again.

“You went home early.”

"I was tired. I told Emily.”

“Yes, she… he told me, but… Do you think I can see you? I would like to talk to you about something and I don't think it is appropriate to do so on the phone.”

You evaluated your options, looking at everything around you. Spencer was welcome whenever he wanted in your house and you knew a mess wouldn't matter to him, but you were more worried about him noticing the emotional mess, not the physical one.

“Y/N?”

“Yes,” you responded when you heard your name, without thinking too much. “You can come”

Spencer responded with a monosyllable and then he hung up. You were about to get up from the couch to look for something more decent than colorful pajamas when a knock on the door startled you. When there was no response, the person knocked again and when you tiptoed until you reached the peephole, you met a familiar silhouette who was visibly nervous. Apparently the look of confusion on your face when you opened it was enough to express a silent question to Spencer.

“I was in the hallway,” he explained to you. “I didn't want to take long if you said yes.”

You knew you shouldn't give in so easily, but it was hard when Spencer said things like that and he came to your house looking completely disoriented, sad, and regretful.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Although your silences were not with that intention, the truth was that you were making him even more nervous.

"Yeah, you can”

You turned around only when you heard the click of the door closing and leaned against it, waiting for him to say something. You took a moment to observe him and noticed that his clothes were slightly disarrayed, while his hands played with the leather strap that was still across his chest. When he noticed that you were looking at his hands he interpreted it as a sign to get rid of the garment, and so he did.

“Wine?”

“Rossi gave it to me,” you responded, following his gaze to the bottle on the coffee table along with the crystal glass.

Spencer opened his mouth slightly in understanding and then there was silence again.

“I think it's obvious why I'm here, right?” he murmured in a low, cautious voice. You looked at him with sealed lips. “I want to apologize.”

“Yeah?”

"Yes. I know I shouldn't have talked to you like that in the office”

“No, you shouldn't have done it,” you responded sternly “And I accept if you don't want me around, but…”

“No,” he interrupted you, lunging forward to take your hands. You didn't refuse. “It's not that. I want you close, I don't want you to go away”

“I want you close too, Spencer. And I care about you. That's why I tell you things, not because I want to bother you."

“I know not. I was wrong, okay? I was wrong and I had no right to yell at you just because I was upset. And I wasn't upset with you, I was upset about the case and… it was just too much. This is all too much” by this point Spencer’s voice had already broken and your arms were already open for him.

It didn't take much for your boyfriend to start sobbing.

"I'm sorry"

“I know, Spencer.”

"I was an idiot"

“Yes, you certainly were,” you responded, speaking barely above a whisper. You couldn't stop feeling empathy for your boyfriend, but you couldn't ignore your own pain either. “You made me feel so hurt.”

“Forgive me, you know that was not my intention.”

“I just want to see you well. I want you to be safe and help you, but you won't let me do it. And it's okay if you don't want my help, but you can't deny that you need help. We need help. Do you think I wasn't stressed too? Do you think I could care less about finding Emily?”

“I know not. I know…” he sobbed.

“And I understand that we were both going through a hard time but you had no right to treat me like that.”

"You hate me?"

“Of course I don't hate you. I love you very much and I always will, but when something bad happens we don't yell at each other. And I'm not hating you for this, did you hate me that time in Georgia when I went into negotiating in that hostage situation without consulting anyone?

"No. I was very angry and worried about you, but I would never have hated you.”

"You see it? It's the same” you said softly.

You weren't going to torture him with this and you didn't want him to kneel and ask for forgiveness, the message you wanted to give him was already more than clear. And you knew that the simple act of accepting his mistake was something that showed you that he cared about you.

“It won't happen again, I promise.”

“Oh, it may happen again. We are both dumb sometimes and the older we get the grumpier we become” you tried to joke. Although you didn't hear him laugh, you knew that it had lightened the atmosphere. “But talking about it makes him feel better, right? Just like now”

He nodded at your question and then your hand went up to his head to stroke his hair. The contact seemed to melt him against you, as if with this you had also given free rein to his crying. You knew he probably wasn't going to tell you about the horrors he'd experienced in prison yet, but maybe this moment could be a start; you were being honest with each other and after all that was what was important.

Spencer calmed down after a long while and when you separated you made sure to get him some napkins so he could wipe his tears and blow his nose.

“You're seriously not upset at me?”

“No,” you assured him, shaking your head at the same time. You approached him and raised your hands to his cheeks to hold him gently. “It's okay, Spencer. I would be upset if you hadn't apologized."

“I wanted to do it sooner, but I knew that maybe you needed time to… you know, not want to strangle me”

“You're always so smart,” you complimented him and this time he did laugh.

The man's hands were experimentally placed on your waist and upon noticing your approving smile he pulled you a little closer to him until you collided against his chest. The puffiness in his eyes didn't stop him from giving you a sweet look.

“I haven't kissed you since I came back,” he observed absently and after thinking about it for a second you realized it was true.

You hadn't even kissed him. You had gone three months without seeing him and you still hadn't had time to kiss him.

You opened your mouth slightly, but before you could say anything he had already leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. With the help of your hand sliding to the back of his neck you deepened the contact and Spencer wasted no time, wrapping his thin arms around your torso.

Even if you didn't want to admit it, you had already forgotten how good it felt to kiss him and amid everything you thought that you wished you could capture that moment in a jar to turn to it when necessary. Because after everything that had happened that day you really needed that moment of peace with him.

His lips were slightly parted, but your gentle tongue took care of moistening them and when the air began to fail you just let him go for a second, kissing him again when you breathed enough. Your kisses were sweet and soft enough to dissipate the rest of the guilt that remained in your lover's body.

"Better?" you asked once you two were satisfied. It took him a moment to compose himself from the intoxication of your kiss to be able to answer you.

"Yes, I feel better"

“How is Diana, by the way?” you said quietly, leaning back a little to look him in the eyes.

“She is fine, I managed to admit her to a sanatorium before García called me. It will only be for tonight, tomorrow I will look for where she can stay permanently” he answered you, rubbing his tired face with a hand “I think it would be best for us to return to Las Vegas”

“You should go to her now” it hurt you to give him that advice, but you knew that he must have other priorities now. One of your hands kindly caressed his bicep, feeling how he had lost considerably in weight.

“You don't want me to stay here?”

“I don't want you to feel obligated. I know Diana needs you more than me."

“She'll be fine today,” he murmured. Apparently he wanted to be with you more than you thought. “I left my number and she'll be asleep right now. As much as he wants to deny it, I think… that she is better off with professionals”

“So you want to stay here?”

You had sounded more excited than you intended and just because of the sparkle in your eyes he felt the urge to steal another kiss from you.

"Of course I want to. I missed you so much, I just want to feel you close to me."

“I can stay only if you promise me two things.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going to try to sleep,” you asked him, passing the tip of your index fingers under his eyes. “I don't like that look at all and I think you could use some rest. I have a comfortable bed waiting just for you.”

“I'd love that,” he smiled weakly. “What's the second thing?”

“Tomorrow you will let me cook you something delicious before we go to your mother.”

The thought of you spoiling him so much made him smile.

"Done deal"

You carefully guided him to your room and once there you kissed him again. Spencer felt like he was going to cry again when he noticed that you still had the change of clothes that he had left in your closet over three months ago and the soft fabric along with the familiar scent filled his chest with joy.

You two snuggled under the warmth of the sheets and you made sure to kiss your lover's face countless times while your hands touched every piece of skin you had within reach, trying to show him that he didn't have to worry about anything; you wanted him to know that you loved him and that he was somewhere safe.

"Are you okay?"

You spoke in the middle of the darkness, while Spencer had his full weight on top of yours. His nose rubbed slightly against your bare skin and he found it necessary to leave another kiss there.

“I am now.”

And even if it only lasted for a brief moment, Spencer knew that nothing compared to the peace and tranquility of being with you.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @instabull @rhiannonhippiegirl @r-3dlips @missabsey @olivia’s-25

[fear0phobia]

Ellle: You really don't know someone until you take a road trip with them.

Derek: What are you trying to say?

[teencopandthesourwolf]

He freezes. Doesn't know what the hell else to do. 

He can't picture it: Derek can't remember the last time somebody put their arms around him. 

Was it Laura?

Of course it was Laura. How could he forget that? Derek has gotten pretty good at blocking things out—a little too good, it seems.

She didn't tell him anything before leaving New York. Didn't say a fucking word, just up and vanished. Derek had woken up one morning and she was gone, because she'd known without a shadow of a doubt that Derek would've only followed her if she'd have said a single word to him.

Nobody ever granted Derek’s wishes, no matter who he prayed to. Those desperate pleas where he asked to go back and get a chance to fix things, they all went unheard.

Laura left to go back to the place they both wished still existed just as it had; a place they were wanted alive, not dead. It wasn't fair that it was the very same place they would be hunted down if they did return, like the rabid animals the Argent's presumed they were.

Leaving the way they did meant they hadn't gotten the chance to see if anything was left at the house. They couldn't even mark graves, and grieve properly. 

That same place also happened to be the place they'd been born, the place they'd grown up and called home.

Derek had never wanted Laura to face all of that alone.

The burnt down house. The nothing where there was once everything.

The thought still haunts him. One of so many. 

Beacon Hills is home—but it's the home Derek had helped raze to the ground with his selfishness and stupidity. Everything he and Laura had ever known, everyone they'd ever loved, it was all gone, now. Derek had taken those things away from his sister and hadn't even had the guts to tell her. Tell Laura they were all gone because of him, tell her that everything that had happened to their family, to them, was all his fault.

In the aftermath of the fire Laura hugged Derek, and had kept hugging him, over and over in those weeks and months and years that followed. She would pull him into her arms hold him tight, whenever she could sense it was all getting to be too much for him again.

Alpha.

Big sister.

But Laura only knew about some of the reasons why it sometimes felt like too much effort for Derek to keep on breathing.

He never told her about Kate.

And Derek, the fucking coward, he'd allowed Laura to hold him, feeling the flames of shame on his cheeks every time, hot as those that took the lives of his parents. His family. His pack. 

Now, he remembers that last time. 

“I'm going out.” 

Laura stood up, walked around the two mismatched armchairs and stopped him by throwing both her arms around his neck, pulling him into her and hugging him, scenting him. 

It always took him a moment to respond these days, but Derek hugged her back. 

“What's this for?”

“You. Because I know whomever's bed you end up in tonight, you won't be asking for one of these.”

Oh, fuck no. Derek couldn't handle that. Did she think he was out sleeping with people? Never again, not after…

He pushed his sister off him, gently; a stark contrast to the harsh words that followed. 

“Don't fucking coddle me. And fuck you, Laura—I don't sleep in anybody's bed but my own.” A single mattress on the floor of the lounge of their shitty one bedroom apartment. Derek had so many shameful memories, and crawling into his sister's bed every night for the first year after the fire was one of them. “Just—leave me alone.”

Laura was the one—the only—person Derek had left in the entire world, yet his guilt was constantly pushing her away. 

“Where do you go to, little brother? You might not be clinging to me anymore, night after night, nightmare after nightmare, but you're rarely in your own bed most mornings.”

She hadn't meant it as a dig. Derek knew that. She was his sister, and she loved him.

Maybe she thought he was making progress? Seeing people. Moving on.

Derek spent his nights waiting outside of dive bars, and hanging around in back alleys and dark places, desperate to find scumbags to taunt who were big enough and hard enough to at least attempt to kick the living shit out of him.

Derek hated being a werewolf, now. He wanted to get hurt and stay hurt.

“Just—out.”

Then Derek turned his back on Laura, leaving her to stand there and watch him walk away as he left her to go out looking for a fight, without looking back. 

That was the last time somebody put their arms around Derek—and the last time he saw his sister alive.

It was two years ago. Derek doesn’t think he has taken a full breath, since. 

Now here he is—standing in his stupid big loft that he bought for his betas, yet another pack he managed to destroy—having given away more than he should, with skinny yet strong arms wrapping as far around his shoulders as they'll reach. 

Stiles.

“You don't have to hug back. But you can, if you want to. I won't tell,” the kid jokes. It's his way to connect, his connection to the world. A coping mechanism, Derek thinks.

He knows all about those.

“I…” he doesn't have the first fucking clue of how to handle this. Or how to admit he needs it—to himself, let alone somebody else. He doesn't know how to admit that he wants it. 

But this is Stiles. The one person in Derek's life who seems, for some unfathomable reason, to give a fuck about Derek. To care about him.

Slowly, very slowly, Derek lifts an arm and awkwardly rests a hand on Stiles's upper back, feels the muscles jump slightly under the kid's baggy clothes as he tentatively spreads his fingers and finds the back of Stiles's neck. 

Stiles's voice hitches just a touch as he says, “These can be on tap, you know. If you want them. Stilinski hugs are the best hugs, dude. Believe.”

And Derek finds he does believe. For the first time in forever, Derek believes there could be something good in his life again.

More confidently, now, he brings his other arm up to wrap around Stiles's waist and hugs Stiles tighter, properly, and allows himself to be hugged back.

Derek wonders how he has gone so long without this kind of closeness. Lived without this kindness.

He decides to let the 'dude' pass. Because maybe—maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, to be somebody's dude? 

Stiles's dude.

It's a fucking ridiculous moniker and yet Derek suddenly couldn't care less. 

“I think I'd like that,” he whispers into the forbidden place where Stiles's jaw meets long, pale neck. "Dude."

Derek can feel Stiles's smile as the kid squeezes him harder. And, ironically, Derek feels as if he can breathe again. 

.

for @greyhavenisback bc i want to hug you in person and can't <3 (unedited, forgive me!)

[wistfulwatcher]

bau members + near death experiences

[hotchscoffeecup]

for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

[bigfootsboytoy]

Most characters only have ONE tragic backstory. But not my man Derek Hale. They gave that boy like six of them.

[softestqueeen]

ugh, i just love you

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: When you accidently let the a love confession towards your best friend, Spencer Reid, tumble out of your mouth, you think you’ve ruined the friendship between you completely.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, self destructive thoughts, spiralling SPOILER: happy end, cuz I’m a sap

wordcount: 1333 words

a/n: i had a sudden burst of motivation, after reading way too much angsty fics. i wrote this in like 35 min while rubbing my hands together like a villain at all of the pain that is happening here. muahahaha. anyways, i hope you enjoy this! <3

You ruined it. It finally happened. You knew that it would, sooner or later. Your love for your good colleague and best friend Spencer Reid were just too strong.

Sitting at your tables at the BAU, you and Spencer were the last two remaining. While trying to find anything that got the team closer to a profile, the two of you had ordered Chinese takeout. Taking a break you found yourselves in the break room, enjoying your food. Your conversation, the random facts Spencer told you and the meaningless stories you told him in return, made you forget about the gruesome murderer that was currently preying on their next victim.

Talking with Spencer always made you feel most at home. No matter how bad you felt or how low you were, Spencer could always bring you up again, no matter if it is on purpose or not.

And now, in a moment of vulnerability it had slipped out. “Ugh, I just love you Spence.”

“W- What- What did you say? You- You love me?” you could hear the pure disbelief in his voice, and you were sure he could see that same exact feeling on your face, even without you saying a word. You knew it was too late to take it back now, but you had to save yourself from this mishap, because he just couldn’t love you back.

“Uhm- well, uh, you know I love you as a friend, Spence. Of course, only as a friend,” the last sentence was a mere whisper spilling from your lips. You had to get out of here.

“Well, I think we won’t get to any reports anymore anyway. I’ll see you Spencer, bye!” you were already out of the breakroom, collecting your stuff to leave, when you heard him calling after you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Spencer!” were the last words he heard before you practically ran out of the building.

So, now you were in Penelope’s little “office” recounting everything that happened. You could feel tears well in your eyes as you told her exactly what happened.

It was too much, the thought of facing Spencer after this. It has gone so far, that you’ve taken a few days off work to collect yourself again. But now that you’re back, you timed it perfectly that you’d arrive before Spencer but after Penny so you could slip into her office and give her a rundown. Which you were currently doing.

“I see, that’s why you stayed home so suddenly. You know, you can always come and talk to me,” she told you. It felt comforting to know that she was on your side.

“Thank you so much Penny, that means a lot to me. But you know, I was happy with the fact we were friends, even if he didn’t love me that way. It was enough for me to be just with him as friends and now I’ve ruined it,” you didn’t now what to do with yourself. Of course, your other best friend doesn’t understand the situation like you did, which kinda frustrated you.

“But you don’t understand! I- I can’t- can’t do this anymore. I loved- I love him. I love him so much it hurts. Every time I looked at him it was harder to keep these words from slipping out. It is all I could- all I can think about. And now I’ve ruined it. I lost my best friend; I lost the chance for a future with him. I don’t want to live like that. Knowing he hates me when he is everything I ever wanted. The ray of sunshine on my rainy days. He always lit up the whole room when he came in, he always made everything better. Every time I see him it’s like that one thing you thought you lost long ago but now have found again. It’s exactly the same feeling.

“I just can’t- I just don’t want to live without him. What do I do know, huh? Leave and never see him again? Stay, but live with the pain, the agony to see him everyday without speaking to him? Without being his friend?

“I feel so intensely that I often wish I could just stop. Stop worrying, stop thinking, stop feeling. But in the end, it’s always the same. I just want it to end, don’t you understand?” you have now started sobbing, letting yourself fall into Pennys arms and she rubs her hand up and down you arm in a comforting manner.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t get yourself too worked up about this. You don’t know yet what Spencer is going to say about this. Maybe he feels the same,” in fact, everybody but the two of you at BAU knew that you were in love and for Penelope it was kinda funny that two profilers and also two of the most intelligent people she knew failed to realise that.

“I don’t know,” you mumble into her chest, “I don’t want to get my hopes up. What if he hates me now? What if he’s mad?

“Well, we’ll only find out if you talk to him,” Penny reminded you. You were sitting up normally again, slipping out of her embrace as she was talking to you.

A sigh leaves your lips. “You’re right Pen. What would I do without you? Thanks for listening.”

“No problem. You always know where to find me if you need to talk. But now get up and talk to Mr Boy Genius. I’m sure he’s in just as much agony as you are.”

You let out another sigh before getting up and waving Pen goodbye. Wiping your tears you brace yourself for what’s to come. Taking a seat at your desk, you wait for Spencer to take his seat opposite yours.

Once he does, a few minutes after you, he seems surprised to see you.

“Hey Spencer, can we talk? In private?” you ask him before getting up.

“Yeah, of course,” he answers before getting up too and following you.

Closing the door behind him, you found yourselves in the break room, the first available room.

After a beat of silence, you start talking “Spencer, I owe you an apology.”

For a second Spencer fears that you are going to apologise for telling him that you love him, but you surprise him.

“I’m sorry for just storming off and then practically disappearing. I was a coward and too afraid of your reaction,” you take a deep breath before admitting “I didn’t lie, Spence. I love you. I did however lie about only liking you as a friend. I like you so much more than that, but as you could tell I thought you don’t feel the same. Which- Which would be totally fine, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything when-“

Your rambling is cut off by Spencer’s lips on yours. For a second both of you freeze, before you further lean into him, kissing him back. That seems to snap him out of his trace, because he carefully raises his hands, to cup your face.

After pulling away he tells you “I- I love you too. When you told me that a few nights ago my heart stopped, because I thought you felt the same. But when you told me that’s not how you meant it, my heart shattered. I don’t like it when you lie to me, but I know where it came from, so I guess I accept your apology,” he smiles before adding “Only if you let me take you out. I- I’ve never done any of this before, but I’m willing to give it a try for you.”

“Of course you can take me out, Spence. Don’t worry,” you connect your lips to his again, both of you smiling now that you know everything’s well.

And if you weren’t so engrossed in each other, you’d see Derek giving 20 bucks to Penny.

“I told you they’d eventually tell each other.”

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with spencer reid and aaron hotchner, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

requests open!

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

[casually-eat-my-soul]

When Derek and stiles first gets together Derek assumes that stiles was most physically interested in him, than emotionally. Which was fine he could deal with that. A lot of people liked him for his body.

One day, after crashing into an almost sleep coma; Derek carries stiles up the stairs. And stiles just begins to list all the things he loves about Derek. He starts off with Derek hands obviously, telling Derek how strong and reliable they are how much he loves it when they rest on his neck because it reminds stiles that he safe.

and derek is mystified, because people have lusted over him, have objected him but no one has ever talked about him in the same way stiles does. No one has ever talk about how the "curve of his smile was completely unfair to mere mortals"

or how "his stupid bunny teeth and cute and sexy and could rip out a mans throat no problem" like that was somehow on a list of things stiles would want his partner to have.

or the very many other things stiles lists, like his glittering eyes and something about his jawline and how bit-able it is?? Derek is just blown away, he actually like to hear stiles talk about him like that because it felt so much deeper than just lust. and sure stiles listed his intelligence and humour and about a hundred other things but it was nice to gear something more about his body than it relative hotness.

now every-time Derek walks past a mirror and turns away or thinks something self deprecating about his body he stops and thinks "no stiles loves that part of me"

[nutnoce]

How do you live? Here is a prospect: a small cabin by the ocean where we could have chickens that die of old age. Nothing is a political body to the largest body of water in the world. No grain of sand supports genocide. I am among them now, wondering about the anger of people who have voted against their friends, family, and themselves. I wonder who is tricked by billionaires and realize it is billions of people. The game itself is a farce, which I momentarily forget every two years to believe my flea fingers are human hands that hold unalienable rights.

Oh, but does it matter here? It does. It always matters how the rich run and ruin the world.
It also matters that we live. So I am looking for that place on the coast, out of the way of the world and its changes, to cultivate what cannot be taken, even by dissolution of our identities or marriage: our modern nature and our modern love.

[pathologicalreid]

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Could you recommend some fics Derek has PTSD and Stiles or the pack help him with coping? If you don’t mind me asking.

Let's see!

take me home. by Anonymous

(1/1 I 3,529 I Mature I No Pairing)

In which Derek Hale is not as okay as he seems (especially after being de-aged by Kate Argent), and Scott and Stiles witnesses it first hand by accident, and tries their best to help.

5 Times Derek Experiences Sensory Overload + 1 Time Derek Experiences Sensory Joy by Warlock_Nerd

(6/6 I 5,604 I General I Sterek)

Derek is Autistic but he hasn’t told anyone in fear of not being taken seriously as an Alpha. Stiles, however, figured it out and made it his mission to help Derek not only for Derek’s Betas but for Derek to finally accept himself.

Regression to the Mean by theroguesgambit

(1/1 I 16,580 I Mature I Sterek)

There aren’t really words for this. “Sure, dude. Let’s hang out sometime and bond over the fact that our lives suck and we’ve both basically killed a bunch of people by accident” doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.

Boys of the Wild by MourningDawn

(28/28 I 145,919 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek has had the worse summer of his life. It was suppose to be his big summer before he started college, where he partied and drank his summer away. But a tragic accident changed everything including Derek. The accident takes a toll on him. He doesn't talk much anymore or leaves his room. All his friends have abandoned him. People in town often look at him with hatred and pity. No one will look him in his eyes anymore, not even his father. No longer being able to watch her son suffer, Talia decides Derek needs a new start. She sends Derek to her home town of Beacon Hills to stay with her brother Peter. It's there that Derek be friends free spirited Stiles Stilinski. Derek decides to keep the accident a secret but he isn't the only one hiding something

The Outcry of Wolves by JupiterMelichios

(47/47 I 254,075 I Mature I Sterek)

He's put a lot of time and effort into remaining human. He was invested in his humanity, actually, despite what certain Alpha werewolves might choose to insinuate. And now it's gone, just like that. One minute human, the next minute... Okay, the next several hours, maybe, but still. He'd been human, and then he took a nap, and now he's... something else.

When Stiles is bitten, he wants to believe it's just a random accident. But something is killing innocent people, Lydia's seeing things, Allison keeps having mysterious accidents, and he's got a growing suspicion it might all be connected.

[hotchsreader]

You’re my Last Call

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: You and Hotch had broken up over a month ago. Once he broke up with you, he disappeared, absolutely no contact with you anymore. You didn’t know why, there were no signs he was unhappy until he just broke off everything. Up until a freak accident happens, you thought you had lost the love of your life. What if that was never the case, and he just thought you’d be better off without his sadness?

trigger warning: car accident

read on ao3 here

Now there's blood on the windshield

And there's credit cards on the floor

And I'm crawling out the window of my passenger side door

Your picture's on the dashboard and that's the only thing I saw

You were always first to catch me when I fall

Yeah, I'm sorry you were my last call

- Lyrics from the song 3/13 by Wyatt Flores

Hotch was trying to remind himself of the good days when things felt less heavy and he could have a clear head. These days? Everything felt so heavy that he didn’t know if it was possible not to be stressed out. He had broken up with you weeks ago. Maybe it has been a month already, he was unsure at this point. He knew that his presence was a downer to everyone around him, and you had been too much of a light in the world to let him dull you. He loved you so much, but he knew that letting you go would be the best option for you to succeed.

Everything felt like it was going so slowly. He had left the office about an hour ago and was headed toward the victim's house to do one last walk-through to see if there was anything that the local police had missed. He knew exactly where he was going as he and the team had been there before, so he did not even tell anyone he was going there or put the location in his GPS. He had been paying attention, he wasn't too tired, he had slept pretty well the night before, and nothing but you were on his mind. He looked down at his dashboard, to see the photo of you he kept there. Even though he left, he kept you with him. He always wanted to keep you with him, other than Jack, you were his biggest source of happiness. He had looked down for a split second, but apparently, that was enough time for a far to cross into Hotch’s lane and slammed him into the wall lining the highway.

-

After the car crashed, Hotch couldn’t remember anything until he felt himself on the concrete ground and saw random faces flashing back and forth over the top of him.

“Sir. Is there anyone we can call for you?” They asked hoping to get an answer from the man lying in front of them. They knew there was a strong chance there was a concussion.

Hotch could hardly muster up many words, all he said was your name. Your name and said check the phone.

-

You were at work. Everyone else had started going home, and the law office was closed for the day. There wasn’t any noise as you sat typing your last report on your laptop, it seemed peaceful almost. That was until, your phone started ringing incredibly loud, piercing through the silence.

“Maam. This is Officer Finch. I have a man here by the name of Aaron Hotchner, he was in a car accident. He gave us you to call.”

“Where is he? He is a Federal Agent.”

Before the officer even finished giving you the details of where Aaron was, you had already grabbed all of your things and ran out of the office. By the time you hung up with him, you were only ten minutes away.

Nothing would stop you from getting to him. Nothing that happened between the two of you would make you not rush to his side. He was, and would always be, your person.

When you got there, the first thing you noticed were the lights and the sirens. It brought back so many memories from when Hotch was hurt by Foyet. your heart was pounding in your chest and you just needed to find him to see that he was okay. an officer waved you over, and you saw him lying on the ground. There was a cut across his forehead, and his eyes were grimacing like he was in pain. It was killing you, even though you hadn’t even fully gotten up to him to see him in that kind of condition. He looked almost pitiful. you weren’t sure if you wanted to talk to him because of how badly he had hurt you so you stood and talked to the paramedics who said that it was most likely that he had a concussion, but that he was going to be fine he was very lucky. The person had crossed his lane of traffic and when they did, it caused his car to swerve headfirst into the highway wall.

You heard a soft voice call your name. It was very quiet, almost like it was reserved. They didn’t want to be calling your name. They didn’t want you to know that they needed you at this moment. you didn’t know what to do because doing this was wrong to be an emergency contact on a person who had tried so hard to remove you from their life. One day everything was okay, holding hands laughing together, knowing each other’s favorite orders at the coffee shop, to not even a phone call explaining why everything ended with a snap of a finger.

“Yeah, Aaron I’m here,” you said softly in his ear, as you finally walked over to him, kneeling next to him and running your hands through his hair. That was always a small comfort for him when he really needed somebody he loved you running your fingers through his hair.

“ I am so sorry but you were the only person I wanted to be here, I know I am probably the last person you want to hear from right now.” His voice was still very soft, almost like it hurt to speak and he wanted to tell him to stop talking to focus on getting to the hospital, but you also wanted to hear what he had to say. Selfish as it was, you wanted to know why. Why did he end everything? Why did he act like he didn’t exist after two years of a beautiful relationship, why did he call you now he had his whole team that would break down walls to get to him if they knew something was wrong? Why did he call you a person who genuinely couldn’t do anything but be there for him?

“We will talk when you’re able to form a coherent sentence, Aaron, I'm here now and I’m definitely not leaving until I know you’re okay.” You rubbed his face with your hand, and he pressed his face into your palm.

you sat there as they loaded him into the ambulance and asked if you were allowed to ride along. They said yes, considering it was not life-threatening. You could drop your car at a gas station and they would come by and pick you up to take you with him. you did not want to be where you couldn’t see him, but you trusted the paramedics to take care of him for the five minutes he would be out of your line of sight. once you got into your car, you texted the team. You still had all of their phone numbers in case of emergency to let them know what was going on and your phone started ringing off the hook.

“What is going on?” JJ was on the other side of the phone. her voice made you calm down a little bit. The two of you had become very close friends during your relationship with Aaron and even after he had broken up with you JJ always kept in contact.

“They said that a car came into his lane and knocked him into the highway wall. He was conscious and able to talk, and I went with him to the hospital. I have to drop my car off at a gas station so it wouldn’t be stuck on the side of the highway.” You responded, your voice becoming wobbly during your explanation.

She gulped pretty heavily, you knew this was hard for her to hear. as well. “Do you want me to come up? I’m more than willing to come and just be a helping hand for you. I could be the communication between the team to let them know how he’s doing so you don’t have to constantly be on your phone and keep everyone updated. I can do it for you.” She knew how hard this was for you, and that small gesture would be such a relief, and would take so much off your plate that you didn’t even know how to deal with it.

“JJ you mean the world to me. Could you also contact Jessica and let her know what’s going on? I really don’t wanna have to call her even though I love her. This is just so much and I need to check on him and be with him.”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” She said you could feel how genuine she was in the last few words. Meeting Aaron was one of the best things that ever happened to you, but meeting her was a close second. You reciprocated and hung up the phone, got to the gas station, got into the ambulance, and off to the hospital you went. You held on to Hotch’s hand the entire time.

-

The next three hours consisted of people running in and out of the hospital room, checking on Hotch, readjusting him, checking his vitals, and it felt like almost complete chaos. The minute JJ got there you could almost cry out of relief. You needed someone else there, to make this seem like less of a fever-induced dream. To bring you back to reality, almost like a shared experience instead of being alone in a hospital room with the love of your life being poked and prodded by hospital staff.

“Hi sweetie,” JJ says as she walks into the room, tears in her eyes as she looks over at Hotch. You know the two of them are close, he always has talked highly of her.

“Hi.” This was the first time you have heard your own voice in hours and it sounded almost foreign to you. It sounded defeated and hurt.

“Why are you here JJ?” This caused you to jump. Hotch had not spoken the entire three hours until JJ walked into the room. Did he just not want to speak to you? If this was the case, why did he ask everyone to call you? You turned your head over to him, a look of hurt running over your face. He noticed immediately and turned his head away from you to look at JJ.

“You know what, I’m going to go call the team, I’ll be back in a minute. You better prepare yourself for Garcia to run in here with balloons in snacks in a few hours Hotch.” She tried to make the atmosphere less tense before she left, but the hurt and anger in you could physically feel it.

You stood up, walked over to Hotch, and put your hand under his chin, and made him look at you. He stared at you for a minute, tears gathering in his eyes as he did and he tried to open his mouth to speak but you didn’t let him get that far.

“Absolutely not, you do not get to speak right now Aaron Hotchner. You do not get to be the first one to speak after what you have put me through in the last few hours. I get to speak first.”

He nodded at you, tears slipping from his eyes.

“You LEFT me with no explanation. You are the love of my life. I would lay down everything I am and will be to make sure you and Jack are safe and happy. I did nothing wrong to deserve to be deserted. I did nothing, Aaron. I love you so much, I will love you until the day I die. Why would you have them call me? Why would you do what you did?” At this point, you were sobbing, and the last few words that came out of your mouth were gargled.

Hotch raised his hand and wiped the tears from your cheek, you wanted to turn away but your brain and arm betrayed you and you raised your hand up to hold his while it was on your face.

“Honey, it had nothing to do with you. You are the most beautiful, loving, caring person in this world.”

“But then why? What was wrong? What happened to us?”

“It was me. I was bringing you down. I was making everything worse. I didn't want to ruin your life with my hurt.” The last few words were barely a whisper.

You looked up, for the first time since this conversation started, and looked at the man in front of you. He was crying, tears falling down the side of his face onto the pillow. He was gripping your hard really hard, the ring on your fingers digging into your skin. He looked pitiful. He was heartbroken, not just because of what currently happened but because of everything going on in his head. You had wished he would’ve told you this a lot sooner. So much hurt could have been prevented if he had just been honest with you. But you knew this man, you knew he would hide things so deeply inside himself if it meant no one else had to get hurt. You knew he would hide things if it meant you would be protected from the harsh realities.

“Aaron. You are and will always be my world. If something is bothering you, I would like to talk about it. I would like to be able to be there for you if you would let me be. Please, just talk to me. Let me be there for you.” You put your hand on his cheek and he leaned into your palm. His face was flush from the accident and from the tears. He felt, defeated.

“I don’t want anyone to have to deal with me. Especially not someone who has so much to offer this world. I am just a mess of a man. You were the last person I wanted to call because I do not want you to have to clean up after me.”

“If loving you means I have to be there for everything, every sad day, every hard day, every difficult day, I will be.” You said, running your hands through his hair, his favorite.

“I don’t want you to have to do that.”

“Too late, I am already too committed.”

“You know, I was looking at my photo of you on my dashboard before it happened.” He turned his head closer to you.

“You have a photo of me in your work car?” You truly didn’t know this.

“Have the moment we started dating. It's a photo of you smiling at work when I came to visit for the first time. You were so excited to show me around to everyone. Your boyfriend is a Unit Chief in the FBI. You were so smiley the entire time, I wanted to remember that happiness on hard days. So in my work car, it sits, it's comforting.”

“Well, we can take more photos.” You sat on the edge of the bed, he sat up and you leaned into him. You were not going anywhere.

“I love you, you know that. I’m sorry for leaving, I just thought I was hurting you more than I was helping. I thought if you knew how bad I was feeling you would feel responsible or that I would hurt you.”

“I love you more than you know.”

-

After the talk, and JJ called the team to let them know the extent of everything going on, you decided to walk with her to get some coffee. Penelope had shown up five minutes after JJ ended the call with tons of goodies for Hotch, and you let her and Derek sit in there with him while you took a break. Hopefully, he would be okay, Derek could handle Penelope and Hotch needed a friend.

The two of you walked along side each other in silence until you got to the elevator. Once you got to the elevator JJ finally spoke up.

“Want to tell me what happened?” She looked at you sideways as she finished the question.

“Actually, yeah. What he said made me a bit worried and I need some more insight into what’s been going on.”

“I’m all ears.”

“He broke up with me because he’s having a hard time mentally. Has he been weird or more restricted at work at all?” You asked the question as you got into the elevator.

“A bit. I thought maybe it was due to the breakup but honestly it’s been going on a few months. I try not to pry because while he is my boss and my friend, i don’t want him to think i don’t trust him.”

“I understand that completely. I knew something was up, but I didn’t think he’d leave me just because he didn’t want to talk about it. I think we’re on the same page now, but i’m not letting this go. I love him too much.”

“He loves you too, trust me. Your photo is in his car, on his phone, in his office. You and Jack are his world. I honestly think he’s just scared.” As you got out of the elevator together she turned and hugged you. knowing you haven’t had one since this all happened. You loved your best friend, and she always knew what you needed.

-

Hotch was in the hospital for a day. They wanted to keep him overnight just for observation, but it turned out everything was okay. He had a concussion and a few cuts on his head but he was going to be fine. you were by his bedside the entire time you slept there you only left to go to the bathroom or if somebody else came and made you go get a cup of coffee. Usually it was JJ or Derek that convinced you to get up, despite Hotch telling you countless times it was okay to go home. You truly just were so happy to have him back you didn’t want to leave him again.

You both had walked to your car so you could drive him home. Jessica was keeping Jack for one more night that way Hotch could settle down at home and make sure that he was okay and you were going to stay with him tonight, because there was no way you were going to let him be alone.

“You know we have to talk about everything, right?” you said the minute you both got into the car.

“Yeah honey, I know.” He reached over and grabbed your hand and squeezed it hard.

“Why did you do this? I know you’re hurting. I would do anything to make you happy and feel loved and appreciated, that’s my goal when i’m with you. I’d do anything for you.”

“That’s the point, I just don’t want you to have to take care of me. I want to be there for you.” He started looking out of the window, like that was going to make his hurt get up and fly away.

“ Now you know a relationship is 50/50, and sometimes on bad days it’s 20/80. We give what we can, my love, and if you’re having a bad day I am more than willing to pick up the slack.” It was your turn to squeeze his hand, to bring him back to reality and remember that you were here, and that you were not going anywhere.

“I am embarrassed.” You looked over at him to see him, start to cry, genuine tears falling from his eyes, the look of defeat and hurt and embarrassment falling over his face. it was the saddest you had ever seen someone look and it absolutely shattered your heart to see him like that.

“Absolutely not,” You pulled over and stopped the car, “you have NO reason to be embarrassed about having a hard time Aaron Hotchner. You have been through more in the past few years than I could ever imagine. I don’t think I would be up walking around if I had gone through what you had been through. I would not be as good of a man as good of a dad as good of a person if I had been through what you had to go through. you give it your all every single day, whether it be as a father or as the leader of a team that saves peoples lives and every single day. you deserve somebody that not only wants to be with you at your best but somebody that will be there for you at your worst and I will be there for you. Always.” You took his face in your hands and turned him to look at you. He was still crying so you wiped his tears with your thumbs, and looked him in the eyes. You leaned in and gave him a big kiss. A kiss to cement everything you just said. So he knew, you were completely serious.

“Okay. I am sorry for what I've done, but for you, I am willing to try. I am willing to accept my downfalls, and lean on you when I need you. And you will never be my last call again, you will always be my first.”

“I better be.”

That got a smile out of him, and a small chuckle. You kissed him again and started the car back up, put it in drive, and took you both home.

[realmscupcake]

there is definitely not enough sterek au with young jock derek in secret relationship with nerd stiles *plot happening* sheriff finds out friends find out

i don't know why but i love secret relationships and stiles and derek being the same age

[frankiebirds]

will forever thinking about morgan refusing to leave dr. brazier's side while the bomb under her seat is being defused.

i didn't get a good screenshot of it, but he's also holding her hand the whole time.

and then the way he hugs her??

keep in mind he Just met this woman. he has no emotional connection to her beyond the fact that she is a person in distress and he is a person who cares. there is a bomb under her seat that could go off if she moves wrong or they fail to defuse it. if that happens, it will kill her, and almost certainly him too. he doesn't care. he kneels outside her car and holds her hand while she prays because he will not let her be afraid alone. he will not let her die alone, if it comes to that. derek morgan the bottomless well of compassion you are.