#i'm going to be real and admit that i have been sighing over his picture

[clove-pinks]

Which War of 1812 naval surgeon do you most admire, and why?

Or, if none are worthy of your admiration, tell us who you most deplore!

For admiration, it has to be Thomas Harris! He founded the first school of naval medicine in the United States and was eventually head of the Medical Department of the Navy. His medical ideas, while occasionally dated, are notable for sensible recommendations for exercise and physical activity, and he was a great supporter of continuing education for naval surgeons. ("As valuable improvements are yearly making in our extensive science," he wrote to the Secretary of the Navy in 1816, "my duty as well as ambition prompts me to endeavour to keep pace with them.")

His first post as a naval surgeon was aboard USS Wasp, and he was present for the bloody and violent action against HMS Frolic. He assisted the British surgeon immediately after the battle, and received high praise from the Americans and British alike for his professionalism and skill. He also served aboard USS Mohawk on the Great Lakes and was at sea for almost the entire War of 1812, then he departed for the Second Barbary War as surgeon on USS Macedonian. A great teacher and administrator, the man did not lack for practical experience in naval combat. Among other accomplishments, Harris also wrote a biography of Commodore William Bainbridge.

And just LOOK at him! Who wouldn't want to give him a hug! 🥰

[januaryembrs]

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa. 

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached. 

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up. 

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,” 

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,” 

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different. 

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug. 

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup. 

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct. 

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown. 

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought. 

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up. 

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?” 

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap. 

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned. 

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister. 

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered. 

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,” 

Spencer gulped quietly. 

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan. 

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze. 

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman. 

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it. 

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors. 

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs. 

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,” 

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?” 

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,” 

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them. 

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter. 

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.” 

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student. 

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again. 

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words. 

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently. 

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore. 

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly. 

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse. 

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish. 

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod. 

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket. 

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours. 

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,” 

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more. 

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet. 

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt. 

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick. 

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her. 

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,” 

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway. 

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny. 

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them. 

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face. 

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder. 

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips. 

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them. 

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed. 

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol. 

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown. 

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze. 

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her. 

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her. 

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly. 

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in. 

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command. 

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,” 

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!” 

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?” 

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand. 

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be. 

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,” 

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep. 

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue. 

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent. 

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],” 

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses. 

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun. 

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],” 

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],” 

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car. 

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,” 

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips. 

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside. 

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,” 

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand. 

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened. 

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer. 

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera. 

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture. 

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good. 

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately. 

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language. 

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully. 

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair. 

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?” 

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,” 

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them. 

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them. 

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls. 

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door. 

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face. 

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice. 

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon. 

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers. 

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?” 

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant. 

-

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod. 

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,” 

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front. 

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost. 

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,” 

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk. 

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?” 

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”  

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh. 

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully. 

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did. 

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over. 

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile. 

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice. 

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat. 

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen. 

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,” 

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,” 

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs. 

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile. 

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,” 

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,” 

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face. 

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat. 

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding. 

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else. 

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from. 

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing. 

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. 

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,” 

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,” 

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation. 

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately. 

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster. 

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction. 

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,” 

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head. 

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly. 

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do. 

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight. 

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself. 

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk. 

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her. 

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes. 

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.” 

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too. 

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke. 

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that. 

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-” 

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant. 

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at. 

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,” 

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed. 

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,” 

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation. 

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing,  “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her. 

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?” 

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,” 

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly. 

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her. 

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-” 

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,” 

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself. 

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

-

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left. 

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes. 

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house. 

-

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes. 

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window. 

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-” 

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her. 

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,” 

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her. 

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all. 

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number. 

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,” 

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him. 

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so. 

Yet so was Emily. 

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway. 

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?” 

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times. 

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,” 

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown. 

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad. 

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea. 

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat. 

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,” 

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront. 

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose. 

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb. 

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch. 

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh. 

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

-

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan. 

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder. 

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her. 

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury. 

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke. 

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them. 

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,” 

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible. 

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out. 

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan. 

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” 

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes. 

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze. 

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,” 

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans. 

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never. 

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far. 

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,” 

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl. 

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,” 

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road. 

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,” 

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line. 

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms. 

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them. 

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,” 

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet. 

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,” 

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later. 

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,” 

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more. 

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,” 

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on. 

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought. 

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,” 

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off. 

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault. 

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block. 

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs. 

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,” 

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas. 

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried. 

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth. 

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back. 

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life. 

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk. 

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face. 

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table. 

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again. 

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up. 

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough. 

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-” 

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words. 

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast. 

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing. 

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming. 

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered. 

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation. 

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,” 

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down. 

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you. 

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,” 

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-” 

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

-

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-” 

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. 

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled? 

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her. 

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother. 

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery. 

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.” 

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it. 

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close. 

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab. 

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika. 

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps. 

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was. 

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her. 

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them. 

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat. 

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand. 

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs. 

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close. 

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer. 

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team. 

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,” 

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand. 

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer. 

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy. 

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling. 

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,” 

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss. 

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready. 

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound. 

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?” 

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,” 

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy. 

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup. 

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path. 

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first. 

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye. 

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?” 

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing. 

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,” 

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track. 

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses. 

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm. 

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand. 

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,” 

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers. 

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head. 

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long. 

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant. 

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,” 

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound. 

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing. 

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there. 

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back. 

-

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before. 

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery. 

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye. 

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

 Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it. 

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off. 

That was when the shooting started. 

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening. 

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye. 

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church. 

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised. 

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen. 

She could only hope Emily was safe. 

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister. 

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person. 

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall. 

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.” 

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine. 

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting. 

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed. 

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,” 

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away. 

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax. 

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze. 

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes. 

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered. 

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push. 

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,” 

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,” 

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did. 

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals. 

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving. 

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,” 

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again. 

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,” 

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,” 

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,” 

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly. 

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude. 

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious. 

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness. 

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them. 

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou. 

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her. 

 “The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick. 

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage. 

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive. 

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice. 

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms. 

This was not good. 

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression. 

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach. 

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy. 

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily. 

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won. 

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple. 

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight. 

“It’s me,” 

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving. 

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head. 

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise. 

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture. 

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull. 

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them. 

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was. 

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least. 

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her. 

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds. 

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating. 

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand. 

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl. 

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,” 

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,” 

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed. 

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action. 

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over. 

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless. 

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now. 

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority. 

2:53 stared back at her. 

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened. 

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle. 

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor. 

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them. 

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical. 

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost. 

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth. 

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free. 

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet. 

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine. 

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why. 

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight. 

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps. 

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle. 

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more. 

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her. 

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her. 

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared,  still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs. 

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly. 

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his. 

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved. 

“You saved mine,” 

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay. 

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying. 

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes. 

She stayed with Emily for a month after that. 

+4. The one where you leave the altar. 

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building. 

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors. 

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse. 

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran. 

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state. 

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight. 

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius. 

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister. 

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-” 

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug. 

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner. 

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body. 

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric. 

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!” 

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave. 

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days. 

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,” 

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog. 

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back. 

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll. 

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,” 

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat. 

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more. 

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-” 

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?” 

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,” 

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,” 

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess. 

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders. 

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,” 

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off. 

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist. 

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess. 

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,” 

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be. 

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through. 

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

[chaostudee]

you belong with me, lando norris.

summary : after another failed date you rely on lando to comfort you to which he confesses something to you. warnings : none a/n : literally all i've been doing is smau but written works will forever have my heart :)

a sigh escaped you lips just as your eyes flicked to your phone to take a glimpse at the time. the past two hours had been torture, and although you hadn't had much faith that this one would get well you hadn't pictured it to be this grim. this man wouldn't shut up about himself, not once letting you get a word in edge ways.

a few minutes ago he said that he needed to pop to the bathroom just as you had both finished dessert. partially you were glad to be rid of him but were now suspicious that he had been gone for so long. in instinct your eyes flutter around the restaurant at the various couples and families dining. in doing so you spot your blind date darting hie eyes around the restuarant briefly before fleeing out the front door.

your eyes widen at the scene and you tutt to yourself. so typical. at that moment the waiter walks over to hand you the check.

"um can you give me a second?" you ask knwoing damn well your purse is full of nothing but makeup products.

"sure" the waiter replies with a nod before departing.

you quickly scour your purse for your phone and dial the one person you know that would be able to help you out.

"hey what's up??"

the sound of his voice makes you smile.

"well um i need your help...."

lando pauses. "that doesn't sound good...."

you laugh sarcastically. "yeah well it's not um so basically just before the check came the guy just upped and left and um since he said he was going to pay i left my purse at home. so i guess what i'm asking is for some money and i promise i'll pay you-"

"wait wait wait" lando cuts you off "he just left you?! what the actual fuck?!"

"i know i mean i should've known"

"what no no baby it's not your fault, here i'll send you the money real quick"

your stomach flips at the pet name, it always does but you would never admit that to him.

"thank you lando" you whisper.

"no problem angel, you know i'll always look out for you.

"okay um one last favour"

"hit me"

"can you pick me up it's kinda late and you know"

"ofc i will just send me your location"

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

lando hands you a cup of tea just as he joins you on the couch.

"thanks" you look up at him as you speak and he replies with a nod before taking a sip of his coffee.

lando shakes his head. " i actually still can't believe that son of a bitch did that to you"

you look down into the cup, the steam rising and hitting your cheeks. "i mean i guess i always choose the wrong ones"

"don't you dare say that sweetheart it is not your fault at all".

"lando-"

"no i'm serious ever time you come back from a date you tell me another crazy story and sweetheart it's nothing got to do with you"

"but what if it is me"

lando looks at you smypathetically.

"trust me it's not you, anyone would be lucky to have you"

"thanks lando but we both know that's not true"

lando sets down his cup and runs his hands through his hair. before putting his head in his hands and letting out a groan.

"what's wrong?"

"you are so oblivious"

"what wdym?"

lando smiles and begins to move closer to you. you watch as his eyes latch onto yours and then down to your lips. your heart begins to beat rapidly.

"as i said anyone would be lucky to have you"

you gulp. lando takes his hand and uses it to rest under your chin so you are forced to look at him.

"you are the most important person in my life"

"lando don't"

"don't what?"

"you're just saying that to make me feel better"

lando chuckles. "trust me i'm not you are and will forever be the most important person in my life, you're my best friend."

you smile shyly at him, there was no one that made you feel as loved as him.

"there were times i wanted it to be more".

your eyes widen at his confession and you open your mouth but just as you were about to speak you were stopped.

lando pulled his you into him placing his lips on yours. you didn't pull back but instead sunk deep into the kiss and as his smiled into your lips you couldn't help the heat that rised to your cheeks.

after a few moments you pull back and smile at him as you run a hand through his hair.

"was that okay?" he asks unsure if he had made you uncomfortable.

"more than okay" you admit.

and with that he pulled you in to his lap making you squeal before pressing his lips against yours once again.

in that moment you had never been happier and annoyed with yourself that you hadn't noticed the good in front of you all this time.

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@llando4norris

@hadidsworld

@mxryxmfooty

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 10.2 * mv1

you drop your head with a small smile. "only if you promise to pick me up?"

through his own tears, max laughs and throws his head back. it's a familiar line - one you said when he first asked you out all those years ago. he squeezes your hand and shakes it. "only if i get to send you home after."

but you sigh tiredly, resting your head in your hand. "are you sure about this, max? what if we only hurt each other more?"

"it's a risk i'm willing to take," he admits. "because it's you."

because he can't bear to watch you walk out of that door again without a fight. the pain he endured for months leading up to tonight felt like it could last forever - like he'd never get around to getting over you.

nothing in his life has ever been so clear: it's always been you, and it's always going to be you.

there's nobody else for him.

"and if we do, at least we know we tried," max whispers, dropping his head. "if it were up to me, i'd do this over and over and over again... if it means i get to be with you for the rest of my life."

“how sure are you of this, max?”

“i’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

"i love you," you smile, starting to feel yourself calm down. a weight has lifted off your shoulders and you instantly feel a tinge of churning in your stomach. "i missed you."

"i missed you more," max sighs, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around your smaller frame. "i miss the way you smell and the way you'd smile at me. i miss your bowl of scrunchies; you have a point making it the table's centrepiece, you know?"

you grin, leaning into his touch. "i'm an interior designer secretly."

"it's what made our home," he sucks in a deep breath, "a home. i hated being there when you were away."

"i hated my apartment without you in it," you confess, a hand holding onto his arm for dear life. “i missed you and the cats.”

you don't know how to convince yourself that this isn't a dream. you don't want to open your eyes and then realise that none of this is real and max is never yours again.

“we’ll do it right this time,” max mutters against your skin with a smile. “i promise i won’t give up on us. you're stuck with me."

"i wanna be stuck with you," you giggle, nuzzling your cheek into his skin. "i'm sorry i wasn't with you when you won the title this year."

"it's alright. we'll just photoshop a picture of us together," max presses a kiss to the top of your head and rubs the exposed skin on your arm, "and then we'll frame it as our biggest picture in the house. we'll tell our kids about it."

"how we photoshopped it?"

"no, how we most definitely celebrated my third title together. we had so much fun, don't you remember?"

"i must be having memory issues. i'm too young for that, max."

"i will take care of you, duh? i'll remind you every single day how much i love you, and you love me." he moves slightly, adjusting so that he can see your face. he brushes the hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “just the way it should be.”

“i’m scared, max. what if we’re never the same again because of this?” it’s a concern that’s been eating at you for the past couple minutes. while being in max’s arms is an ideal situation, what if it’s different this time?

max knows what you mean. he’d also been scared of that. after all the words said, the hurt you caused each other, and those accusations that may never be fully solved — what if you never fall back into what you’re used to?

what if you fall into the same old routine where you’re just fighting again?

“we’ll figure something out, i’m sure,” max cups your cheeks, swiping away the tear stains on your face. “it won’t always be this way. it will get better, i promise.”

you close your eyes, leaning into his touch. a hand comes up to rest over his and you trace shapes on his skin. “i don’t want to hate you.”

“hey,” max’s stern yet gentle tone makes you open your eyes, meeting his cool blue eyes staring into yours with a glimmer you’re unable to fathom. “one step at a time. we will be okay. i will make sure of it.”

you nod and give him a small smile. “one step at a time.”

max smiles, squeezing your cheeks. “i love you.”

he pulls you in gently, one hand coming down to the back of your neck. “you are the only one for me,” he says against your lips, smiling before your lips touch.

you’re overwhelmed by the familiarity of his taste and the way he smells — his perfume bringing you back to a time where your relationship had been so simple. the way his hands feel against your skin and how his lips are moving along with yours fills you with unexplainable joy.

your hands clutch on the material of his shirt by his shoulders, having no idea how much you craved his touch and his sweet words.

he pulls away breathless, giggling dizzily when you lean forward to chase for his touch. he swipes his thumb over your lips to wipe himself off of you. he rests his foreheard on yours.

“do you want to go dance? i know you’re not much of it but we are at a party, after all.”

you smile toothily. you nudge your head to bump his nose. “only if it’s with you.”

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever @lokigoeschoki @cherry-piee @eviethetheatrefreak @hrlzy @dear-fifi @telengraph

[xxoxobree]

Mean Sometimes

Miles G x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: Miles can be mean sometimes, even if he doesn’t mean harm.

WARNINGS: Cuss words cause 🤷🏽‍♀️

A/n: This is for my black girlies 🤣 y’all are definitely gonna relate to this , Also that is a real picture of Miles G that I took we in E42 chillin 🫢.

Miles was famous all over school for his blunt and straightforward attitude. He had a rep for never beating around the bush and always blurting out whatever came to mind, no matter how crazy it sounded.

His lack of filter had landed him in hot water a few times, but he remained himself , because he “can handle it if anyone got a problem”. Despite his bluntness, when it came to you, his "princesa," he would soften his edges.

Picture day was tomorrow ,and then came the most soul-crushing message from your hairstylist.

"Hey there, hun," she began, delivering the blow. She was canceling. Your heart sank as you absorbed the words on the screen.

"Please, please don't cancel," you silently pleaded, desperately typing out your response. But deep down, you knew it was pointless . And just as you feared, the it happened.

"I'm truly sorry, but we have to cancel and find another time to reschedule," her message read.

"No no no!" You said out loud, throwing your head back in frustration. You rested your phone down, afraid that your anger might make you throw it across the room.

"Oh my fucking gosh!" Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You got up and made your way to sit in front of your vanity.

You released your hair from the ponytail it was in, grabbed your comb, blowdryer, and a flat iron, and got to work. You had to make something work.

As you sat in front of the mirror, you began the process. 15 minutes went by, but it was not going well. You burned yourself several times with the flat iron, causing more frustration and anxiety to bubble within you, but you refused to give up.

Your hair was frizzy and unruly, but in your eyes, it was looking pretty good.

Miles, had decided to stop by after realizing you hadn't been responding to any of his messages or calls. Concern etched across his face, he knocked on your bedroom door before stepping inside.

"Miles? Why are you here?" you asked, your voice laced with annoyance as you continued to fix your hair, leaning against the vanity. The frustration in your eyes was hard to miss, and he knew all too well what it meant. Your attitude had been activated.

With a small sigh, Miles approached you,leaning on the vanity. "I was worried about you," he said. matching your attitude "You weren't answering any of my messages or calls. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Rolling your eyes, you paused your hair-fixing efforts and looked at him, your frown deepening. "Miles, I'm trying to fix my hair.” you snapped.

"He gave your hair a look, furrowing his eyebrows. “Yo shit look like you got electrocuted.”

His words stung, and you couldn't hide the disappointment in your eyes. "Why'd you say it like that?" you whined, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

"I'm just saying, mama," he responded casually, not fully understanding the impact of his words.

"Well, does it look bad?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"It does... yeah," Miles admitted, unaware that you were at your wits end.

"Oh, my fucking gadddddd..." The words slipped out as you threw your brush across the room in frustration. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your face flushed with anger and hurt. "You're so fucking mean sometimes, Miles," you shouted, flopping onto your bed and curling up, facing away from him.

Miles could hear your sniffles from across the room, guilt shot through his body. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the vanity, his feet carrying him towards the bed where you sat, shoulders slumped.

"Ma!" he called out, hoping for a response but you stayed silent. "Baby, I'm sorry, okay?" he pleaded.

"You can take your sorry and get the fuck out," you whispered , your voice dripping with hurt and frustration.

Miles sighed again "Baby, I didn't mean that. You know how I am,"

"How you are is rude as fuck," you shot back, the pain still in your tone.

Miles climbed into the bed beside you, his body pressing against yours. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his voice muffled by the closeness. "I'm sorry, princessa," he murmured, the warmth of his breath causing a shiver to run down your spine. "How about I help you fix your hair?…….you smell sooo good.”

"Shut up, stupid," you whispered, a smile spreading at the corners of your lips. "And move so you can help me."

Copyright © 2023 Breeandhermunches. All rights reserved.

[heyhihellosworld]

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞

Charles Leclerc x reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Sending your boyfriend alone with his friends to Ibiza shouldn't be a problem, right?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, slightly toxic relationship (or maybe a lot)

Notes: Angst is all I can write right now so here is some for you all. I just wanted to clear everything up with the pictures as well. I did not intent to include the girls in the story. The girls mentioned in the story is made up people but since it's so much easier to find pictures with them and Charles I chose to have the pictures. This is a bit messy but I tried

Summer break was made for relaxation, made to spend time with family and friends, made for rest. It was suposed to be a break from the hectic reality, a break from all the different surroundings and traveling. A break from formula one.

However summer break didn't feel like any of those things for you. No it was nothing that at all. All it was was hurt, stress and heartbreak. Anger and betrayal, no time to rest and no relaxation.

A fucking mess was what it was.

Charle's eyes were wide blown, like he were a kid caught doing something he shouldn't and it was pretty accurate, he had been caught

"Don't look at me like that" you spat at him, feeling anger brewing in your veins after you'd found him stood on your doorstep, begging you to talk, fucking talk

You didn't need to talk you needed to scream, punch or at least kick something. Your anger needed to get an outlap from your body, trapped in your clenched fists.

His adorably sad face made your frustrations hit the roof.

You stood far away as he stepped into your condo, only in your pj's as it was too fucking early in the morning.

Your whole body hurt as he did those small things he always did at your house, like taking off his shoes and neatly putting them to the right of your door and changing the date on the small date-decoration you had on the hallwaybench. Something so domestic didn't feel right anymore, he had betrayed the right.

You had been with him for a year by now, a year of exciting travels, experiences, love and adoration. He had been your closest person for a long time, having had you under his wing and you genuienly thought he would be the one to the end. The one you'd end up marry and have a family with, the one to the end.

But oh how things can turn

"You're really about to let him go with his friends to Ibiza just like that?"

You shrugged at Carmen who stood over you on the sofa, her hands on her hips looking like a scolding parent. Her face was showed suprise, eyebrows raised and mouth in tight line.

"I don't know what I can do about it, he wants to go, I can't" you simplified, met with her shaking of the head. Letting you know she didn't think this was a good idea, didn't approve of it.

"What? You don't trust him?" you asked, looking her in the eyes, a rush of concern errupting in your body. "Do you?" she countered seriously

You sat up, shrugging your shoulders again, an unsettling feeling in your body "I don't know, I mean I really should, we've been together for a year"

"That's not a yes sweetie"

You groaned, throwing you head back "Ugh I don't know, I still can't get Ana out of my head you know"

"I know and I can't either, that's why I'm sceptical" "Well fine but that was a a year ago, straight in the start in our relationship, I wanna think he wouldn't do anything like it again" you spoke

"Okay, okay, it's your relationship" Carmen nodded, finally sitting down next to you in the sofa. "I don't wanna worry you y/n, all is that I care about you and that I want you to be happy and he just.. he screwed up once so I can't trust him"

The sigh that left your mouth was heavy, you knew she was right but you didn't want to admit it. You had been together for long, trying to push the warning signals to the ground, maybe it was time to see them for real.

"Well what to do, let's hope he dosen't screw this up" you sighed, dusting the dirt of your pants before standing up, looking at your friend who stroppily looked back at you "Again" she snarled

Wagsgossip

Liked by 573 783

Wagsgossip Charles Leclerc seen with multiply different women, women who is clearly not his girlfriend Y/n.

Charles Leclerc reportedly left to Ibiza with some friends and co-drivers on the grid this monday. Leclercs girlfriend Y/n, who he has been dating for around a year was not with the group to Ibiza despite the fact that many of the other guys have their missus with them. Rumours about the pair has been spread over the course of the last few weeks regarding a possible break up but nothing has been official if that's the case.

Pictures have been spread all over internet of Leclerc now cozying up to multitude different girls, wonder how this will reach Y/n

What do you think of this?

View all comments

f1lovees OMG what is he DOING?!

justanInchident No Leclec, no

charcharles finally

f1111 He fumbled

chacha Please tell me this isn't true

Carmen was at the door before you even had the time to gather your head around the articles that traveled all over the internet. You'd felt it coming, felt it since he took the step onto that fucking plane, you knew this was it. You should have known better, he was who he was, like he was, he was an ass.

Charles were sweet and loving, soft and calm. He was fun to be around and when things were good between you he was someone you could picture forever with. The only thing was that when he fumbled, he fumbled hard.

The first weeks into your relationship one of those situations had accured, he had seen this girl, behind your back a bit into your relationship. You should have put the breaks in then, but you hadn't. Forgiven and forgotten you'd said.

Now you regretted that.

You should have ended it before it even started after that fuck-up but you didn't, too smitten by his adorable smile and light mood. You got to pay the price.

And you did because now you stood here like an idiot.

-

Carmen stormed into your apartment, steam practically brewing from her ears as she let out a shout of frustration. "I told you! I told you you couldn't trust the fucker!"

You huffed, not knowing what to say or do, it wasn't rage, not sadness, no all you felt were emptiness, maybe a tad of embarrassment.

"He is such an idiot! I can't believe him!"

"Carmen calm down, it's fine. I guess"

"It's not fucking fine! Come on Y/n! He cheated on you! He made a complete fool out of you!" she spoke, her eyes so wide you worried they were gonna pop out of her skull.

Like on cue George stormed into your small condo, seemingly out of breath and clutching his stomach. "Shit, I'm so sorry Y/n, I tried to make her give you some space but she ran... fast"

You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at your friends. It felt weird in your body, not knowing what was going on, knowing your relationship would end. You didn't know how to react.

George sat down next to you in the sofa, taking your computer who sat next to you with the articles open. "I can't actually believe it" George muttered to himself as he scrolled to the hundred different articles and pictures that was circling around.

"I'm sorry but why aren't you more upset?!" Carmen spoke harshly, George shooting her a disaproving look "I mean, I am upset but it just feels like... I knew I had it coming"

"What?" Geogre echeod Carmen "I don't know, it just feels like our whole relationship is built on false hope, on false trust. Like since our rocky beginning I knew deep down something like this would get the best of us. I knew he would fuck up again and since the idea of Ibiza came up I don't know... I just felt it coming"

"Are you not mad at all?" George asked shocked but you laughed coldly at his question

"Of course I'm fucking pissed. Lets face it, the man tricked me into false hopes and false trust. He made me feel loved and comfortable only to go and jump the closest girl the second I'm not there. He made me look like a fucking fool in front of the media, not once, not twice but for all this year. Fucking hell, I can't believe I've actually been this blind, stupid love eyes" you grumbled, facinated by your own realization

"Finally" carmen sighed out, looking at you with a soft smile.

"So, what are you gonna do about it? Has he even contacted you about it?" George asked, propping his elbows on his knees, leant forward in the sofa. "No, he hasn't. He's probably to gushed with some chick down in Ibiza to even see all the notifications and articles. But when he do, well then he's gonna hear it all" Just as on cue your phone started ringing, the tone making you flinch up from the sofa. You didn't touch it, just stared at the phone which showed you Charles contact.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a never ending buzz as he sent you message after message and Carmen sighed

"Do you want us to stay?"

You shook your head "No, it's fine, thank you though, for coming so soon" you smiled, hugging both of them before walking them out the door.

When the door locked it felt like someone poured a bucket with ice-cold water over your head. Fuck.

This was the reality, this was actually happening. A sick feeling settled to your stomach, how could he do this? Why would he do this? Everything had been great, hadn't it?

You swallowed thickly before walking back to the sofa, settling in it, your knees to your chest as you put on the tv, hoping the sounds would distractract your wandering mind.

Soon enough you couldn't ignore your phone anymore, the never ending buzzing and ringinging on boardeline to drive you crazy.

"Yes Charles?" You spat down the phone, drowned by a hundred words at once. He shouted down everything he could down the phone and you could only make out certain words from the blur.

"We are not talking about this on the phone" you cut him off firmly. "Fuck, okay but I'm not home in another few hours, please stay there, I can explain"

"Just stop talking until you're here" you muttered, clicking him off and throwing your phone to the other end of the sofa.

The night was chilly, cold and lonely. Despite your gut feeling, despite his fuck-ups you loved the guy and had done for a long while so to sit here facing the truth that he apparently didn't, or at least didn't care enough to treat you with respect was though, harsh and heartbreaking. To think of everything you'd done for him, all the travels and extra work to get school done whilst supporting him. All the sacrafices and this was how he treated you. It was unfair.

Charles were on your step the first thing the morning after, not reading the situation at all because you were tired. Hadn't slept a wink and not in the mood for an altercation before coffee and breakfast.

But Charles were Charles after all. Storming into your condo and sitting firmly in your sofa like he was protesting before you could.

- "Well then, say what you need to say and then get the fuck out" you spat, the early morning not helping your hurt feelings as you opted to sit in the armchair, far away from him, arms folded over your chest.

He looked nervous as hell but he should be, he fucked up after all and this time it was all on him.

"Well... I just.. I'm really sorry, I-I didn't mean to-to"

"To fucking what Charles? You didn't mean to fuck her or you didn't mean to hurt me?"

"Well, both"

"Ah, how classic, is that all you have to say? You didn't mean too?"

Charles took a deep breath, swallowing all the words, accepting his fate because you were right, he'd fucked up big time, so big this was unfixable regardless of how much he wanted it to be fixable.

"Come on then, defend yourself, say what you needed to say so badly.

Charles bit his bottom lip, something you found annoying at the moment, but used to find so hot. His eyes fleeted around the floor, not daring to meet yours.

"I don't know what to say... I fucked up, okay! I did and I don't know what to say about it, It was a mistake but it happened!" You saw red at his raised voice, his voice accusing like you were the one causing problems, like it was your fault because you didn't forgive him and it made you furious.

"Lower your fucking voice" you growled at him, pinning him with your eyes as you spoke slowly but firmly. "You did fuck up, so bad, to the point were there are no return. I said that, but still you wanted to talk to me and explain. I'm giving you the opportuinty to talk so explain, nicely or leave me the fuck alone"

Another sigh left his mouth as he lowered his gaze again, having the heart to atleast look sheepish. He knew you, he loved you, knew you would never forgive him for this, loved you for that, for having that respect for yourself.

"I just wanna know why, Charles. Why did you cheat? What am I lacking? What needed to change? Was it me? Us? Or are you just an selfish fucking bastard, have you been using me this whole time? Talking me into this. Fuck I should have listened to my gut with Ana"

Charles shook his head quickly, his eyes so big he could be misstaken for an alien. "No, no I haven't used you! I just... I don't know, okay! I can't explain it, you weren't there and my mind didn't work right and it happened. I love you, I really do and I haven't lied-" "Don't fucking say you love me!" you spat at him, standing up, over this conversation since he clearly had nothing of value to say.

"But I do! I really do!" he promsied "Fuck off Charles! If you loved me you wouldn't have treated me like this, you wouldn't have held me in this relationship, built my hopes nor let me make the sacrifices I have done for you, for us! You wouldn't have talked to the media about me like I was worth nothing and you for sure wouldn't have cheated on me, multiply times!" you close to shouted, arms out from your sides in defeat.

"I don't know what you thought to achieve coming here today Charles, talk me into another chance? I don't know, I don't care but this is over" Charles met your glossy eyes, his own glazing over as his head dropped. "I am sorry" he whispered, standing up from the couch and walking towards you. If you had the energy you would move away but you felt drained, drained from all energy and all emotions.

His lips met your temple, forehead resting against the side of your head for a moment before he whispered "I'm sorry" and leaving.

Leaving you and your relationship behind.

yourusename

Liked by maxverstappen1, carmenmundt and 78 893 others

yourusername Life lately 😋

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Y/nstaan You go girl

F1worlds Y/n in her revenge era 😮‍💨

waags Love her sm, she deserves better

carmenmundt Lovee it!

georgerussell63 Y/nnnn

pierregasly 😮‍💨😮‍💨

[mrsarcherofinfamy]

Hi there!! I'm not sure if you are in an angst mood if not totally fine. Please do not feel obligated to do this. ❤️

You and Damian broke up. The two of you still love each other but stubborn people be stubborn. One day after a house show, you are asleep, and Finn calls you begging to come to a bar to get Damian. The archer of infamy keeps asking for you since you used to be the designated driver.

Against your better judgment, you pick D up and take him to your hotel room. The next morning, he wakes up, and the two of you start arguing (maybe about something they often fought about). In the heat of the moment, one of you admits your feelings to the other. The two of you finally calm down and start to work through their problem and get back together.

I hope you like it!! I tried my best!! 😊

●Damian Priest x Reader●

________________________________________

Laying in bed, looking at the picture of me and Damian sitting on his nightstand on his side of the bed, I start tearing up. Me and Damian broke up about two weeks ago because he thought I was cheating on him with JD. Me and JD were discussing the surprise I had planned for Damian. I lay on my side of the bed, looking down at Damian's side of the bed, and wipe my hand across the bed. I pull the blanket up to my face and shove my face into my pillow, tearing up thinking about him. I start to cry myself to sleep.

________________________________________

*about half hour later*

I am laying in bed sleeping when my phone starts ringing really loud. I gasp sitting up real fast and look over at my phone. I grab it seeing Finn's name come up. I sigh, roll my eyes and answer the phone.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"Woah... hello to you too Y/N."

"What do you want Finn? I'm trying to sleep."

"Well you are gonna have to come pick up Damian."

"No."

"Y/N. Please. He keeps asking for you since you were always the designated driver."

"Why can't you drive him?"

"I've been drinking too. But not as much as him."

"Where is Rhea? Or Dom? Or JD?"

"I don't know. Y/N. Seriously. He is only asking for you. Please. You need to come get him. I'm afraid he might fight someone soon."

"Finn. I haven't seen him in over two weeks since we broke up. I really don't wanna come get him."

"Y/N. Please. Cmon. He only wants you to pick him up. Please. Don't make me keep begging you. I'll give you gas money to come get him. Please."

I sigh and roll my eyes at him standing up.

"Fine. Just this one time. And I'll take him to his hotel room and he is staying there."

"We will see how long he stays there since his hotel room is across from yours."

"I'm not coming."

"Y/N. Please!"

"Fine. Send me the address and give me a few to get changed."

I hang up on him and toss my phone on the bed. I grab one of Damian's big sweatshirts that I took from him awhile ago and put on some leggings. I put on my sneakers and my hat on backwards. I grab my keys and my phone and head out of my room. I stop and look at the address Finn sent me. I walk down the hall, down the stairs and out to the parking lot. I get in my car, putting the address in my phone and head off to go pick him up.

_________________________________________

*at the bar*

I park outside the bar against the curb and call Finn. It rings a few times and he doesn't answer. I sigh and roll my eyes. I look over at the door and I see Damian stumbling out of the door with Finn trying to hold him up. I unlock the door and wait for them. Finn opens the door and helps Damian get in the car. I roll my eyes not looking over at them.

"Thank you Y/N!"

"Yeah yeah."

Finn closes the door and I put the car in drive pulling out of the parking lot. Damian puts his hand on the back of my neck and starts lightly scratching. I grip the steering wheel starting to feel tears swelling up in my eyes. He used to always do that when I would drive just to help me focus and be calm. We get back to the hotel and I park the car getting out. I walk over to his side, open the door and help him get out of the car. Damian slings his arm around my neck looking down at me.

"You are........really....beautiful."

I look up at him for a quick second feeling more tears starting to form than start helping him inside of the hotel. We make our way to my hotel room and I unlock the door helping him inside to the bedroom. I sit him down on the bed and go to the kitchen to grab him a water and a little snack like I would always do for him. I walk back into the bedroom seeing him taking his shoes and pants off. I sit the water and snack next to the bed and walk over to my side of the bed. I grab my pillow and blanket and walk out to the living room. I take off my leggings and my hat and put them on the little desk. I keep Damian's sweatshirt on and lay down on the couch getting comfortable covering myself up with my blanket. I lay there feeling tears start streaming down my face trying to fall asleep.

_________________________________________

*the next morning*

I am sitting on the couch watching the TV still lightly crying from last night. I hear the bed start creaking and I quickly wipe the tears off my face. Damian comes around the corner stretching in the door frame. I look over at him real quick than back at the TV. He walks over to the kitchen and opens the fridge door.

"Wait.... where did my food go?"

He looks over at me on the couch and slams the fridge door shut. He walks over to me standing over me.

"What are you doing in my hotel room?"

"Ummm... this is my hotel room."

He looks around the room than looks back at me confused.

"Why am I in your room?"

I gulp and finally look up at him.

"Well.... Finn called me last night."

"Of course he did. You trying to sleep with him too? I wouldnt doubt it since you went for his best friend."

"No.....He called me because you were asking for me to come pick you up. Because I used to be your designated driver. And he was afraid you might fight him or someone else."

"Yeah I'm sure. What did I tell you when we broke up? I told you to never talk to me again! To never help me again! And to stay away from me! What don't you understand!?"

"IM TRYING OKAY?!"

He stands there looking at me with a shocked face. I stand up infront of him looking up at him, my eyes swelling with tears again.

"Fuck my feelings! They are fucked! But one thing that I'll always be sure about is my love for you! It hurts seeing you backstage almost everyday looking all happy! I would NEVER cheat on you with your friends or anyone! I fucking love you and I can't fucking stay away from you! Okay?!"

I sit down and start crying again pulling my knees to my face. Damian sits down next to me on the couch and puts his arm around my body pulling me into him.

"Y/N."

I continue crying into my knees and he pulls me closer starting to rub my back putting his head ontop of mine.

"Shhhh."

I sniffle and look up at him. He starts wiping the tears from my face looking back at me.

"Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for accusing you of messing with my friends. I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I promise I have been faking it about being happy. I'm not happy. Ive been really depressed since we broke up. Finn, Dom and JD have been basically yelling at me for the last two weeks about how I am an idiot and you weren't cheating on me. They said you were actually setting up a surprise for me."

I look up at him some tears running down my face. He starts wiping them away.

"I was planning a surprise party for your birthday. I wanted it to be special."

"You were? Really?"

I look at him seeing his face getting really concerned and upset.

"Yes I was. But now that your birthday has passed, that ain't happening."

"I.....I.....I'm so sorry. I was and still am so scared of losing you."

I look up at him feeling my eyes being very puffy. He looks at me very upset and his eyes starting to tear up.

"I still love you with everything in my heart and soul. I really miss you."

"I miss you too."

He puts his hand under my chin, pushes my head up towards him and kisses me lightly. I lean in kissing him back. We slowly start kissing each other and I run my fingers through his hair. He pulls back looking me in the eyes. I look up at him slightly smiling.

"I love you Y/N."

"I love you too Damian."

[moxfirefly]

"Of course I want them. I want them so much I can barely breathe but I'm not going to force it. If they come to me, it'll be on their terms. Not mine."

For Donnie or Mikey x reader (F) please? Maybe reader is the one saying that line 👀 jealous, fluff or smut scenario, you can choose! Thank you for opening your requests, you always deliver great pieces! ♥️💫

Oh this line hits! And I think Mikey is the guy for it and I think I’ll tweak it a bit if you don’t mind. Thank you for your kind words! Means a lot 🖤

Rated Feels

Mikey wanted to believe that his eyes were deceiving him at most, maybe not working at worst.

Because he really saw some peculiar stares on your behalf.

This whole crush thing was trickier now as an adult. When he was younger, crushing after April had been easy and fleeting.

Now? Some days he couldn’t chase away your scent to safe his life, he couldn’t remember what life before your proximity to him used to be. When had a song sounded better than the ringing of your name, carefully collected consonants and vowels crafted to melt on his tongue.

What had life been before the ache of watching you leave? The insane joy of watching you come home to grace his presence with honeyed bliss?

He felt silly, somewhat dumb, over all hopeless.

This all felt like a curse some days too. Not having the luxury of being topside with you, getting to experience the city night through you.

The wind picked up, cold little pin prick reminders of what he was. Mikey was fond of this roof, maybe because your building was across it, maybe because if he squinted hard enough he could see what your little life in your little apartment was like, and how he could fit into it.

“You plan on sulking all of patrol?” Raph’s deep baritone carried the chilly air as he sat on the ledge.

“I’m not sulking, that’s your job bro.” He was hugging his knees, chasing away the chilly air or maybe because he was truly sulking.

“That broad’s got you bent outta shape, you never got like this with Ape.” Because that had been childish puppy love, and somehow Raph couldn’t see that this ached for real.

It especially ached because there were too many moments where he swore you’d say something first, that you’d cave in and say something about the elephant in the room.

“I like her, she’s—she’s different.” It doesn’t do it justice but he doesn’t want to get mushy with Raph right now, not when his head isn’t cooperating and his heart feels heavy.

“Different alright, wants to hang around with a brat like you, laughs at your shitty jokes, caught her staring at your biceps once.” Raph numbered the facts on each of his fingers, nonchalant but aware of the gas he was pouring.

“Where ya going with this dude? Aside from giving me hope.” And hope was a tragic little word for their kind, something more akin to a light sprinkle of salt on a small wound.

“What I’m saying is, just go after her, tell her the truth. Ya want her, right? She probably wants ya.” Raph popped a toothpick in his mouth, an old habit dying too slowly.

“Of course I want her. I want her so much I can hardly breathe but I’m not going to force it. If she comes to me, it’ll be on her terms. Not mine.” It hurt to say it, it hurt to admit out loud that this was a luxury he couldn’t afford due to what he was.

Raph’s gaze soften, it wasn’t fun seeing his baby brother going through something that had his head spinning this badly. He reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder, an affectionate squeeze of sympathy.

Mikey watched the building, swore he saw the light on your apartment come alive. Flooding the modest little living room, he could picture you tossing your stuff with a huff and a sigh, before settling into the normalcy of your routine. He felt his phone vibrate, pulling it out to see your name on the screen. It was enough to lift the black cloud.

Not enough to chase the storm away in his chest.

“Hey, angel, outta work finally?” He greeted you, that perfectly timed sigh of ‘fuck yes’ not (yes) sending a jolt through him.

“Are you still out on patrol? I got those disgusting heart attack inducing burgers from the bodega you like, wanna come over when your done being a superhero?” You cooed affectionately, he could hear the rustling of the bay.

Raph watched the smile, a smile only you were capable of sculpting out of Mikey.

He hoped, he hoped for a chance.

A chance at you two enjoying this little life.

[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 6

one again i lied and we have probably a couple more parts after this

Morning came, and Steve had never been happy at the fact that his date wasn't lying next to him. He liked to imagine it now though, Eddie lying shirtless in bed, his curls strewn about the pillows. He wondered how far those tattoos went. He woke up around nine, but since Eddie said brunch, he let himself laze about for a bit before rolling out of bed. He had taken the soiled panties off last night, so he was bare from the waist down.

He grabbed a robe and wrapped it around himself, then went to the kitchen to start making something to eat. To his surprise, Eddie started the call. He picked up, smiling as Eddie's face filled the screen.

"Mornin' beautiful."

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"I bet it would've been even better with you in bed", Eddie said.

Steve heard the familiar sound of a toaster popping something out. "And what are you making for brunch?"

"Pop Tarts", Eddie beamed, reaching over to put them on a plate. "And you?"

"Just a Hot Pocket", Steve said, half-honest.

"Aaaand?"

"....And some toast."

"What kind of bread, Steve?"

"...It's homemade milk bread."

"Aha! Culinare Extraordinaire strikes again!"

"Okay, but I made it days ago and it's just down to the nubbin and I thought I might as well go ahead and use it and-"

"The what?", Eddie interrupted.

"What?"

"Did you just call the end of the loaf the 'nubbin'?"

Steve's toast popped out and he began to butter it. "What do you call it?"

"What everyone else does: kiss bread."

"Alright, you gotta explain kiss bread to me", Steve said as he took his plate to the table.

Eddie was already seated with his food and some orange juice. "Because it-well the two ends...you know I don't know why, but that's what it's called. Not a nubbin."

"Well you can be wrong wherever you are. If you want to change my mind, you'll have to hop on a plane and come here."

"Speaking of...", Eddie started.

Steve raised a brow. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

"I think now is good. Last night my higher brain functions were, let's say preoccupied", Eddie smirked.

Steve crossed his legs, wondering how Eddie would feel if he knew he was currently bottomless. If he was here, what would he do? Probably feel him up under the table...God, it would break his and Robin's rule but he'd let Eddie take him right here in this kitchen if his actions were as good as his words last night.

"You still with me, Stevie?"

"Mmm, I'm thinking that I might need to invest in a few more pairs."

"Baby you could get me to commit murder with the right lingerie", Eddie admitted. The 'right' kind being any kind really. The panties had been a much appreciated surprise but anything that showed off his thick, hairy legs and that bulge would have seduced him thoroughly.

"Could I convince you to meet me somewhere? In person?", Steve asked, batting his lashes without meaning to.

"You can put those eyes of yours away, darlin'. I was already thinking of how we could meet. I really wanna see you. And touch you. All of you, not just your dick."

"Me too. So um, we could probably figure out a good, like middle ground?"

Eddie nodded and Steve was already running the numbers for taking a plane across the country and when he'd have a full weekend to do so when Eddie told him that he not only lived in the same state but in literally just the next town over.

"Eddie...are you telling me that you live thirty minutes away?"

"Steve, are you telling me that my town is thirty minutes away from yours?"

"Are you telling me I could've passed by you on the street?"

"There's a lot of telling-not-telling going on here", Eddie laughed.

"Looks like I won't need a plane ticket after all."

"Not unless you're gonna shell out for a crop duster. We could make it real dramatic", Eddie said. "Picture it. You step out of the plane in a suit and fedora. I'll be standing there, the wind blowing my coat as I run into your arms."

"Sounds romantic", Steve sighed.

"Well if it's romance you want, I might have an idea of where to go..."

While Steve and Eddie hashed out the details of their meeting, Robin came in, looking for pleased for just finishing a 'walk of shame'.

"Hey Robs. Good night with your date, I presume?", Steve smiled.

"Is that the infamous Robin?", Eddie asked.

"Is that the infamous Eddie?", Robin asked right back. She went to the coffeemaker to start brewing a pot.

"I'm told I have you to thank for Steve's outfit last night", Eddie smirked.

Robin stuck her tongue out at Steve in an 'I told you so' move. "You can thank me by not going into details."

"She doesn't like details?", Eddie asked Steve.

"Only when they're gross or embarrassing", Steve answered.

"Hmm, so she wouldn't wanna hear how gorgeous you looked while you were-"

"Lalalalalaaaa! I don't hear this!", Robin sang while waiting for the coffee to be done.

"Oh but I looove hearing it. Tell me more, Eddie. How good did I look when I-"

"LA. LA. LA! If you're gonna be gross, you make my coffee! I'm taking a shower!" Robin shouted her demand while covering her ears and rushing out of the kitchen.

"Don't we know how to clear a room?", Eddie grinned.

"Looks like we won't ever be strapped for alone time."

They talked some more and by noon, Steve had a date to Eddie's axe range next weekend. And damn if the week never felt so long. Even though he was getting more Eddie than ever. They still texted at least once a day, called every other day, and even started following each other on their socials. Steve even stalked the account of Bullseye Axe Throwing just to watch the couple of promo videos that had Eddie in them.

The night before their date, they were talking on the phone, too excited to sleep.

"I can't believe I'm actually going to see you tomorrow." Steve was lounging in bed, looking at his date outfit as it hung on his closet door.

"Me neither. I'm still not totally convinced you're not just some dream made up by AI."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or offended. AI images can be downright scary."

"Take it as a compliment", Eddie said. "I get more points when you like me."

"...And you're still okay with Robin coming?", Steve asked for what must be the third time.

Eddie understood her concern. Meeting someone could be risky, no matter how much you talked. And he was the one that invited Steve to a place filled with weapons. It wasn't the most traditional date spot but Eddie had always dreamed of bringing someone there and showing them how romantic axes could be. Maybe Steve was that someone.

"Baby, I don't mind. I already told you. I'd love to meet the person who has intimate knowledge of your underwear drawer."

Steve blushed. He and Eddie hadn't really done anything since their last date, besides a couple of suggestive texts. He was sure that on Saturday night, all Eddie would have to do is shake his hand and he'd crumble.

"You know if you're good, you'll get to see it all first hand", Steve reminded him, his voice low now.

"Oh I can be good. You know I can be good."

Steve knew very well. So well that he'd touched himself to the idea this past week and after saying so to Eddie, Eddie had admitted the same.

"You shoulda called me, baby", he had said. "We could've coordinated our horniness."

Suffice to say, the anticipation for their first in real life meeting was thicker than a souffle pancake. When Saturday morning came, Steve felt like he was going to throw up. What if Eddie saw him and decided he didn't like him? They'd only seen each other through screens and Steve tried to only let his best angles be seen.

What if he didn't like....what if he didn't like his ears? Or his elbows? Or something else Steve had never even though of? What if he said the wrong thing and wasn't interesting enough?

"I can tell you're spiraling", Robin said from the couch where she was eating cereal and watching the news.

"Eddie is-"

"Just a man. A man who would be lucky to have you."

"Lucky to have me. Eddie would be lucky to have me", Steve repeated like a mantra, then sat next to Robin.

"You're a catch."

"I'm a catch."

"With an ass that won't quit."

"My ass has never taken a day off", Steve nodded to himself. "Okay. I'm good. Any cereal left?"

"Only the health stuff."

"Why do we buy that again?"

"So we can live long enough to grow old in the same retirement home", Robin reminded him.

Steve smiled. She really was his forever girl. And tonight she'd be going with him with what could be his romantic soulmate. No pressure? No pressure.

Tag Team (CLOSED)

Next part

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface @fromapayphone @justmeinadaze @hbyrde36 @queenie-ofthe-void @resident-gay-bitch @bestwifehaver @dangdirtydemons @ellietheasexylibrarian @perseus-notjackson @pyrohonk @holysteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @mrsjellymunson @geekymagicalpotato @notaqueenakhaleesi

[wannabepoeticischiya]

It was the only way to have you again. Selfishly, even if it was only for a moment. Those words that never changed, a voice that never aged, you... that never saw another day.

ao3: voicemail pairing: gojo satoru x f! reader genre: angst wc: 1.9k status: one shot

"Hey, you reached the phone of (Y/n)! Please state your business after-- (Y/n)! Hurry!! Yeah! Just a minute! Sorry, you know what to do."

The familiar beep of her voicemail echoed in the middle of the quiet room.

"(Y/n)... How are you? I hope you're fine and yeah... how's Hawaii? You've been eating right? Stay healthy and I--"

"GOJŌ-SENSEI!!" Hasty footsteps thudded in the narrow corridor outside his room, evident noise of pushing and running made its way into his ears, similarly sounding like horses on a tight-matched race.

Gojō put the phone down and easily slipped on his blindfold, putting on his usually cheery attitude.

"HEYYA! DID YOU MISS YOUR EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE SENSEI ALREADY?" He giggled like a highschool girl, throwing his iconic peace signs around.

"What? NO! Gross! Utahime-sensei wanted to see you!" Nobara countered as she struggled with holding back an overly nosy Yuji. "ITADORI! STOP PUSHING!"

"She also said that if you're not down there in five minutes she's gonna release all your embarrassing highschool pictures!" And with that, Nobara slid the door shut on Gojō's flushed face.

He opened the window and jumped.

The wind blowing at his puffy white hair. Nibbling ever so softly at his smooth skin, it ruffled his black uniforms as the breeze whispered melodies into his ear. Gray clouds blotted the early morning sky and cast shadows on his covered orbs, the faint light of the sun being a witness to that small genuine smile that decorated his face.

Yes, a typhoon was coming. And a hop over the window sill didn't really make him look like a cool superhero falling from a fifty-story building and landing perfectly on his two feet, in fact, he was located on the first floor. Which made him look a lot lamer.

Gojō took his sweet time making his way down the field, admiring everything that was surrounding him. Even if he wore hundreds of blindfolds, he would still be able to look at the world clearly. Although a little less colorful than usual but all that mattered was that he could see where he was going.

"SATORU! YOU'RE LATE!" Another reason why he walked a lot slower was just to annoy his old friend.

"Yes. Yes, hehehe... I'm not sorry!" He mock saluted, annoying the scarred female even more.

Although the two of them were previously schoolmates, both of them worked in different schools. Utahime teaches in Kyoto while Gojō stays in Tokyo. Despite the wide age gap between the two shamans, one can easily tell that the two were great friends even if they wouldn't admit it themselves.

"Just hurry up so we can cast the veil!" The shaman was really getting tired of Gojō's antics, it was getting old. "The typhoon is coming in!" She reasoned.

Satoru still had that irritating smile carved on his face. "Alright, alright... just let me make a phone call real quick, yeah?" The man didn't even wait for his comrade's response and immediately dialed someone's phone.

Utahime was left there, annoyed and frankly... losing it. She watched him impatiently as he held the phone beside his ear and tapped his foot repeatedly on the grassy ground.

"Hey, you reached the phone of (Y/n)! Please state your business after--" He cut the line off.

"OKAY! I guess she's busy for now!" Satoru's voice raised an octave higher and the smile he had on his face seemed to falter for a second before carving its way in again, twice as big.

"Satoru--"

"Let's set up that veil, shall we?"

The older woman sighed but got ready to set up the barrier. Utahime knew that something was up with the man, he was acting weird... he's always weird but today he's even weirder. She just didn't want to ask, afraid that she might be prying into something that shouldn't be meddled with and knowing Gojō... it's a very high chance that it's something personal and touchy. The last thing she wants on her plate is an emotionally unstable man-child going on a rampage because his girlfriend broke up with him or something.

Typhoons typically bring in a whole lot of curses. Due to people's fear of heavy rainfall, thunder and lightning... being alone in such a time. It brings out the unspoken emotions and longing that the majority of the population tries to bottle up.

Thunder echoed in the sky, sounding a lot like a bowling ball rolling down a lane, except that the lane was cracked and the bowling alley had no roof and everything was on fire.

Lightning flashed as the last bits of the curtains touched the ground. Don't want unwanted curses running around the campus in the midst of a storm. The last shaman who went off and tried to exorcise curses got hit by lightning and was out for days and he never got his brown hair back. It changed into a color that strongly resembled french fries and made him look like a walking bee. Heck! Even his eyes changed colors! That's why the school made sure to set up these kinds of things, especially now that the vessel of Sukuna resided here.

"I'm gonna go ahead and rest." Satoru yawned and quietly left a confused and slightly concerned Utahime. "See ya!" He yelled before turning the corner and disappearing.

Once she was sure that he was out of sight and earshot, she bolted to the infirmary. Passing by the three first years who looked confused and quite disturbed. "Utahime-sensei! Do you know what's going on with Gojō-sensei?" The three of them matched the speed of the woman as they blindly followed her to where she's heading.

"No, I'm quite perturbed myself. But I know someone who might."

She slid the infirmary door open, the first years lined up behind her like little ducklings following their mother.

"Whatever it is, it's a 'no' Gojō."

"SHOKO!"

Said woman looked up from the piles of paper she was dealing with and locked eyes on the peculiar sight. "What're you guys doing here?" She questioned, obviously sleep deprived.

"Do you know what's going on with Satoru?" The four of them walked into the medical room and sat on the perpendicularly aligned beds. "Gojō-sensei has been acting weird lately... when he walked past us earlier, he didn't greet us like he normally would." Yuji explained, a wondering look reflecting in his eyes. "Yeah, he just kept staring at his phone! Which was turned off by the way."

Shoko pondered on the thought, tapping her index finger on the wooden table. Her tired eyes stared at the bright lightbulb that gave the room luminosity.

"Do you remember someone called (Y/n), Utahime?" The doctor questioned, a reminiscent smile carving its way into her face.

"The curse moon user?" Megumi suggested.

Shoko snapped her fingers, "Yes. The curse moon user."

The tired doctor pulled something from the lowest cabinet, a school picture.

The majority of the people that were in the photograph were the sorcerers and staff that worked for the two schools and some were just very unfamiliar faces.

Nanami was there, situated between a messy-looking female and a smiling boy with black hair.

Utahime-sensei that didn't have a scar and an Ieri-sensei that didn't look sleep-deprived.

A Suguru Geto that wore clothes and that didn't make him look fat and didn't have the mark that made it look as if he got his brains removed and replaced.

And a younger Gojō-sensei that didn't wear anything to cover up his eyes; beside him was an annoyed girl that was super red in the face.

"Gojō sensei looked really whipped for that girl over there." Nobara pointed at the end of the picture where the two shamans were caught and photographed looking like they had their own little world.

"He was." Utahime implied, now remembering why Gojō was looking and acting really weird. "Her name was (Y/n) (L/n)." Every single person in the room could feel the faint scent of uneasiness that clouded the atmosphere.

"Go to bed, kids..." Utahime shooed away the curious students. "The storm is just about to enter Tokyo." The two teachers dismissed the disappointed first years. The children's footsteps slowly faded until the only sound that could be heard was the continuous rainfall outside.

"Does he still... you know..." Shoko held up her hand beside her ear and slightly shook it.

"Yeah..."

• • •

ーI never took pictures nor have I ever recorded any footage of her. Truthfully speaking, I never found the need to. Because I was certain and confident that I was strong enough to protect her and see her the next day. And that mindset became my downfall. I was so self-assured and relaxed that nothing was going to go wrong as long as I am alive, that she would be okay as long as she was near me. But the same person that swore to protect her was the same person that got her killed.

"I got this, stand back!"

The light blue-eyed second year pushed her back. His bloodied hair sticking out in all sorts of directions as his sweat and tears mixed with the blood dripping down from his temple.

"SATORU! ENOUGH!"  A female shaman stood in front of Satoru, looking as beaten and bruised as he was. A deep gash ran from her left shoulder up until the base of her hand. Her right eye was decorated with a clean cut that stretched from the top of her eyebrow to the base of her lower lip.

"(Y/n)..."

The girl's determination was not enough to move the decision of her companion.

"You're literally bleeding, you look horrible and you smell!"  She laughed and pushed him slightly, cringing as the arm that was almost falling off got pushed a little.

"C'mon... hide... before it comes back."  She hinted at the large boulder that stood a few feet away from where they were currently positioned.

"What about you? You look just as beaten up as I am."  He argued, not wanting to leave (Y/n) to fight the battle that they were supposed to fight together.

"I'm fine. I'll be right behind you, I promise."  And she gestured once more to the hiding place that she wanted Satoru to head to.

ーI shouldn't have turned and looked.

Before he knew it...

"Domain Expansion: Blessing of the moon."

... she was gone.

It was as if everything was in slow motion; the blinding light that came from her cursed energy, the bloody waterfall of tears that decorated her incinerating face. And the faint smile that she gave the man she secretly loved.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, you reached the phone of (Y/n)! Please state your business after-- (Y/n)! Hurry!! Yeah! Just a minute! Sorry, you know what to do."

Gojō cringed at the sound of his own voice mixing with her voicemail. The moon shone on his tear-stained face, illuminating the pained expression that painted itself on his face whenever he heard her voice when he was alone. The howls and whispers of the wind silenced the cries that escaped the clutches of his throat as he settled the drained cellphone on his nightstand.

ーI keep paying her telephone bill because it was the only way I could hear her voice again. It was the only way to ease everything that was raging inside me. The only way that I could hold on to the person that I deeply cherish... it was the only thing I have left to remember her.

"Hey, you reached the phone of (Y/n)! Please state your business after--"

Thunder resonated in the sad and lonely room that caged Gojō. He hugged the pillow tightly, hoping and praying that somehow someway, it would magically hug him back. That (Y/n) would pull away from his embrace and smile at him again... but the cold and fluffy comforter said otherwise.

"I miss you... so much."

[hotpinkrathian]

Ahhhh so I have to admit I have been working on something, it's a very big project for me.

It's 30 000 words long as of now, and I estimate to be about 1/2 - 2/3 of the way through the story. I'm super excited about it, however I don't want to get to a point where I'm almost done and don't finish, which is why I am writing it so much.

I want everyone in the kyalin Fandom to be right there with me when it's ready. So I'm going to do my best to finish it before I start posting.

How would I describe it???

A Kyalin mystery slowburn

Here's a snippet from Chapter 3 (spoilers ahead)

“Here,” Tenzin said, passing Lin a notice.

“So secretive,” Kya joked, pretending to lean over.

“It's not that secret,” Tenzin said, “two more came forward getting letters, bringing the total to-”

“Forty-nine.” Lin finished. The names added to the list weren't familiar to her. An Earth Republic mayor, and a fire nation general. “Something tells me there's one more out there,” Lin said.

“You think? An even 50?”

“Stopping at forty-nine would be good thinking on their end,” Kya said, “I mean, it would have everyone worried over the 50th letter, which doesn't exist.” She elaborated.

Lin raised an eyebrow, shrugging it off.

“What are the odds they get out anyway?” Kya asked.

“You mean the dirt?” Lin clarified.

“Yeah. Are the threats… real? Do you think they actually know something, or is it… broad enough to make yo- people think they did something.”

“Well we've bounced around that idea for a while,” Lin said, “but I think the general consensus was that… they were a little too close for comfort.” She looked to Tenzin, whose harrowing eyes reflected the anxieties of her own.

Her own letter bounced around in the back of brain, waiting to be unpacked. She had divulged so much into dealing with the case, and worrying about Suyin, she hadn't put much thought into how she would deal with the information revealed by her letter.

What she would do.

What she would say.

She didn't inherently think she had anything to be ashamed of, but there were plenty others who wouldn't see it that way.

It would be career ending, perhaps enough to chase her out of town in search of a fresh start.

If Suyin was still alive, Zaofu could make for a nice retirement place.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, getting up. She made for the bathroom down the hall, but instead opened the window at the end of the hall.

Delicately, and with precision, even in her wine-induced stupor, she climbed outside, hanging onto the ledge.

She'd done it a thousand times in her teen years. Scaling the air temple had been a right of passage, and a necessity, when she was with Tenzin.

It was second nature to her as she hauled herself to the upper floor.

Luckily, the window wasn't locked and she got back inside with ease.

She walked quietly down the hall, praying she didn't wake the kids. It was as she remembered. Almost nothing had changed, and a strange wave of deja vu overcame her.

It ended when she entered the left door, and not the right.

Kya's room was one she hadn't been in much, especially as she got older. It looked as she had envisioned. It was tasteful and colorful. Lin envied her ability to pick out pictures and tapestries of varied colors, still managing to make them go together.

First she checked the nightstand, which had a lot of interesting things, but nothing she was looking for.

She checked the duffle bag on the chair, nothing but clothes and towels.

She sighed, looking around.

She noticed the bed was lifted slightly off the floor. Tenzin used to keep… stuff under his bed.

Perhaps these airhead all thought alike.

She got on her knees before laying herself gently onto her stomach.

She outstretched an arm under the bed, feeling around until her palm landed on a box.

She pulled it out, and allowed herself to stand up before setting it on the bed and opening it.

The unmistakable waxy green seal.

The inky handwriting on the back with a clear name designation.

The clear indication that it had been open and removed multiple times.

She held it in her hand, her fingers frozen.

Fifty

[deareddie]

sweetest devotion

for @tawaifeddiediaz , inspired by this post. ily

The storm goes on for days. Pounding rain against the windows keeps Buck awake far later than he should be, considering his state. He blinks in the darkness and tries to find the sound therapeutic, but in truth, the incessant noise does nothing more than encourage the headache already festering behind his eyelids. 

His phone chimes with a message on the bedside table. In the brief instant of light it provides, Buck welcomes the distraction. 

Hen: Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Hope Nurse Eddie is taking good care of you :)

Buck laughs quietly and types out a reply. 

pretty sure he passed out on the couch a while ago. mind if I call you?

Hen: Go for it.

The dial tone sounds twice before she picks up, sounding like she's already refraining from scolding him for not taking better care of his health. 

"Hey there," she says. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he deflects, halfheartedly. 

Hen hums. "That would be a fair question if one of us hadn't been hospitalized a few days ago. You're supposed to be resting."

Buck sighs. Touché. 

"What's keeping you up?" she asks, more gently.

"Just...can't sleep. This stupid storm won't let up."

"Ah. Yeah, Karen and I are still hoping the basement won't flood this time. Pretty sure half of everything we owned grew mould last year," Hen jokes. Buck chuckles. After a moment of silence on the line, she prods him again. "Is that...the only thing bothering you?"

Buck hesitates.

It isn't, of course. But he had yet to figure out how to broach the subject in the flurry of activity that had suddenly surrounded him. Medics trying to keep him awake and doctors trying to keep him alive, his sister tearing up and fussing over him the second he opened his eyes, Bobby filling a Tupperware container with homemade soup and sending it with him when he was discharged. Eddie taking a right turn instead of a left on the way home from the hospital with a scoff, because, "You think I'm letting you go home alone?"

Everyone just seemed glad he was okay. Nobody had said much else. Buck hadn't asked. 

But-

"Did you guys think I was dead?"

Hen is quiet for a second, thrown by his sudden frankness. Buck waits, his breath feeling strangely tight in his chest. "I mean, we hoped you weren't, but-" she sighs. "It looked pretty bad, Buck. Worse than the times before."

He hadn't really thought any less, but it shakes him a bit to hear her admit something more than the usual, "You gave us a real scare there, Buckaroo." Maybe because it actually makes it feel real. Makes the ache that lingers settle in deeper. He lays there, in bed in a house that isn't his but welcomes him as if he belongs in it all the same—where his face is in the pictures on the wall and his old t-shirts are in the washing machine and his best friend sleeps lightly in the living room, listening for any signs of pain so that he can help to ease it—and the the feeling becomes a reminder of everything he nearly lost. 

"So then why-" He swallows, pushing away a sudden wave of emotion that he can't quite define. Grief? Anger? "Why would Bobby send Eddie up there after me? Wasn't there a- a better way to-?"

Hen cuts him off with a dry laugh. "No one sent him, Buck," she says. "He was up there before the rest of us could think to move." 

Buck blinks. 

"Well- why didn't anyone stop him? Come up with a better plan? I mean-"

"Do you really think we could've stopped him?" Hen asks.

Buck finds he doesn't actually know the answer. 

In wake of his silence, she rephrases the question. "If the roles were reversed, would anyone have been able to stop you?"

Buck's head begins to spin. Because no, of course not. It wouldn't matter if the whole world was screaming at him to stop—if Eddie was the one hanging from the top of that ladder, Buck would do anything to bring him back down to earth. Just like he's done before. But that's because–

Well, it's because of a feeling that settled itself in his chest long before he was able to give it a name. 

"Buck?" Hen's voice comes through the phone, but it sounds a bit farther away to him now. "You still there?" 

"I-" he starts. Stops. His mind is running in circles and he can't quite catch up. 

More softly, Hen asks, "Didn't you know he'd do the same?" 

And-

"No," he breathes. "I don't think I did."

Yet suddenly it seems like it’s been there, in the photos and the laundry and there in the next room, on that couch, this whole time. In the arguments and the anger and the long, hard conversations, too. The big things and the small—he'd just never looked close enough to see it. 

"Listen Hen, I think I'd better-"

"Yeah, you better.” He hears her smile through the phone. “Goodnight, Buck."

"Goodnight," he says. "And uh- thanks. For the talk."

"Anytime," she says, and hangs up.

On his slow but steady journey from the bedroom down the hallway, he follows the gently flickering light of the television and tries to figure out what, exactly, he plans to say in order to unravel his tangled mess of a brain and present it as something comprehensible. When he finds Eddie, however (not sleeping like he'd thought, but watching one of those made-for-TV romance movies that he's always claimed to hate) the first thing that comes out of his mouth is–

"You're an idiot."

Eddie turns to look at him, wide-eyed and startled and a little bit concerned. "Buck? What are you-?" He stands, blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, and steps halfheartedly into the space between them, as if worried he might have to catch Buck if he spontaneously keels over in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"

"And a hypocrite too," Buck adds, disregarding the question. 

Now, Eddie just looks confused. "Am I?"

"You're supposed to be the sensible one,” he says, pointing his finger in the way that his mother had always told him was bad manners. “You're supposed to stay on the ground and stay safe while I pull the stupid stunts. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked." 

Confusion washes away, replaced by recognition. "Buck-"

"What were you thinking?" There's a distraught edge to his voice, he knows it, and knows Eddie hears it. Still, he makes no effort to hide it. He thinks there might not be much point to that anymore, anyway. 

"Someone had to go and get you." Eddie shrugs, guarded. "I guess I was just the fastest." 

"Eddie."

"Buck." He says, eyebrows raised.

"Why did you do it?"

"What, was I supposed to just leave you hanging up there?"

"Why did you do it, Eddie?" Buck repeats, and a layer of Eddie's expression slips away. 

He shakes his head. "I don't really know what you want me to say." 

"I would do the same for you. You know I'd do the same for you. I've done the same for you, more than once," he rambles, gaze fixed on Eddie's—searching, imploring. "And I know why I do it." He swallows the lump of apprehension in his throat. "It's the same reason every time, Eddie." 

He watches as another layer slips; crack after crack in Eddie's façade. Realization dawns—Buck sees it the moment it happens. Something flutters in his chest as the expression spreads across Eddie's face. 

"So I want to know why you did it," he says. 

Eddie's gaze softens. Carefully, nervously, he offers the truth. 

"Same reason as you, I think." 

He smiles, a slight thing. Buck does too. And for that one, brief moment, before either of them says another word, the storm seems to quiet; the rain slows, ever so slightly, to give them some small amount of reprieve.

It doesn't last, of course. But once Buck breathes out a 'thank god' and finally closes the distance between them, he can't seem to find it in himself to care.

[spacexseven]

Ngl god darling is better than darling with a god ability tbh

Also would nikolai try to kill god darling? And I wonder what dearest sigma would think, he's just so lovely

OH ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW XIAO THING? It's been around for a while and idk if I asked you about it but he's so pretty wth

not sure what xiao thing you're talking about but he's always so pretty i want to squish him

cw: yandere themes, bad end for nikolai :<

even with your years of watching people, you had yet to see someone like nikolai.

despite his claims that his motives were perfectly clear and that you should be able to understand him perfectly, he always seemed, to you, like a puzzle missing its final piece. what was that piece for him? was it the morality he lacked? when you asked him that, though, he told you that he liked to think he was a puzzle with too many pieces—sentience when everyone else lived like puppets, desire greater than any other, and so on. how could you complete an anomalous puzzle, with no real final picture?

"tell me," he once asked, voice uncharacteristically somber, eyes gazing down at his blood-streaked hands, "can a human become a god?"

it occurred to you then that nikolai was only trying to run from something. something that made him human, something he hated. you think back to the times when he told you he wanted to be free, wanted to stop feeling. was that the extra piece he couldn't get rid of?

still, he was kind to you. or at least as kind as he could be, between jovial, teasing comments and moments of unfiltered rage. he called you his friend, but he said that about fyodor too, and a few nights ago he was trying to convince you to kill him.

"can a god die?" at your questioning look, he added, "can you?"

"i'm not sure. i haven't gotten that close yet," you admitted "but i suppose for a god, being forgotten is as close to death as they can get."

"i won't forget you," he smiled, but the gesture was far from reassuring when his eyes glimmered with something bright.

you wondered if you had unintentionally sparked something in him. you even considered the possibility that you'd wake up the next morning to find him with a knife at your throat. if he was determined to kill fyodor to achieve what he thought was pure freedom, who's to say you won't be next? knowing nikolai, it was easier to believe that he was a monster, a creature of pure evil, bloodthirsty, and seeking to haunt. but things were never that simple. there were times when your heart ached for him, wondering why he had to go down this path. and those times, you truly felt useless, wondering if you couldn't do anything even in your position.

now, you wonder, if it was your sympathy that made you weak.

"it's not fair. i won't forget you," nikolai sighs, "even if anyone else will. but you'll live on even if i'm not here and you'll forget me."

you wish to tell him that you won't, but in your current position, bleeding out at a rapid pace from numerous wounds and head spinning, you can barely handle the pain, let alone move your dry lips. you remember that nearby you is fyodor's body, cold and long dead. it was almost cruel how the closest you'd ever felt to being human was when you were dying.

"hey, but you're a god!" he must have thrown his hands up, from your memory of him, but nikolai's voice grows shriller, though you can't tell if it's from excitement or panic, "you'll come back, like that thing you mentioned before? reincarnation! and you have...powers..." you could tell instinctively that he was looking over at fyodor's corpse.

you want to tell him that you aren't sure. you've never been much use, even as a god. you've always liked being a human more. maybe you will come back, but likely not, and you definitely can't save fyodor anymore. you don't think anyone can. but the words escape you as your vision goes black. the only thing accompanying your dying body was a warm hand on your cheek and nikolai's incoherent mumbling.

sigma, admittedly, was your favorite. you saw a little bit of yourself in him and his desire to find his purpose. but most of all, you liked his determination, his unwavering resolve. it was nice to see how he ran the casino so perfectly, and you thought his position complemented him well.

but unlike nikolai who was easy to sling an arm around and drag out or fyodor, who was always ready to listen to any word that came out of your mouth, sigma was a little harder to get to. he was always working, cleaning up after the other two's messes, and keeping his customers happy. always on the go, and it was getting harder and harder to catch him. the only times he seemed to be able to listen to you was when you caught him staring out the balcony at the world below the casino, only accompanied by the moonlight. he was always gentler then, softer, but more solemn. it was during one of those nights that he finally asked you something.

"so, you're really a god?"

you awkwardly shuffle, "yes. i know fyodor is a bit too enthusiastic about it, but i really can't do much anyway. i'm more like...the remnant of what i used to be."

"is this how the world looks like to you?" he asks, looing at the tiny blinking lights below.

"it's...overwhelming. the world is so big and full of life, and i've never felt like i was a part of it. i love being around people more than anything, but i'm always reminded that i'll never be like them."

sigma stiffens up, still not meeting your gaze, "you're looking for it too, right? to feel like you have your own place here..."

and then, for the first time since you met him, he smiles, "at least we have each other." you smile back, not realizing he took it a little too seriously.

despite your differences, you were just like sigma—maybe that was why he liked you so much. sigma knew all his customers by heart, slaving away to memorize each face and the mannerisms behind it, their likes and dislikes, just to design an ideal experience for them here. all he ever had was the sky casino, and he was aware of just how easily it could be taken away from him. because of this, it wasn't anything unusual to see sigma meticulously studying each of his guests, observing them closely, and noting down his thoughts. maybe that's why you never suspected anything when he stared at you for far too long, something other than a sense of duty burning behind his eyes, something unlike his usual concerns dominating his mind. maybe that was why you didn't mind his new interest in you, stepping in to drag you away from nikolai and boldly insisting to fyodor that he needed to talk to you.

if only you had said something then, you wouldn't have to face this situation; sigma on his knees, pleading for you to stay, to not follow fyodor out of the casino again. you might stay away for weeks, he insisted, and it wouldn't be safe. all he had was you, so please, don't leave with him. and looking at the pain in sigma's eyes, you already knew it wouldn't end well if you didn't comply.

[lynnlovesthestars]

The veil, chapter 1.

Astarion x oc (@wisterialynn)

Fluff, little angsty at the end but not too much.

AN: I'm aliveee this is finally chaoter one of the veil, ive been working on it for a while, i wrote it like 4 times before being satisfied with it ngl, but here it is..

for those who missed the intro, you can find it here.

The picture is a render i made in blender of astarion n lynn

The ‘poor vampire in need of a cuddle’ sat with arms wide open, and despite the bite being real, everything was too good to be true? How often do you hear of waking up next to the man of your dreams? And a fictional man at it? NEVER. Lynn was not going to believe it until he’s sure he’s not delusional, and even if it was real, there was still a major problem that needed to be addressed. He couldn’t just close an eye on it, it felt.. wrong.

“You don't know me” He sighed, Astarion was in a game, where his actions were controlled by someone else, him. A game where he was stripped of his free will- do characters in games even understand the concept of free will? But nevertheless, he didn’t know anything about him, the one Astarion fell for.. Was not real, Lynn was different from the game Lynn, so different. Starting from the fact that game-Lynn is tall, muscular, and Lynn was actually barely taller than Astarion, and lean, definitely not jacked like Lynn though. 

As he sat there overthinking he realized how even in his brain this was confusing, so many Lynns, and such a small brain Lynn had.

“I know you enough” Astarion’s demeanor relaxed, his eyes softened as if in understanding of his point, yet still holding that fondness you’d expect from a lover. It made Lynn’s heart soft, so soft he could have almost ignored the problem, if it wasn’t for the guilt that would haunt him for lying to him.

“But what you felt, the person you met.. that Lynn is not me.” He lowered his eyes nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

Astarion leaned forward, his hand cupped Lynn’s cheek and gently guided his head to look up at him, his look expectant. “I know, but I heard you.. your laugh, your rambling, I heard you cry.. and I'm pretty sure I heard you please yourself-.” He grabbed Lynn's hand with his free one to kiss the back of it, nonchalantly ignoring the last bit of his admission.

‘You heard me what?!’ Lynn gasped shocked, yet stopped before he could ask for more details.

“The point is, now I have all the time in the universe to get to know you.” He smiled tenderly- a new habit he had developed just because of Lynn- in those hours when he’d ramble to someone else, or when he’d sit commenting as he went through the story- as he traced the swell of Lynn’s cheek. “I want to experience all that I missed..” He admitted taken over by the need to open his heart to him. “I want to live it all with you, again and I want to get to know you like you know me.” His claw trailed at last, following the ever so soft path traced by the pad of his finger as Astarion kissed his temple. “I want to see your smiles, I want to kiss you so bad I've never felt like this before.. I just want the chance to love you like you and I deserve.” He confessed at last while for a moment, he had almost swore he heard his dead heart pound in his chest.

It was a lot to take in for Lynn, all his life everything was so ordinary, boring even, so this chance to live something unique.. Was too good to be true. He couldn’t help his pessimism from ebbing through. 

“What if I'm not as you expected? What if I'm underwhelming? Life here.. is much more boring.. I am much more boring” He lowered his eyes ashamed. He dreamt to be his for weeks, no months, he’d wake up sobbing and alone wishing to be enough for that kind of love that went above and beyond.

“Maybe I need some boring” Astarion gently brushed the stray tear that cascaded down Lynn’s cheek so quickly he swore it was almost a reflex. “We don’t need to rush this, just like you taught me” He smiled as he kissed the tip of his nose. 

“I mean, I didn’t-” Lynn was cut off before he could say more. “No, no, I remember your voice..” He pointed at him with his head. “..you went on a pretty long monologue on ‘how you wished you could actually remind me that there’s no rush, and how you wished you’d be by my side all the way” He nodded proudly as he paraphrased the words he had heard through the veil. Lynn couldn’t help but chuckle at his memory, the monologue in question still  imprinted in his mind- since he had bored one of his friends about it- as Astarion instead was staring at his lips. “Can I kiss you..?” He whispered as he resisted the urge to just do it, to kiss him. To do it desperately, sloppy, uncalculated.

Lynn didn't know how to put into words his insecurities, what words would properly say ‘people like me don’t often kiss so, i apologize if i barely know what i'm doing’, whatever he could come up with sounded pretty lame. “I haven't kissed in a while” He admitted ashamed, shaking his head. What he didn’t know was that Astarion didn’t care, he barely knew what he was doing himself- in a different universe and with the emotional stability of a log.

“It's okay.. we can fix that” Astarion hummed.

Lrynn's touch was gentle, shaky almost as he cupped Astarion's cheek, his eyes tracing the path from Astarion's nose to his lips as if he had never seen him before, and he finally understood what they meant when in books they mentioned the butterflies. He could feel that sensation rising deep in his stomach as he was so close to him, so close from kissing him.

His thumb swiped his cheek gently as the other arm wrapped around the vampire's middle, they were on their knees, in front of each other, one still completely dressed while the other sat only on his shirt, all over the place.

"You are even more breathtaking up close" Lynn murmured as he leaned forward, brushing his nose with Astarion's, hesitant to close the distance between them.

"I wish I could put into words what I'm feeling right now" Astarion whispered as he took the lead, his lips pressing softly against Lynn’s while his hand cupped his cheek.

It was maddening how they were deprived of the feeling for so long, how their lips chased each other for more.

One single, gentle kiss quickly turned into a lot of small, desperate ones which became gasps for air as they desperately held onto each other.

They barely understood how they ended up laying, Astarion’s clothes mostly discarded as their shirts and undergarments were only left. “You are mine, you understand?” Astarion kissed his neck, his cold tongue trailing to his collarbone as he had to resist the urge to bite down on the supple flesh of his shoulder.

“Y-yes” Lynn whimpered under the vampire’s skilled touch.

“Good, my sweet” Astarion purred as he reluctantly pulled back, pulling the other down with him under the duvet. “Much better” Astarion hummed as he relished the feeling of the head pressed against his chest, and the warm body enveloping him instead of the unnecessarily heavy pieces of armor.

God knows how long they laid there in silence. Lynn could feel it deep in his bones that he was going to wake up any time soon.

“Tell me of this world” Astarion broke the silence of the barely lit room.

“Well vampires don’t exist here, and neither does magic” He thinks out loud. “Wait” A sudden idea floated in his brain.. If vampires don’t exist.. Could it be..?  The idea of being able to treasure this moment forever makes the butterflies in Lynn’s stomach erupt happily.

The human reaches to his nightstand, his phone reading ‘7 am’ as he unlocks the device. His cheeks flush deeply as he has to old back from staring at his lockscreen. 

“What’s that?” Astarion asks, confused as he follows the other movements, curious of the device in his hands. 

“This is a phone, you can talk to people with it, and go on the internet, and take pictures with it” He explains as he quickly looks for his camera app. “See, i want to remember this forever, but i don’t know if it’ll work” He drops the phone on his chest before taking a peak, wanting to find out if it worked right there with Astarion.

“I suppose but whatever it is, it can't hurt to try..”

“You are right “ He smiles as he picks up the phone again and looks at the screen.

“Ah it’s that man again” Astarion scoffs as he takes a better look at the screen where the same face as the lock screen shows up, this time dressed- or rather undressed differently. “Do you have a boyfriend or something?” He grasps at Lynn’s wrist, jealousy bubbling in his stomach at the thought as he goes back to ignore the screen.

“You are an idiot, you know?” Lynn laughs as he realizes what was happening. “Can we focus on what we were doing?” He asks, trying to keep his laughter down.

“Sure” He scoffs. “What are we doing?” He asks as Lynn lifts up his phone again, this time met with the image of that man and Lynn way too close for the vampire’s taste.

“It's called a picture, it's like a painting but taken instantly, and here..” Lynn raises his free hand to point at the screen, where the image mimics his movements perfectly. “You can see the outcome” He smiles, astonished at the image displayed, at the way Astarion’s locks and Lynn’s mixed on the pillow, how slowly Astarion’s eyes widened as he sat up, his nose impossibly close to the screen as the shutter sound echoed in the room before Astarion could understand completely.

“Is that..?” He asked as he tapped on the screen, amazed how the figure in the silly machine would follow him almost instantly. Magic if Lynn didn’t already tell him there was no such thing there.

“Yes love…” Lynn smiled as he gave the vampire all the time he needed.

He was astounded, speechless even as he noticed the way his ears twitched and reddened, his eyes fell on his fangs, so many times he tried to understand how sharp they were, yet nothing compared to how they looked, so polished despite never sharpening them. The fangs that sunk in so many animals, and so many times in the throats of evil creatures since he had met tav.

Then he locked eyes with himself, a shiver ran down his spine. Those were the piercing eyes with which he seduced men and women of all kind all over the gates, those were the eyes kids would be scared of at night, those were the eyes that no one in the gates would ever miss.

It was imperceptible the change in the vampire, yet Lynn couldn’t help but notice how his lips suddenly curled down.

“Star?” He called unsure, what if it was all too much for him? What if he saw something he disliked? What if? It was something  his mind couldn’t stop.

“Sorry, I got mesmerized by the handsome fellow in there” He lied.

[lonelychicago]

seven-ish sentences sunday! 📜🎥

tagged by @prince-buck-diaz @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @panbuckley @wildlife4life <33

here's more from author!buck and actor!eddie au, plus another moodboard bc i cannot stop.

(also, if you wanna be tagged on this fic once i post, interact with this post)

"Can you read for Gabriel in Scene 23, where he's talking to officer Blake Scatorccio?" Chimney says, looking up from his notes. "Buck will read opposite to you." 

"Yeah, okay." Eddie swallows thickly. In the first books, Gabriel and Blake only have a few scenes, but in the second book their relationship grows stronger. 

Some fans even think the author might be building up to a romantic relationship, claiming it's a slow burn. Eddie isn't sure and he hasn't asked Buck, but just the idea of doing this scene with him makes his nerves set on fire. 

He'll be acting out Buck's words, words the man took time and effort and that he created oh so carefully, so masterfully. Eddie will be telling them to him, looking him in the eye and thinking— what exactly? 

"Eddie? Are you ready?" Buck raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Yeah, Ready." 

Buck clears his throat and starts the scene. 

"Gabe? What are you doing here?" 

"I'm dropping all of the evidence I gathered with Pipe in these last few months." He sighs, feeling as defeated as Gabriel does in the scene. "I just— I can't do it anymore." 

Buck frowns at him, just like he pictures Blake would be doing in the book. "What? You're just gonna give up?" 

"I can't keep going like this! Chasing after some psycho, being haunted by my wife's ghost. I—" Eddie runs a hand through his hair and pulls back. "I need to think of my son, okay? I can't keep doing your job for you, Officer Scatorccio." He sneers. He evokes every feeling of grief and frustration he felt when Shannon first left him with no warning, except for a note. He brings up every feeling of insecurity and of not being good enough to the surface, every feeling of rage and fury that's been simmering under the surface for longer than Eddie is willing to admit, and he pours them all into Gabriel's character. 

In the book and in the script, Blake gets impossibly closer to Gabriel, grabbing him by the arm and stopping him from walking away. In real life, Buck remains seated a few feet away from him. 

Eddie tries not to be disappointed. This is an audition after all and Buck is just reading the lines to move Eddie through the scene, that's how it goes. It's just business. 

"My hands are tied and you know it. The whole police department can't go after just one person, Gabe. You know that. We have too many cases and—" 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Chimney. The director held in a rare thrall, the tip of his glasses inserted between his full, dreamy lips, that ankle crossed over the opposite knee, jiggling, jiggling. He looks impressed, Eddie thinks. Maybe. 

"And what?" 

"I think you're close. I think you are stronger and smarter than any one of us— You're extraordinary, Gabriel Alvarez and I am in awe of you every single day. You can't just give up." Buck gazes up at him, a smile gracing his lips, a small and barely there thing that doesn't really match the scene but Eddie can't bring himself to mind. 

"You are too good with words, Officer Scatorccio. But I don't know if I can trust them." Eddie looks down at the script, and then back up at Buck. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"Gabe, I—" And that's the end of the scene. Blake's partner interrupts them, claiming they need to go and Gabriel is left alone at the station. Confused and hopeless. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, telling himself it's over and he gave the scene the best he had. And he thinks he did pretty well— He thinks he did amazing, losing himself in the scene and in Buck's eyes, and hope sizzles under his skin, strong and powerful. 

"That was amazing, Eddie. You really seem to get the character." Chimney smiles at him, forcing him to look away from Buck. "It's really a beautiful thing to see." 

"Thanks." Eddie fidgets with the script. He knows they won't make a decision right then and there, and certainly not in front of him, but something keeps him frozen in place. 

His feet refuse to walk away. 

Hope inside of him moves and weaves through his system like a hurricane, not wanting to leave. 

"You really do understand Gabriel, Eddie." Buck speaks. "That was— Well, I guess Blake Scatorccio said it. Extraordinary." Buck says softly, maybe too soft for what the moment calls. "Thank you." 

Thank God it's dark in the rear of the studio. No one can see the tomato-colored tidal wave surging up Eddie's neck.

"Again, thanks so much for the opportunity." Eddie says, feeling his lips dry up. "I, uh— Yeah. Thanks." He awkwardly waves and turns away, hope trailing behind him like a neon sign showing how much he needs, how much he wants this. He wonders if they can see it. He wonders if they care. 

He thinks Buck might. 

tagging (no pressure): @monsterrae1 @alyxmastershipper @buddierights @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @honestlydarkprincess @bigfootsmom @bucktalias @maygrantgf @messyhairdiaz @ebdaydreamer @bekkachaos @cowboy-buddie @911onabc @shortsighted-owl @the-likesofus @elvensorceress @transbuck @transboybuckley @buckitup @prettyboybuckley @starlingbite

[spiderymiasma]

🕸 Five Times.... || Miguel x f!Spider (2/5)

Summary: Gwen sees how Miguel takes it upon himself to comfort you.

//Five Times They Weren't Alone and One Time They Were.

Words: 2.0k

Tags: Comfort Fic, Overprotectiveness, Slight Angst, Mutual Pining, Eventual Kissing, Pre-relationship, Flirting, Dating, Fluff, Wholesome

A/N: A continuation of my 5 Times Series. Use of "Charlotte Webb" as a placeholder for y/n

|| My AO3 || Part 1 Here

2. Gwen Stacy

One thing was for certain, if you wanted anything from Miguel…

 …..you went to Charlotte first.

Gwen spun around in one of the swivel chairs in the other Spiderwoman's office, kicking her new stolen shoes idly.  “Sooooooo….it’s been a while since I’ve seen Miles, with all the extra work Miguel is making us do." She pouted dramatically.  "Can I pllllease get time off to go visit his dimension?  Just for a couple of days?”

The older Spiderwoman's soften as she looked at the teen fondly.  Unlike Miguel, it seems as though his right hand woman had a soft spot for the younger Spiders. 

“Did you finish all your missions?”

“Yup!”

“Did you file all the paperwork Miguel wanted?”

Gwen internally winced.  Well, if you stretch the definition of words like “paperwork” and “what Miguel wants”, then yes she technically did sort of do it.

“Yup.”  She popped her p.

She chuckled, clearly not buying Gwen’s shenanigans.  “Of course you can go visit Miles-“

Gwen perked up.  She didn’t actually think she’d get a yes, already mentally resigning to the fact she’d have to sneak out right under Miguel's nose.

“-right after you get the green light from Miguel, of course”

Gwen slumped over, defeated, all the bravado completely drained.

Getting Miguel to let Gwen do anything was like getting Charlotte and Miguel to admit their feelings for each other.

Mathematically impossible.

What would Hobie do in her shoes?

Gwen lifted her head, playing with a strand of her hair.  “You know, you shouldn’t let guys like Miguel boss you around like this.  I mean, you’re the Spiderwoman everyone looks up to around here.  Are you really going to let a man tell you what you can and cannot do?”

She blinked.  “Gwen, he's literally both of our bosses.”

The teen huffed, dejected.  “You know, Spiderwoman to Spiderwoman, this whole affair is a real loss to feminism.”

She snorted, done with these childish games.  “Gwen, ask Miguel.”

Well, shit.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Miguel, like always, was not in the mood for Gwen's shenanigans.  “What do you want?  Can’t you see I’m busy?”

"Can I take some time off to go visit Miles?"  Gwen leisurely strolled around the room, touching, poking, and prodding at all the fancy science gear.

She knew that Miguel got antsy (Ha!) whenever anyone but Charlotte touched his stuff, but he didn't even give Gwen the decency to look even mildly annoyed.  "Go ask Charlotte, I'm busy."

She sighed, flopping her hands in front of her dramatically.  "She asked me to ask you."

"Then no." 

"Ughh, Miguel!"

"Go back to Charlotte, and tell her I told you to ask her."  Miguel stated, his words clipped in a very "and that's final" dad voice.  Gwen internally groaned.  It was a long trek back to the other Spider's office.  “It's like a billion miles away, Miguel.  It's crazy that you two don't have your offices next to each other.”

His fingers paused in their work, momentarily distracted.  Miguel toyed with the idea.  How nice would it be to be able to see her beaming smiles, the small crinkle in her eyes, her laughter as she gossiped with Lyla.  He could picture it now: the quiet moments in the dead of the night as they worked in comfortable silence together, her woops and hollers whenever they made a scientific breakthrough in whatever fun project they had together, the blazing passion in her eyes whenever they argued over the most inane subjects.

Miguel chewed on his bottom lip.  It would be nice getting to see her every day by his side, knowing that she was safe next to him.  Miguel could easily spend his whole day just watching her work whether in the office or in the field.

Gwen cleared her throat politely.  Miguel blinked out of his daze, almost forgetting that the annoying teen had even showed up to his office. “She’s distracting-I mean-it’s an distraction for me when other people are here.”

Gwen raised an arced eyebrow.  "Peter and Mayday are here like…all the time."

"Against my will.  Charlotte is the only one to have the manners to respect my privacy."

Gwen scowled.  Adults sucked.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

After begging, pleading, and whining, the other Spiderwoman did eventually fold and allow Gwen a two week vacation to go visit Miles.  Two weeks had come and gone in the blink of an eye.  Though she wished she could have spent more time with her boyfriend friend, she eagerly made a beeline straight to Charlotte's office.  She couldn't wait to gossip with her about her time with Miles.

With a skip in her step, Gwen didn't notice how the door to the older Spider's office was already ajar.  Her good mood made her blind to the muted blues and black watercolors that had painted the air around the entranceway. 

Silently cracking the door open further, Gwen paused in the doorway, not expecting to see the sight in front of her.  The usual joyous yellows and bright colors seeped into the walls of the room had dissipated, now replaced with muted blotched blue.  The other Spiderwoman was crumpled into a ball on the floor.  She could hear the quiet sobs of a woman trying to hide her sorrows in her hands. 

And for some reason, Miguel was here.

It was weird to see Miguel of all people comforting her.  Indeed, the big strong man looked so awkward.  As if he had no idea where to put his hands or what words to say.  His big hulking form was hunched over her protectively, completely shielding her from the rest of the word.  His arms hovered around her form as if terrified over the thought of touching her and yet unable to help himself otherwise.

"I'm sorry Mig, I shouldn't be troubling you with this."  She sniffed, voice thick with sorrow.  "It's just the anniversary of…you know…his death-"

"I know, I know,"  Miguel said phrases in Spanish too quick for Gwen to even understand.  Charlotte let out a rather wet laugh through her sobs.  No doubt, laughing at a joke Miguel told her.

Which…honestly made Gwen's stomach twist into knots.  She shouldn't be here.  It was one thing to see Charlotte like this.  But seeing Miguel so caring and vulnerable was…

….well she shouldn't be here.

Charlotte's eyes were a blotchy red.  God, she probably looked so horrendous to him.  "M-miguel, you shouldn't be here.  You always have so much on your plate.  You shouldn't have to worry yourself dealing with my stupid bullshit."

He clicked his tongue, annoyed at her words.  "Chiquita, no te voy a dejar solo así (I'm not going to leave you alone like this)."

Blessed with a sudden burst of confidence, he smoothed his thumb over her cheek, carefully avoiding pricking her with his talons.  Miguel wiped away her tears so gently it almost seemed like he was a completely different person.  "Mi Cielito (My sky), you're safe.  I'm here.  I won't like anything bad happen to you."

The cordial professional boundaries that they put between the both of them flew out of the window.  She slid forward, burying her face into his shoulder.  She inhaled shakily, trying to stem the flow of tears.  Miguel's presence was so soothing.  His warmth seeped through his skin into hers.

Gingerly, he shuffled on the couch, wrapping his arm around her.

Gwen, now satisfied that her friend (boss?) was well supported, gingerly tip toed out of the entranceway. 

It was about time those two love bugs (Ha) got their act together.  She couldn't wait to tell Pav.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Charlotte didn't know how long they sat on the floor of her office together.  With only the steady rise and fall of Miguel's breathing keeping time, it could have been minutes or hours.  The once blurry dark world sharpened and refocused whenever she was with Miguel.  Blotchy inky blues that had settled in the room slowly faded away.

She sniffed gingerly.  It was too embarrassing to lift her head from Miguel's shoulder to look at him in the eye.  "I'm…I'm sorry.  God this is embarrassing, you're not supposed to see me like this."

For some reason, it stung to hear those words come out of her mouth: "not supposed to see me like this".  Had she been crying like this often?  All smiles and arrogance during the day, have they simply been another mask she wore?  To hide the tears that she had at night? 

Though Miguel couldn't judge her too harshly.  How often would he look at pictures of his daughter just to torture himself with a life that would never be his?

Well, it was time that she stopped moping on the floor.  "Come on, let's get you straightened out." Before she could protest, he leaned over, hooking one of his arms under the crook of her knee.  She gasped, momentarily off balance, throwing her arms around Miguel's thick neck.  He scooped her up in his arms, picking her up bridle style.  Miguel was trying his hardest to not touch her so familiarly that it would border on unprofessionalism.

Because really he would do this for any of the Spiders.  Like..well, certainly not Miles, or Peter but..well..

…well he definitely would…

Her shaking stopped.  The arms around his neck remained in place, selfishly not wanting to let go of him any time soon.  Miguel's chest was so warm against her.  She could feel his rapid heartbeat, a comforting presence against her cheek.  In his arms, she felt safe.

He didn't need to be able to look down at her to sense the rising blush on her face.  "Thank you, Miguel."  Her words were so soft, he could barely hear her.  "I'm sorry to put you in this position.  You're a good friend."

Miguel swallowed thickly.  That's right.  That's what they were: friends.  There was a million reasons why they couldn't be anything more than that. 

Though for the life of him, he couldn't come up with any.

She was so warm against him, a comforting reminder that he was still very much human.  It was like he was in a trance, as he carried her over to the couch.  How many times did he carry his wife to bed, as she sleepily cuddled against him?  How many times did he carry his daughter like this after she had fallen asleep in the middle of playing with her dolls?

"Are you okay?" she asked, snapping him out of his daze.  He could feel the featherlight brush of her lips against his chest as she spoke.

He tried to fight the blush rising on his cheeks.  He had got to stop daydreaming about her around people.  "I should be asking you that."  His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle. 

Gently (and reluctantly), he placed her on the couch in her office.  His eyes softened as he watched tuck her legs close to her chest, curling into a tight ball.

"Thank you.  I'm..better now.  I'm sorry for troubling you.  You don't have to stay with me."

Miguel stopped himself from pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.  If there was anyone in this whole building who knew what it was like to have the painful flashbacks, the nightmares, the dark memories...  He sighed, running his fingers through his wavy brown hair. 

He knew what it was like to sleep in a bed that was too large and too empty.  In a house that once held so much life and joy.  He knew what it was like to be alone.

Gingerly, he sat on the couch next to her.  Her head was so close to his thigh.  He resisted the urge to put her head in his lap.  "Go to sleep, mi corazón.  I'll be here to watch over you."

Her eyelids were heavy.  Crying her eyes out in front of her crush was more exhausting than battling the Vulture.  "Please, Miguel, you don't have to."

"No, I don't." Miguel agreed, his voice firm and steady.  "I want to.  Now go to sleep.  I'll be here when you wake."

Too tired to protest any future, she nodded sleepily.  As she drifted off into unconsciousness, she felt a familiar large palm resting on her head, comforting her even in her dreams. 

Part 1 Here

To Be Continued!