#molly duvet
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muppetsnoopy · 1 year ago
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bro im so dumb fr
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januaryembrs · 7 months ago
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THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]
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Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.
Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)
Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.
authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.
previous chpt | next chapter
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‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,
she say I’m not your punching bag,’
The one where Emily comes back.
She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 
She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 
The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 
Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 
Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 
Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 
“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 
“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”
“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 
“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”
“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 
“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”
“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 
He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 
“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.
“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.
-
“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 
“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 
She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 
He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”
He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 
“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 
He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 
“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 
“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 
Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 
“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”
She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 
He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 
She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 
“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 
“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 
“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”
“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?”��
He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 
“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 
“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 
She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 
“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 
And he believed her with everything in him. 
Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 
It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 
Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 
She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)
She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 
There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 
No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 
Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 
And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 
Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.
And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 
The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 
Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.
The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 
“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 
They had found Doyle. 
She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 
“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 
Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 
“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 
The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 
Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 
Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 
“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 
JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 
“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 
But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 
She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 
She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 
He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 
Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 
“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”
She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 
But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 
It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 
He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 
“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.
She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  
He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 
This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 
“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 
She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 
Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 
“Don’t do this, kid,” 
“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 
“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 
Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 
“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 
She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”
His smile wiped clean off his face at that.
-
“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 
“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.
Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 
Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 
He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 
She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 
“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.
“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”
“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 
Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 
And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 
“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 
No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 
Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 
“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 
“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 
“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 
“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 
He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 
He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 
Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 
Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 
She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 
But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 
She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 
Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 
“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 
That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 
She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 
And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 
“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”
But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 
Bugsy was laughing. 
Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 
Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 
But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 
The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 
“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”
“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 
“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”
“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 
But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 
“Stop, let’s just talk,”
“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.
“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”
Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 
Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 
“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.
“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”
With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.
She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 
She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 
She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.
“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 
“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”
Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.
“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 
“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”
 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”
“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 
 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 
Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 
“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.
“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 
2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.
Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 
She wouldn’t tell her anything. 
It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.
She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 
She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 
In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 
Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 
Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 
Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 
“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 
Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 
But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 
Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.
Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”
She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 
Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 
He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 
He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 
Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 
He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 
“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 
“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”
She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 
They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 
“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 
She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 
She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 
She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 
He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 
Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 
-
The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 
“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”
Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 
When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 
“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 
“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 
“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 
“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 
“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 
“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”
He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 
That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 
“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 
“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 
“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.
“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 
“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”
“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 
They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 
“Is it legal?”
“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”
“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.
“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 
“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”
“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 
“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 
“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 
Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 
“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 
“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 
“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 
“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.
“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 
“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 
“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 
“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 
“Why not?” 
“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 
“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 
She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.
“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”
“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 
“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 
“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 
“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”
David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 
“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”
“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”
“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 
“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 
“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 
“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”
“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 
Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 
“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 
At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 
“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 
It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 
They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 
“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 
He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 
He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 
The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 
Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 
Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 
They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 
She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 
The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 
“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 
He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 
The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 
He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 
The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 
“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 
“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 
At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 
She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 
“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 
He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 
Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 
“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 
And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 
She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 
And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 
He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 
He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.
Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 
It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 
But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 
A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 
She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 
It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 
From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 
Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.
She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 
The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 
Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 
Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 
He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 
They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 
A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 
“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 
He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 
Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 
She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 
Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 
She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 
Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 
“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 
She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 
“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 
And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 
The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 
She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 
It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 
“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 
She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 
Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”
One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”
And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 
Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 
“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 
“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”
What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 
“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”
The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 
“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 
“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”
“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 
“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 
“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 
“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 
Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 
Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 
He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 
“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 
“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.
Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 
“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 
“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”
Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 
“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 
“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 
She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 
“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”
The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 
It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 
“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 
3. The one with the bank explosion
The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 
“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 
“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”
“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 
“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 
“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 
“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 
He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 
“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 
“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 
“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”
“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 
“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 
He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 
“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”
She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 
If Emily hadn’t been there. 
Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 
But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 
“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 
She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”
He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 
She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 
“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”
She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 
He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 
“Oh my god,”
“Penelope?” 
Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 
“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”
Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”
Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 
“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”
“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 
“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”
“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 
“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.
Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 
“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 
He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 
He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 
“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 
“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 
“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 
Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 
“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”
“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 
Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 
“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 
Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 
It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 
“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 
David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 
He sighed, hard. 
“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 
“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 
“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 
“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 
“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 
“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”
“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”
He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 
They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”
“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 
They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 
She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 
“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 
So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 
“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 
“The media's calling them the face cards,��� Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 
“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.
“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 
Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 
“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 
“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 
“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 
“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 
JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 
“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.
“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”
“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 
“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”
Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 
“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 
Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 
The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 
“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”
“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”
“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”
“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 
This was going to be a long day. 
“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 
It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 
Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 
“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”
“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 
“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 
She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 
“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 
Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 
JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  
“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 
“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 
“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”
“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”
“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 
“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”
Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 
The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 
Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 
Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 
“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”
“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”
This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 
Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 
“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”
“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 
She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 
She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 
But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 
She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 
He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 
Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.
Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 
“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”
Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 
“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  
Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 
Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 
“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”
“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 
Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 
Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 
“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”
Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 
“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 
Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.
Maybe they had a chance after all.
Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 
Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 
They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.
Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 
“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 
Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 
“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 
“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 
“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”
“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”
“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”
Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 
Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”
Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 
She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 
Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 
-
“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 
He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.
“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 
“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 
“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 
Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 
The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 
This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 
If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 
Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 
He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.
So what was she doing?” 
Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 
“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”
But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 
But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 
Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 
Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.
The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 
Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 
Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 
And Bugsy went down with it. 
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suugarbabe · 1 year ago
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heyyy could you write a smut where george weasley and the reader are in a secret relationship and he wants you at the burrow and Ron walks in on you doing *it* so the reader and George are now giving Ron offerings to keep him from saying anything but he accidentally blurts it out that they are it a secret relationship at dinner because he and George got into a petty fight over a fork or something. (i know this is a really long request and if you can't do it i totally understand lysmmmmm)
It wasn't supposed to happen that way, people weren't supposed to find out about you and George until, well, you weren't really sure if you guys were ever going to tell people or just let it fizzle out.
But when Ron walked in to Fred and George's room looking for something he was sure they had stolen, what he instead found himself looking at was your bare ass and your head thrown back as you rode George's cock, his hands gripping and massaging your breasts.
You were so close to your orgasm and telling George so, right before you were cut off by a , "Bloody fucking hell." And your eyes snap open and your head turns to see Ron, mouth agape and cheeks flushed redder than his hair before you scramble off George and cover yourself with the duvet.
George is begging Ron not to tell anyone, bribing him with anything, everything he can think of. Ron swears he'll keep it a secret, that he wont tell anyone, and you think you can trust him.
Until you're at dinner, and fucking hell these Weasley boys can't stop pestering each other for one bloody fucking minute, George messing with Ron one way or another until Ron just gets so angry that he shouts it out.
"George and Y/n are dating each other and have been keeping it from all of us."
And the room is silent, everyone looking from you to George. Your face is on fire and you can't stray your eyes from your plate while George is stumbling over an explanation, but failing miserably.
You think Molly and Arthur are about to ask you to leave the burrow, but instead what you hear is, "See Arthur I told you George was smitten on her. A mother always knows. Welcome to the family, dear. You know I love you so much."
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beybaldes · 1 year ago
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trace the outlines of your dreams
summertime sleepover masterlist
dad!roy kent x mum!reader
summary : “Exhausted parents kiss” requested by anon.
an : takes place in the same universe as my fic ‘no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft’ because anon wanted Nell and I did too <3
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“Come on Nell, you can do it. My little superstar.”
It was just you and Nell at home this weekend. Roy was at an away game with the team and Molly had the weekend off so unless she got called in for an emergency surgery, you doubted you’d be seeing any of Phoebe either.
From 10 months old, Nell had started throwing herself about in attempts to move around faster, so she’d picked up walking pretty quickly. But now she was bordering on 15 months old and had yet to get more out then a babble. Since the perfect opportunity to practice had presented itself, you’d spent the entire weekend trying to get her to say ‘Dada.’ She wasn’t taking to it.
“Come on, Nelly. Just one time, okay? Da-da.” Nell ignored you, stuffing as many of her tiny fingers as she could fit into her mouth. Knowing you weren’t going to get it out of her now and that Roy would be home soon, you left her to her toys, getting a head start on making dinner.
The sound of the door closing and a high pitched squeak alerted you to Roy’s arrival. As you walked to the front door, picking Nell up on your way, you greeted Roy with a soft smile. “Hey handsome, we missed you.”
“My two favourite girls.” Roy pressed a kiss to Nell’s forehead as she began to babble at him. “You have a good weekend?”
“Dada.”
The two of you stilled, both turning to Nell as she gave a toothless grin, clapping her hands together. “Dada, dada, dada.”
“The little shit.” That seemed to break Roy out the trance he’d been put into by Nell’s first words. “I’ve been trying to get her to say that all weekend, and the little fucker waits until the moment you walk through the door to say it.” You wrapped one arm around him, pulling you and Nell so that the both of you were pressed against him in a hug. “You were right, she’s a total daddy’s girl. Isn’t that right Nell?”
“Dada.” Apparently ‘dada’ was Nell’s new favourite word; she babbled it all the way through dinner, bath-time and her bedtime story, whispering the word over and over until she knocked out cold in Roy’s arms. Roy, however, had remained pretty much silent from the moment he’d walked through the door.
When he’d finally lay Nell down, and crept slowly out of her room, you practically pounced on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long, proper kiss. As you pulled apart, the both of you let out long sighs, the weight of the weekend spent apart, each filled with hard work, finally catching up to you. “Hmmm, bed?”
“Bed.” Roy confirmed with a grunt, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. Neither of you wasted time getting into your pyjamas and throwing yourself into bed, settling under the duvets and into each others arms.
One of your hands came to cradle Roy’s face, your thumb running over the apple of his cheek. “What’s wrong, handsome? That was the most I’ve heard from you since you got home.”
“She fucking called me Dad.” He whispered, the proudest smile you’d ever seen forming on his first. “I was her first fucking words.” Roy placed his hand on top of your own, running his thumb over the side of pointer finger. “Sometimes it just doesn’t feel real, y’know? All of this.”
“But it is.” You assured, pulling him flush against you so you could press another long and firm kiss to his lips. “And she worships the ground you walk on because you’re such a good dad to her. Of course, you were her first words.”
“I think you forget only one of us carried her for 9 months.”
“Hey, it’s just like you said.” Roy’s eyes were dropping closed, with each stroke of your thumb across his cheek. “She’s a real you girl, just like her mama.”
Roy pressed a sleepy and soft kiss to your jaw, then nuzzled himself against your chest, noticing the way your body shuddered at the scratch of his beard against your skin, trying to aid it by pressing a kiss to the top of your breast. “That she is.”
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raikkonenvettels · 5 months ago
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Huskerdust pleasee !! 😭 (i just realize they would be perfect for this and im obsessed with them rn)
AAA SOMEONE ASKED ABOUT MY BELOVED BABIES!!! thank you so much this was so cool to do!!! (also it reminded me i have to post the simi x huskerdust pics lol)
who hogs the duvet
i think angel does but it doesn’t really matter bc they sleep basically glued to each other anyway so it doesn’t really matter akdksks
who texts/rings to check how their day is going
HUSK HE ALWAYS WORRIES SO MUCH FOR ANGEL!!! he will make angel tell him his schedule and he WILL call after every client/shoot!!!
who's the most creative when it comes to gifts
i think husk??? he is definitely a big big romantic guy so he gets very meaningful gifts (he also gets gifts for fat nuggets bc he knows how important the baby is to angel and he also loves him (he is the parent that stepped up‼️)
who gets up first in the morning
unfortunately angel because he has to go to work :( and well husk is husk if he didn’t have to say goodbye to angel in the morning he would NOT be up at that hour (just cat things)
who suggests new things in bed
i think we all know this akdnsns (sorry angel i love u so much 😭)
who cries at movies
angel ofc (he drapes himself over husk as he cries and sobs so much. husk is annoying amused and fond all at the same time akdnsn)
who gives unprompted massages
husk. after a long day of work angels definitely deserve them <333
who fusses over the other when they're sick
they both do akdjsn
who gets jealous easiest
most people would say husk (and he does get jealous too, ofc) but to me it’s definitely angel, he is scared husk would want someone whom is easier to be with if it makes sense?
who has the most embarrassing taste in music
i am convinced husk listen to jazz unironically. angels makes so much fun of him
in turn, tho, angel listens to old italian music sometimes and that’s when husk gets his revenge skdjsk
who collects something unusual
angel. he collects sex toys <333 (i’m sorry for this one) no but seriously i am somehow convinced husk loves vinyls so i will say that!!!
who takes the longest to get ready
angel ofc 😩 looking perfect takes time!!!
who is the most tidy and organised
none of them but the more organized i think would be angel because i don’t think he likes messes!!! he just doesn’t have time most of the time to actually tidy stuff
who gets most excited about the holidays
angel!!! christmas is acc pretty important to italians bc of family so yes definitely him (and well, he has a brand new found family in the hotel so yeah. also it’s a time to cheris his siblings as well, esp molly bc he misses her a lot)
who is the big spoon/little spoon
husk is the big spoon and angel is the little spoon but husk is also a backpack bc angel is so much taller than him akdnsn
who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports
both i think akxjsj but esp husk (he is a poker player after all)
who starts the most arguments
i’ll go with angel on this one (mostly bc of his insecurities and stuff, he doesn’t mean to :( )
who suggests that they buy a pet
well they already have one thanks to angel so him ahah
what couple traditions they have
they go flying and they forget the world exists for a little
what tv shows they watch together
ANGEL DEFFO MAKES HUSK WATCH HELL-A-NOVELA AKDJNSNS (husk hates it but also finds it so stupid it’s actually funny)
what other couple they hang out with
chaggie and sir pentious and cherry!!!
how they spend time together as a couple
i personally think they spend most of the time they have together either cuddling or going on dates
who made the first move
i think it was deffo husk, and angel didn’t even think he was serious at first lol
who brings flowers home
husk bc angel deserves all the flowers <333
who is the best cook
ANGEL!!! not to be biased but he is italian i know he is the best
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221beloved · 1 year ago
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Look away
John wasn't a man who looked away. He had strong moral principles, a strange sense of right and wrong and fairness. He wanted to help, he did help. He was a doctor and a former soldier, and he barely looked away when he saw misery. In the beginning Sherlock had wondered about that, but later he had just labelled it as 'something John does'. It was a part of John, a part of his behaviour, therefore it was alright. And his principles worked for Sherlock as well. He had helped Sherlock with cases, he had protected him, physically and metaphorically.
But things changed. Sherlock had been away for two years, he came back different, and John was different as well. He had a wife, until she died, and John was different.
Now he had his own life, a daughter to raise, an own job, an own flat. He was different. They were both different. Sometimes John and Rosie would visit Bakerstreet, but Sherlock assumed it was just out of politeness. Sometimes they laughed, but it was different. They weren't the same.
And John was looking away.
Sherlock had once jumped from a rooftop to protect John. He had been on the hunt for two years, had been hunted. And he had come back, for John. At least he had thought so. Sometimes he wished, he hadn't come back. But he did. Come back. And he had watched John getting married, he had watched him build his own life, and he had watched him loosing it again. Loosing it because of him. It would have been better without him. Everything. But he had come back. And although it seemed that John didn't desire his presence, he didn't want Sherlock to disappear again either, in whatever way. He'd made this quite clear at some point or another.
So Sherlock lived his life. Or, he tried to. He survived, this was something, wasn't it? He survived. That he was miserable was something different. He was supposed to live, so he does. Or, he tries, at least.
Molly and Lestrade seemed worried, as did Mrs Hudson. And Mycroft was burdening him with his presence more often than before. They all seemed to have noticed something about him. It was as if they could see in his face that he couldn't eat properly without feeling slightly sick, that he curled in on his side in the early evenings, to try and rest his exhausted body and mind, but that he couldn't get any sleep. That he woke up screaming as soon as he fell asleep, that he shivered and cried under the duvet, that he felt no wish at all to continue breathing.
But when it got that far, he thought about John, and little Watson, and that John wanted him to be near, even though he didn't want Sherlock to be part of his life. Sherlock was still trying to get behind these thoughts, but he was beginning to just accept it, to think of it as 'something John does'.
And while the others, Molly, Lestrade, his landlady and his brother made a fuss, John looked away. He either didn't want to see the difference in Sherlock, or he couldn't.
Some days Sherlock was glad that John was looking away. He didn't know how John would react if he actually saw Sherlock, saw what was left of the man he once shared his life with, what he would do. On other days Sherlock wished that John would just see it, just look him in the eye for a second and catch a glimpse of what was inside of him. Maybe, maybe then he would be allowed to withdraw. To go where nobody could follow. To just end this, all of it.
But John wasn't looking, so he continued to live. Or, to survive. But it was something, wasn't it?
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trashland-llamas · 10 days ago
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Breakfast Club
Pt. 2 to R.A.B.
Regulus startled awake, slightly panicking as he wasn’t back home. He had it timed perfectly. What went wrong? His question was answered by the sight of his brother sitting at the desk. ‘Missed me?’
‘No, where am I anyways?’ Regulus lied. With the presence of his brother, he assumed he was at the Potters’ residence. There'd have to be some big argument, James wouldn't just willingly let him stay. But Regulus was tired of hearing the sounds of raised voices. Of conflict.
‘This isn’t mine, is it? Looks very oversized.’ At the notice of how conflicted and shaken up Regulus was, Sirius dropped the act. ‘You’re at James’. I already talked with him. While he’s not happy—‘
‘I should go.’ Regulus interrupts. Feeling extremely on edge as all he can think about is how their parents will react once they find out that he hadn't spend the night at Malfoy's like he claimed.
‘No one’s out to jump your bones. Now, back to what I was saying, he said it’s fine that you’re here. At least stay for breakfast, please.’ Sirius’ last word more a plea than anything. He really did miss his baby brother. Picking a thread on the duvet, Regulus muttered out a small ‘…okay.’ He was already late, another hour or two wouldn't hurt at this point. Plus Malfoy still owed him a solid after letting him copy his defense essay the week prior.
'Keep it, will eventually grow into. Be glad you've never met my friend Molly, she'd coo and fawn over you.' Trying to play off the fact that Regulus' size worried him. His scrawniness more apparent with how tall he was. That and from Sirius' observations, he could only recall watching Regulus push around the food on his plate during meals in the Great Hall.
Regulus was surprised when he wasn't met with outright hostility from James when they reached the kitchen. James and Sirius had already hashed it out. It took Euphemia Potter stepping in for James to accept the fact that Regulus would be treated as a welcomed guest.
Despite not liking him, James knew the home life that Regulus came from too well from the stories Sirius had drunkenly told them. That Sirius had acted as a protective shield, taking the brunt of the abuse.
There's an awkward air to the room when the two siblings walk in, which is once again broken by Euphemia asking Regulus questions about his courses. Acting as if the teen had always been a part of their breakfast routine. By now, she was used to there being an extra bonus kid or two running around.
Regulus still can't shake the feeling that he has no right to sit at such a table but he swallows it down like bile for Sirius' sake. Eating bite after bite of his food, actually having an appetite for once despite all the stress he's under.
'I'll take you home,' Sirius jumps up when he sees Regulus about to bolt after thanking Euphemia for the food. Grabbing the keys to his muggle motorbike. 'Don't worry, I'll just drop you off a few blocks away so mom and dad don't see me,' Sirius is quick to reassure, handing him the extra helmet. Things are ultimately still rocky but it's a start.
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naefelldaurk · 6 months ago
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Penitence
by Amaruuk
May Prompts 2024 — Do Over
(Also on AO3, here)
He couldn't settle. The wrapping around his ribs was too tight, the pillows at his back inadequately stacked, the duvet out of his reach, leaving him chilled. And that was not to mention the remains of the cake lying heavy in his stomach, an undigested mass, far too rich after weeks of near starvation.
He was miserable. It was pointless lying in bed, in the dark, but it hurt too much to get up unless absolutely necessary—and he couldn't face Lestrade again; dealing with Molly's bright-eyed sweetness had been awkward enough.
The change-over of his minders had taken place at midnight, a few short minutes ago. He could picture Molly's sad face as she updated Lestrade. Sherlock's in his room. I don't think he can sleep, but he wouldn't let me help him. Their muffled, unintelligible voices continued for a few moments. Finally, the door to the sitting room opened and closed, followed by the creak of a single, heavier set of footsteps. They came slowly down the hallway, presumably on the way to the toilet.
Sherlock sighed and then inevitably winced. It had been a mistake leaving the flat to celebrate his birthday, and his not yet fully healed body was holding a grudge. But he had enjoyed it—at first, anyway, before the painkillers had buggered off and exhaustion and discomfort had sloped in to take their place.
Molly had been chipper and bubbly; pure Molly. But John … John had been watchful and assessing, his own expression unreadable. When Molly had asked how he had known that it was Sherlock's birthday, John had recounted, through tight lips, how Irene's message alert had given it away. At this, Sherlock had offered a wry smile. In return, Molly had rolled her eyes and given her head an indulgent shake. But John, his face only slightly relaxed, had nodded once and continued to watch him until it had become clear that Sherlock was beginning to fade. He had bundled Sherlock and Molly into a cab, and his hand had lingered on Sherlock's shoulder before pushing the cab door closed. It was that touch, the warmth of it sinking into Sherlock's chilled skin, that he focused on now.
John had spoken with such fierce intensity about High Wycombe and luck and last chances, about Mary and cheating and who he wanted to be. And then he had wept, and Sherlock had held him … and John—John!—had allowed it. Sherlock's ribs had burned, his lower back had spasmed, and the knot on his jaw had ached where it rested on John's head; but he would have suffered all of that, and more, for hours and hours to have the gift of John Watson standing willingly in his arms.
The squeak of the hinges and the slow swing of the door caused him to startle. He twisted to face the intruder, but the movement inflamed his already angry ribs and he froze, exhaling sharply. Between panting gasps, the pain spiked and his vision gradually cleared, and he discovered that John was supporting him with an arm braced behind his back.
"Only me," he murmured. "Let me sort this; then you can lie back."
"Where's … Grant?"
"Save your breath, Sherlock." John spent a few moments plumping and organizing all of Sherlock's pillows. "Greg was called out," he said, as he guided Sherlock back down. He reached across Sherlock's body to grab the duvet which had puddled around his upper thighs. The swift movement stirred the hair on his exposed belly and groin, which in turn caused all the tiny hairs on his body to stand up. If John noticed, he said nothing, his focus bent on easing the duvet up over his chest and tucking it lightly against his sides. The sudden soft warmth was exquisite, and Sherlock mumbled his thanks. John rested a hand on his arm. "I'm going to make tea. And then we're going to talk."
Sherlock rolled his eyes to follow John's passage out of the room. He had not expected to see him again so soon, especially as there had been time for him to brood over their last encounter at Baker Street. Indeed, he seemed preoccupied, and his terse, And then we're going to talk, did not bode well for a happy conversation. But John was here, and his solicitous manner and casual friendliness soothed Sherlock's doubts.
John returned a few minutes later, leaving the door ajar so that the dim light from the hallway spilled into the dark room. Sherlock gratefully took the offered mug and held it close, hoarding its warmth. "Pajamas?" John pointed towards Sherlock's chest of drawers.
"Middle right." Sherlock blew across his mug and took a sip. The welcome warmth helped to ready him for whatever was to come.
John rummaged for a moment and finally came up with an old, well-worn tee shirt and a loose pair of pajama bottoms. "This do?"
"Yes."
"Let's talk first." After draping the night things over the foot of the mattress, John picked up his tea and hooked one leg over the edge of the bed and sat next to him.
Sherlock took refuge in his tea. "All right."
John's shoulders slumped a little. "Well first, everything I said about High Wycombe and her was utter rubbish—though if that's what you wanted, I'd drive you there myself and wait in the car while you … did whatever you wanted to do."
"I don't want to go to High Wycombe."
Raising a pacifying hand, John said, "No. I get that." He brought the mug to his lips; a clear sign, Sherlock thought, of hesitation. But John gulped his tea, then dragged a huge breath into his lungs, rolled his shoulders back, and exhaled. "All that other stuff, all those other things I said—" He tipped his head, his penetrating gaze demanding Sherlock's attention. "I meant all of that."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "The things you said to Mary?"
A dark grin twisted John's mouth. "Mary wasn't there. It was just you and me."
"You meant for me to hear that."
John shrugged. "I haven't been what you'd call 'stable" these last few weeks. Mary died, and I … kind of lost it."
"It was my fault—"
"It wasn't your fault!" John snapped. "I knew that; of course, I knew that. But I was—" He nodded abruptly. "No more excuses. You're the most important person in my life, Sherlock. That has never changed. But I hurt you, and you let me. And that can never happen again."
"John …"
John shook his head again, a peremptory gesture, signaling Sherlock to be quiet. "Let me get this out. Let me try." His chest swelled on a ragged inhalation, and Sherlock's ribs twinged in sympathy. "I cheated on you, too. You did so much to keep Mary in my life, even though you must have known I was making a mistake. Even after she shot you and you died—you died again, Sherlock! And then, in the morgue, when I— Christ, this is hard."
"You don't need to say any more."
"Not done." He took another drink of tea and collected himself again. "I want to be that man, Sherlock." There was a rasp in his voice. "The man you think I am. And I do want more. I want more with you."
Sherlock stared up at him, wide-eyed. John couldn't possibly mean what he was implying. "Are you saying …?"
"Whatever you're thinking, yes. I love you. I've loved you for years. But I've done nothing but hurt you, and I—"
"John," Sherlock said fiercely, "Do you mean that?"
"With all my heart."
Unthinking, Sherlock turned to set the mug on the table. His ribs seized and he growled in frustration. Through the flash of grinding pain, he was aware of John taking the mug from his hands and then pinning his shoulders to the pillows. "Stop it," John ordered. "Lie still, Sherlock, before you do yourself more damage."
Groaning, Sherlock released his muscles, his body sagging into the pillows.
"Good," John said, his features set. "I'm not actually done."
Sherlock glared up at him.
"Better." John smiled, a small smile, but this time it was a true John Watson smile, shining in his eyes with a hint of pink in his cheeks. But then it wavered. "You see, I left something out."
Sherlock gave his head a tiny shake, demanding with that small motion that he continue.
"Just this." He bent closer, methodically slow, and laid his lips against the corner of Sherlock's damaged eye. "I'm sorry," he breathed. He moved, then, to the stitched cut at his eyebrow. "I'm sorry." Inch by inch, as the duvet was pushed aside, he anointed the wounds that marred Sherlock's body with a brush of his lips and penitent words. When he reached his flank and revealed the widespread bruising that ranged from the lower visible edge of his rib cage to the ridge of his hip, John uttered brokenly, "Oh god, Sherlock, I am sorry. So, so sorry." A terrible sound escaped him, and he lowered his head, the rush of his breath hot against Sherlock's skin.
Sherlock placed his hand on the top of John's head, fingers gliding through short strands of hair. "John, please. Please come up here."
John rolled his head in a short arc, No. He was weeping softly, catching his tears in his palm.
"Please. I'm getting cold."
That got through. John immediately scrubbed the wet from his skin and set to rearranging the duvet so that Sherlock was quickly draped in cozy warmth from collar bone to toes. When he was once more comfortably reclining and no longer at risk of catching a chill, John took a few seconds to gather himself, his posture less hunched, his features more composed. He raised his head, flicking a glance towards him only to look quickly away. The lines on his face had deepened, the circles under his eyes darkened. He said, in a very small voice, "How can you bear to be near me?"
Sherlock held out his hand. John's face threatened to crumple, but he recovered himself and accepted his grasp, their fingers meeting and squeezing tightly together. "You must understand, John," Sherlock said plainly, "it's the alternative that's unbearable."
Whispering his name, John bowed his head over Sherlock's hand and kissed it. "You … you need to rest. I should go—"
"Rosie?"
"She's with a neighbor." He swallowed hard. "But can I stay? In my old room, I mean."
"No."
Some of the color drained from John's face. "Oh."
Gazing up at him fondly, Sherlock explained, "It's Rosie's room now. Your old bed is gone."
"Rosie's room?"
It was Sherlock's turn to glance aside. "I hoped, eventually, that you would …"
"We will," John said firmly. "If you want us."
Sherlock leveled his piercing gaze at him. "Of course I do. Whenever you're ready. But you're not allowed to sleep on the sofa."
The lines in John's forehead began to smooth out. There was a lilt in his voice when he said, "No?"
"You said you want more. Then you will have to sleep here, with me. The sofa is too small for both of us."
John's face broke into a smile, and it was like the sun coming out after a run of dreary days. He kissed Sherlock's hand again. "It won't be easy, you know. Rosie's a handful."
Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow. "As are you. We've never really done 'easy,' John."
"We can start over," John offered. "I can—"
"No." Sherlock tightened his grip, John's hand seeming very small within his. "No do overs." It was important that John understand this, and that he agree. "It's not been all bad, has it?"
A relieved look rushed across John's mobile features. He shook his head and leaned forward to drop a kiss onto Sherlock's forehead. "Best years of my life, Sherlock."
"Then finish what you started," Sherlock demanded gently. When John only looked confused, Sherlock touched his own lower lip. "You missed a spot."
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midnightmoonytales · 2 years ago
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𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕝𝕖 ℙ𝕚𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕪: 𝔽. 𝕎
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Genre: Fluff
Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of insecurity, mild argument, please let me know if I missed anything.
A/n: I tried writing this with my fellow curly-haired girls in mind. Bc yall- when people take time to learn how to properly handle curly hair and play with yours in a way that won't make your hair all wtf, in the end, is my absolute favorite.
White sparkling snow glistened around the burrow, covering every nook and cranny it could touch from last night's storm. Sounds of people's laughter mixed with Christmas Carols rang throughout the walls of the burrow. Three families all bundled up together under one roof, sharing memories, young and old. The dying flames of the fireplace crackle in the background, long forgotten. You could say it's cramped, hosting two more families on top of already having to fit seven people into the burrow. But no one would change a thing. Well... maybe Percy, poor boy forced to bunk with the twins and your younger brother, Teddy. Your fathers, Sirius and Remus bunked with your aunt and uncle, Lily and James. Said, "it reminded them of old times." What really justified how old they are, but we won't tell them that. Bill and Charlie ended up bunking with Harry and Ron, mostly to keep them out of trouble. Meanwhile, Hermione, Ginny, and you all shared Ginny's room.
Not that you stayed in there much, opting to sleep on the couch with Teddy. The fire crackling soon became a natural lullaby to you both. Sweet boy would wake you up frightened, during ungodly hours of the night complaining of nightmares that flooded his dreams. Refusing to sleep anywhere other than with you. It's been like this since he learned to walk. Not that either of your fathers minded, they had scrapbooks filled with pictures of you and Teddy.
Spending Christmas with your parents was rare, the full moon causing your parents to send you off to the Potters until it passed. They were like a second family to you and Teddy. Harry became like a brother to you, always trying to protect you even though you were older. It became a tradition at the Potter's house to make muggle Gingerbread houses during Christmas time, ending the night with a glass of eggnog.
Wanting to make the most of having everyone here this year, you and Harry convinced the others to compete in a gingerbread-making contest. The parents all agreed to be judges as the kids tried their best to win. Key word tried, of course, you and Harry had an advantage after making them due to years of experience. Assisting Molly in the kitchen early this morning to bake pounds of gingerbread for the contest.
With the delicious aroma of gingerbread baking in the oven. Everyone huddled around the living room, making room for one another. Sirius and uncle James telling everyone a story about your old professor Snape. Earning a swift smack against their heads from Lily, since Severus is her best friend. Remus recalled how Sirius got yoinked by the whomping willow because he was too cocky. Harry mutters, Father like daughter, reminding you of the time you ended up in the infirmary when trying to get one of the animals that escaped from Hagrid.
A few more stories were spread around before George spoke up. "My favorite story from when the three of us attended Hogwarts is probably Fred being caught sneaking out of Y/n's room." Groans left both yours and Fred's lips, remembering that eventful morning.
<><><>
The sounds of small pebbles hitting your window awoke you from your sleep. Growing aggravated from being woken up, you through your duvet off of you. The brash cold air stole away whatever sleep you had left in you. Reaching for your wand on the nightstand, "Lumos," muttered from your lips. With the glow of your wand, the sound of pebbles halted to a stop. Approaching your window, you could faintly make out a mop of red hair through the dense fog. It could only be one person, quickly you opened your windows. Before you know it, Fred was mounting off his broom. "What are you doing here!" You quietly shouted, trying your best to not wake anyone in your house. Swiftly closing your window behind him.
"I missed you," He grumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist. You could see the tiredness in his eyes, but it warmed your heart to see he would fly all this way to see you, even if he was tired. Reaching your hand to fix his air-ridden hair, you dragged him to your bed. Wanting to get out of the cold that was surrounding you both. It was rare to get to spend time together lately. Between George and him running the joke shop and you preparing for your NEWTS, your schedules were jam-packed. But you both made it work.
Snuggling into each other, his hand caught your chin. The smell of cinnamon and gunpowder flooded your senses. Rubbing your lip with his thumb, planting a passionate kiss on your lips. Neither one of you is in a rush-rather slow tired kisses being exchanged as you both fall into a sleepy embrace.
The sounds of birds chirping, and streams of bright light wake you up. Groggily rubbing the tiredness out of yours, "Shit," you mumble. Fred was supposed to be gone before the sun was up. Your parents were early birds, which was their normal since you were born. Rushing out of bed, your legs got caught in your duvet, causing you to fall to the floor with a loud...THUMP. Alerting your sleeping boyfriend. Trying to pry yourself as fast as you can, you noticed that your window was slightly cracked. You swore you closed it last night.
"Are you okay?" Fred panicked, quickly making his way off the bed to help you get out of the duvet.
"You have to get out of here, it's morning." You warned him. The color drained from his face. Quickly, he picked up his broom that was in the corner of the room. Looking out your window, the coast was clear. Turning around, you were met with a kiss. "Mm as much as I love kissing you," Pushing him away gently, "you have to get out of here before you get caught." Fred smiled like he had just won the lottery, mounted his broom and flew out the window. He turned around to say bye, a bright smile on his face soon replaced with fear as a big black dog grabbed onto the end of his broom. Bringing him down to the ground. There was only one person that it could be...your papa. Quickly turning around, you were faced with your stone-faced father standing in your doorway...oh no.
<><><>
"You gave the boy a proper fright Padfoot," James wheezed, bent over in his seat. Lily shook her head at her husband's amusement. A few poorly hidden chuckles were admitted from the others. On the other hand, Molly was fuming. She knew her boys were always up to no good, but she usually found out.
"You better thank Godric, Fredrick Weasley, that I'm only learning about this now," Molly exasperated, Arthur rubbing her arms up and down trying to calm her down. Whispering something into her ear, you could see her start to calm down. The bell that Harry brought Molly a few Christmases back, rang, alerting everyone that the gingerbread was done. You and Molly excused yourselves to the kitchen. Grabbing the mittens from the drawer, you pulled the gingerbread from the oven. "So... Y/n dear, do you want to marry my Freddie?" Molly asked, her attitude completely different from the one just a few moments ago. Panicked, you dropped the gingerbread. Luckily enough it fell onto the oven door rather than on the floor. "Sorry dear, I didn't mean to frighten you," She spoke tenderly.
Frighten you, that was a nice way to put it. It's not that you didn't want to marry Fred- Rather, it was a dream you had since you attended Hogwarts, but you didn't think he wanted to marry you. It felt stupid to think that way. You two have been dating for seven years now. Marriage was bound to come eventually. Especially now that you both were older. The two of you were doing well in your careers. You have a lovely home together, midway between your parent's home and the burrow. "I truly do wish to marry him, Molly," you said, separating the correct pieces of gingerbread into their respective plates.
She stopped what she was doing before looking up at you, "but?" She was one person who knew you too well. Doting on you even before you started dating her son.
Laughing under your breath, "but I don't know if he wants to marry me," You finished, turning around to continue separating the gingerbread. Your mind wanders to the possibility of him not wanting to marry you. Molly's hand softly rubbed your shoulder making you aware of the feelings of wetness falling down your cheek.
"Oh dear, that boy is absolutely enamored with you." She said, pulling out a chair and beckoning for you to sit in it. Softly but efficiently pulling your hair tie out, separating part of your hair into sections as she spoke, gently yet diligently detangling knots with her finger. "That boy has been planning on marrying you since he learned you could tell him and George apart." Her voice was laced with amusement.
"He has?" You asked, turning around to face her. Hands gripping the top of the chair. Nodding her head before turning your face forward, she continued to play with your hair. Gently pulling pieces apart to easily braid your hair into a crown. It wasn't perfect, with random little hairs sticking out in certain places, but it was you. You were far from perfect and that's okay. You don't have to be. Your hands smooth over the apples of your cheeks, hoping to hide any possibly noticeable pigment. Her words didn't take all your worry away but did ease the thoughts that plagued your brain.
By the time Molly was done braiding your hair and complementing it with mistletoe, the gingerbread was cooled. Icing prepared the night before. It was time for everyone to pair into teams. Looking for your partner in crime, you realized he was nowhere to be seen. While it was possible to lose him in the sea of redheads, everyone else was accounted for. Mumbling each person's name as you saw them. Realizing that your boyfriend was not amongst them.
Glancing outside through the kitchen window, dark clouds started filling the sky. Another storm in the midst of brewing. Yet, Fred was still nowhere in sight. Scenarios scorched through the inside of your eye lids, panic overtaking any relief that you once had. Where the bloody hell is Fred? Why would he go out now? We’re with family, why would he do this when we are with our families? You rather him do whatever he is doing behind closed doors of your home than sit here embarrassed amongst your families. Not that it makes it any better, because it doesn’t. Rubbing your sweaty palms against your trousers, hoping to wipe away the worry. A firm hand settled against your shoulder, squeezing it ever so slightly. Looking up to see both of your fathers standing behind you, soft smiles placed lazily on their lips. A weak smile spread across your lips, more so worried about wherever Fred disappeared to.
“We’ll be your gingerbread partner's pup,” Sirius said, moving a strand of hair that had managed to escape the braid. Remus hand rubbing circles along your spine, relieving some tension. Parents weren't supposed to team up with the children's since they were supposed to be judges, but since your partner is missing, they couldn’t leave their daughter by herself. Nodding, you quickly got to work planning and setting up. Choosing to make a mini version of the shrieking shack. Both holding memories, good and bad, from your parents and your years at Hogwarts. Rather than using it to change on full moons, George, Fred and you choose it when picking an inconspicuous spot to prepare pranks.
After what seemed to be forever, you all finished. Proud of your work, the shack looked just as wrecked as it was in real life. Windows hanging by a thread and the building tilting ever so slightly. James, Lily, Molly and Arthur all stood together, conversing. Going from one gingerbread to another as everyone stood behind their respectable houses. As the judges chatted amongst themselves, their final decision being Teddy and Charlie who made a wonky dragon on top of a crumbling house. While it probably wasn’t fair, you would do the same thing for Teddy. The smile that appeared on his face made it feel like you won yourself. Faintly, your attention was captured by the sound of the door opening and closing. Snow littered through his hair and shoulders, frantically trying to shake it off. Excusing yourself, you made your way over to Fred.
“Hello Darling, mmm I love the hair style,” he said, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Shrugging off his coat, leaving it to rest on the coat hanger that was probably already too full to hang anything else. “Did you guys already start the gingerbread house?” He said, bummed. Stating earlier that he wished to partake in it.
Annoyed, you sat there for Godric knows how long, waiting for your lover. “You don’t get to be bummed when you leave without us knowing.” The feeling of being embarrassed and humiliated swelled up in your chest. Upset that your parents even saw his absence. You loved working on the gingerbread house with them, but still. “Where the bloody hell were you,” You whispered shouted, trying your best to not alert those around you. Which didn’t work as well as you hoped, everyone around going quiet. Before Molly rushed everyone into the back yard, despite the protest that it was snowing outside.
Caught off guard, “What exactly are you insinuating?” His arms crossed and his brows furrowed. He knew he had to keep what he was doing a secret but couldn’t believe you didn’t trust him. Never once in the past seven years has, he done something to break your trust. Of course, you had fought every now and then, but that's what couples do. However, this conversation in itself was absurd to him.
“I don’t know, Okay,” you said, fidgeting with whatever you could touch. Millions of thoughts were going through your head. “You go missing during the middle of the night for hours at a time.” You rambled on, expressing thoughts that have been inside your head for a while now. Your fingers picking at your bottoms as you expressed your emotions. “I just don’t know what to think, you’ve never done me wrong before, but hours at a time at night is concerning,” You stated, never truly making eye contact with him.
“You want to see where I’ve been off to at night then fine.” He said, taking off his sweater off the rack and pulling it around you. Before taking your scarf off the rack and wrapping it around your neck. His shoulders raised ever so slightly, considerably tensed. Even when he was upset, he still took time to make sure that you were all set. He didn’t have to prove either where he went but if it made you feel better then so be it. Opening the door, he pulled you through piles of snow. “I wasn’t going to do this till tomorrow, but plans changed.” He muttered.
“W-what?” You asked, confused on where he was taking you in the middle of winter. Snow falling continuously, not caring that you were traveling somewhere. After what felt like hours, and a steep hill, you made it to the willow tree you and Fred used to come to when either of you were having a bad time. “What are we doing here Fred?”
“Please be quiet, and let me talk,” he said, cold fingers pressing against your lips. “I was going to wait till tomorrow, but I’m going to do it now.” Digging into his pocket, pulling out a red-velvet case, decorated by painted flowers. “You’ve been my partner in crime for over seven years now. You never once mixed George and I up, even when we tried pulling pranks on you to believe we were the other person. You helped us open our Joke shop, staying up countless nights helping us fix gadgets that were faulty.” He spoke, getting onto one knee, opening the velvet case to show a crystal encased in gold vines that shimmered in the moonlight. “You made me feel like my own person, not just another Weasley people couldn’t name. You taught me how to be vulnerable, and how to be a better man. All those nights I was out, I was planning how to make this as special as I could for you.” Looking around you noticed your favorite flowers in floating pots and fairy lights hanging from the old willow tree. Over to your left, your whole family scattered around, smiling at you. “So, will you do the honors of being my partner in crime for the rest of our lives?”
Tears swelled down your face, all this time you thought he was out doing something sketchy he was really just planning your proposal. Before you could speak, little arms wrapped around your legs tight. “My sister,” Teddy said. Digging his head into your legs. Laughs escaped everyone, as your fathers came to grab him. Planting a small kiss on his head before your parents took him back over to everyone else.
“Yes,” Wiping the almost frozen tears from your face as he slipped the gorgeous ring on. Pulling him into a kiss as soon as he was finished. Happy that your thoughts were wrong in the end. You were getting your happily ever after, the one you always dreamed of.
<><><>
I went full time at work so I could buy a new laptop for school, and I'm absolutely drained. Especially when there only one of me and I'm getting pulled six different ways at once. But on a good note, I'm so glad I finished this.
@ghostofscarley @verygayauthor
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rachi-roo · 5 months ago
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Love this feeling. Got home from the vet, Molly is a happy healthy ferret. I was soaked through from the rain. I'm now in my comfy cozy jammies, slipper socks on, plump duvet, snacks, plenty of TV to watch and nowhere else to be aaaaall day 🥰
Haaaaah. A moment of peace 😌🤌
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Me w my beaker of monster energy xD
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dhr-ao3 · 1 month ago
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The Stowaway Malfoy
The Stowaway Malfoy https://ift.tt/37YPhwB by Rose_tortora16 (TRADUZIONE ESEGUITA SU CONSENSO DELL'AUTRICE) Doveva essere solo una vacanza madre-figlia. Ma Rose Weasley è figlia di sua madre e il suo migliore amico è Scorpius Malfoy. “Dovete venire subito”, sussurrò Hermione. “Credo di essere complice del rapimento del figlio di Draco Malfoy”. o Rose Weasley e Scorpius Malfoy sono in missione per incastrare i loro genitori. Quale momento migliore per intrappolarli insieme se non durante le vacanze di Natale di una settimana che Hermione sta organizzando da tre mesi? Words: 3, Chapters: 1/24, Language: Italiano Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Weasley, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Cormac McLaggen, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Molly Weasley, George Weasley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Theodore Nott/George Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: parent trap, DILF Draco Malfoy, MILF Hermione Granger, Scorpius Malfoy & Rose Weasley Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Christmas Fluff, Single Parent Draco Malfoy, Rose Weasley is her Mother's Daughter, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Romance, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Protective Draco Malfoy, Cinnamon Roll Scorpius Malfoy, Children Know Best, Post-War, Molly Weasley Bashing, Kink Exploration, Divorced Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Inappropriate Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), More Kinks To Be Added, One Bed is Indeed A Character, so are an onion a tutu and scorp being office ready, Duvet From Hell Leads To Hermione Realising Draco is indeed Not Ron, Coffee making is a love language, Holding Hands, Like So Much Holding Hands because Rose and Scorp are the cutest, Rose Weasley is a Hellion, Complicated Relationships, Minor Ron Weasley Bashing, Touch my Child and Die Draco Malfoy, Inappropriate Use of Bookshelves via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/wpZ5HXJ October 24, 2024 at 03:27PM
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crabknight · 7 months ago
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tag, you're it !! shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs. afterward, be sure to inflict the curse (ask game) upon as many favored individuals of your choosing as you see fit!
rahhhhhh I don't know what playlist to pick I have like 4 favorite playlists what to I doooo
I'm just gonna pick my liked playlist I suppose
Crucified - Army of lovers
What Was I Made For - Billie Eilish
Walk The Earth - Europe
Duvet - Bôa
The Villain I Appear To Be - Connor Spiotto, Molly Pease
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dithorba · 7 months ago
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Tagged by @mariyekos to choose a song for every letter of my URL.
D -Duvet by bôa
I - I'm Not Down by The Clash
T - That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed) by Panic! At The Disco
H - How Do U Want It by 2Pac
O - Out of Touch by Daryl Hall & John Oates
R - Rainbow in the Dark by Dio
B - Bizarre Love Trianlge by New Order
A - Anna Molly by Incubus
Tagging the following @dentos-wife @ryvenox @bitchbarrier @simikae @sunshades @nieznasztejosoby @purplespacefairy If you want to.
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musicprincess1990 · 2 years ago
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Chicken Soup
I know I said I was taking a break from writing, but... I'm a goddamn liar. And this is for @mizjoely, because she's not feeling well. Hope you get better soon, friend!
~*~
"I am never ill."
Famous last words of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and arrogant prat. He would be forced to change his tune now, as he was currently laid out in bed, nursing a fever, a sore throat, and sinus congestion. By the tone of his texts—Baker St immediately, followed by a rare and unembellished, Please—one would have though he was dying, or at least seriously injured.
But no. Instead, Molly found him curled into the foetal position atop his duvet, a hot water bottle pressed against his temple and three empty teacups on the bedside table. He presented quite a pathetic picture, and she couldn't quite stop herself from smiling.
"Molly," he grumbled, his voice gravelly and deeper than normal. "I can feel you smiling.
She let a little giggle escape. "Serves you right, Mr. 'I'm Never Ill.'"
"Yes, yes, hilarious—" here he was forced to pause in order to cough several times, "—now, help me."
Molly perched her hands on her hips. "Say please."
One quicksilver eye opened and glared daggers at her. "I already did."
She didn't budge. "Say it again."
He huffed in exasperation, eye falling closed again, and finally said in a pitiful groan, "Please, Molly."
Satisfied, she let her hands fall and softened her smirk into a gentle smile. "Of course, Sherlock," she said softly, taking the hot water bottle, which was more lukewarm by this point. "I'll refill this, and I'll make you some tea, shall I? Maybe get you some paracetamol, if it's still in the same place?"
Another wave of coughing, then he replied, "Same place."
Without another word, Molly set to work. She put the kettle on the stove and rooted around the cupboards until she found a few bags of herbal. He'd likely make a face and some snide remark, but it was much better for a cold than Earl Gray. Then she ran the tap until the water was warm enough, then filled the hot water bottle and carried it back into Sherlock's room. He mumbled incoherently, which she took as the closest thing to a thank-you she would get.
Next, she went into the bathroom and found the paracetamol—expired, but only by a few weeks. It would do for now, but she made a mental note to pop over to the nearest Boots and pick up a new bottle for him. She'd get him something to eat, as well; knowing him, he likely hadn't eaten for days, which only exacerbated the illness. It would do him good to have something, even something small.
The kettle whined, and Molly returned to the kitchen, pouring water into the cup and letting the tea steep. Glancing through the fridge, she was happy to find a fresh lemon (I wonder what experiment that is for...). Adding a bit of lemon and a hint of sugar—she did know him, after all—she took the tea and medicine into his room.
"Up," she instructed, and he reluctantly pulled himself up into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard. Molly handed him the paracetamol first, which he immediately took, then the tea. As expected, his upper lip curled a bit, but he made no comment and sipped the steaming liquid.
"When did you eat last?" she asked.
"Can't remember," he answered before taking another sip.
"Have you got anything in?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were just in my fridge, I think you'd know better than me."
Molly narrowed her eyes, but let the snarky comment pass. "That's a no, then. Think you can manage half an hour without me?"
"I shall do my level best," he deadpanned.
"Says the man who all but begged me to come to his bedside."
"I never beg."
She smiled sweetly. "Just like you never get ill?" He scowled at her, and she let out another giggle. "Alright then, I'm off to Boots, back in a few. Sleep, if you can."
"Yes, Mum."
~*~
Just over half an hour later, Molly made her way back up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, carrying a new bottle of paracetamol and a tin of soup. Chicken noodle soup, to be precise, a favourite remedy of the Hooper household when Molly was a child. She hadn't a clue how Sherlock would react to it, but it was certainly worth a go.
Peeping into Sherlock's room, she saw him fast asleep, breathing slow and steady. Molly paused for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. Even pale and sickly, he was beautiful, like he was cut from marble. But now, with his features relaxed in sleep, there was a vulnerability to him, softening all his sharp edges. He was human, like anybody else. Best not tell him that, she joked privately, then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
While he slept, Molly spent some time tidying up the flat, though she took care not to disturb the flasks and petri dishes in the kitchen. As she did, she got a call from Mrs. Hudson, thanking her for looking in on Sherlock while she was away. She was in the lake district with her sister, due back in a week or so, and Molly wished her a nice holiday and ended the call.
Not long after, she heard Sherlock stirring, and went to put the soup on the stove, along with a fresh kettle. Soon, she took another cuppa and a bowlful of soup in on Mrs. Hudson's usual tea tray.
Sherlock's brows pulled together as she set the tray on the bed beside him. "What's that?"
"Soup," she answered. "And you're going to eat it."
He stared at the soup for several seconds. "How?"
Odd question, she thought. "Well, you take the spoon and—"
"How did you know?"
"I... know what?"
His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. "Never mind. I'll eat it. Bit difficult to do so in bed, though." He stood carefully, sniffling and coughing as he carried the tray back into the kitchen.
Molly watched closely, curious and confused by his reaction. What had he meant? How did she know what? Know to bring him soup? For God's sake, she was a doctor, even if her patients were already dead when she saw them. And he knew that, so that couldn't be it... so what was it?
"Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?"
Her face flamed and she shook herself. "Sorry, just... thinking."
"Always a good thing to do," he said with a hint of a smile.
Molly watched him for another few moments, mustering the nerve to ask him, then finally did so. "What did you mean, Sherlock?"
His hand stopped, holding his spoon in midair, but he didn't look at her. "Nothing," he mumbled.
"Liar."
Now he did look at her, seemingly stunned that she'd called him out, but to his credit, he didn't keep lying. He set down his spoon, eyes following it, and it was several seconds before he spoke again.
"The last time I can remember being ill," he began, "I was six years old. My parents were on holiday, Mycroft was at school, and I was spending the week with my grandparents. I was miserable, thought I was going to die—ridiculous, obviously I wasn't, but to a child who didn't yet know better, it seemed likely." Sherlock took a breath. "I woke in the middle of the night in hysterics, and... my gran brought me a bowl of chicken noodle soup."
Molly smiled. "Your gran sounds lovely."
His ears turned pink. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will... I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be pleasant."
She snorted a laugh. "Mum's the word. So, is that why you reacted like you did? You thought I knew about your gran somehow?"
Sherlock self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck. "It... wasn't my most rational moment."
"Well, you're ill," she pointed out. "No one's mind is ever perfectly clear when they're ill. Not even Sherlock Holmes."
His eyes flew up to meet hers, dancing with humour. "So I'm only human?"
"Afraid so," she said with a smile. "Now, eat up. I don't want a single drop left of that soup."
"Yes, Mum," he quipped again, but did as he was told.
When he was finished, Molly set his emptied bowl in the basin, then refilled his hot water bottle for him as he shuffled back into his room. He was already curled up under the covers when she brought it to him, eyelids beginning to droop.
Without thinking, Molly brushed his curls back from his forehead and pressed her palm against his heated skin, in order to see if his fever had lessened any. Then, realizing what she'd done, she froze, her eyes only slightly wider than his. "I-I'm sorry, I know why I did—"
Molly's words suddenly caught in her throat. She had been about to jerk her hand back and make a hasty retreat, but she'd barely moved an inch before his fingers closed around her wrist. He studied her hand for a moment, then pressed his lips into her palm, sending jolts of electricity up her arm. And when he looked back up at her, she wished more fervently than ever that he wasn't so ill.
"Thank you, Molly," he murmured, his thumb softly grazing her pulse point. "When I'm rid of this blasted cold, I'd like to show you just how grateful I am." His lips ticked up in an impish smirk. "And I promise never to call you Mum again."
Well. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that?
"Just go to sleep, Sherlock," she hedged, and moved to take her hand back, only to have his grip on her tighten. "Sherlock?"
"Stay," he insisted. "Please."
Molly hesitated, partly because she knew the chances of her getting "this blasted cold" were already fairly high, and would be even higher if she stayed. But mostly, she was afraid this show of affection from him was only because he was delirious with fever and exhaustion, and that he'd scorn her once his mind was clearer. It didn't matter, though; clearly, he was determined not to let her leave.
Taking a deep breath, Molly seated herself on the edge of his bed. "I'll stay until you've fallen asleep, but I can't stay all night. I've got a cat at home, and no pyjamas with me. Besides, I don't fancy being ill myself."
He sighed in defeat. "Fine. But you'll be back in the morning?"
"Well, someone has to take care of you," she teased. "Clearly you can't be left to your own devices."
"Hilarious."
"And true," she pointed out. "Where would you be if I hadn't turned up?"
His eyes, half-lidded and drowsy, landed on hers as he whispered, "I'd be lost without you, Molly Hooper."
Oh.
He was serious... completely serious. Hope, the likes of which she had never felt before, swelled within her chest as she watched him finally surrender to sleep. Did he really mean... was it possible that he...? Well... there was only one way to find out. She would ask him in the morning.
That hope lingered as Molly tiptoed out of the room and gathered her things. She was half tempted to stay the night after all, up in John's old room, but decided against it. If she stayed, she would spend the whole night listening for him, waiting anxiously for the conversation they needed to have. No, she needed to leave, for her own sanity as much as her literal health.
She looked in on Sherlock one last time, though, unable to resist lightly running her hand through those curls once more. Sherlock sighed contentedly, but didn't wake.
"Until tomorrow," she whispered, then made her way back home.
~*~
Uh, this was supposed to be silly and fluffy, but it turned into a whole thing... and there's gonna be a part two. I'll post this on Ao3 in the morning (well, the later morning, it's 1:00 AM now), then part two will be up as soon as it's finished.
Yep. I'm a goddamn liar. I can't stop writing to save my life. 😄 Get well soon, MJ!!
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armandposting · 11 months ago
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I'm so fucking done with today like it's FINE everything is fine but also literally right after I finished cleaning and took a shower molly threw up on my duvet. which is FINEEEE I'm skat doing laundry but like. everything stop now thanks
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metanatis194 · 1 year ago
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@markcrobinson-wordsword
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