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multific · 4 years

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Solve a Murder

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: You were desperate. You needed help and so, you turned to the one man in London who would be able to help.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m here to hire you to solve a murder.”

“And who’s murder would that be?”

“Mine.”

“Pardon?” asked Dr. Watson.

“It’s my step-sister. I suspect she and her husband want me dead. You see, I inherited my father’s land when she thought she would be the one to get it. And now, just the way she looks at me. She offers me drinks, way too often, I suspect she is trying to poison me. I fear for my life, and lately I haven’t been feeling well. You need to help me. Find evidence that she is plotting my death so I can go to the police.”

The two men looked at each other.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” you said as you stood up, they made you feel like you were a fool, but then the Doctor spoke up making you look back at him.

“How long have you been suspecting that she is trying to poison you?”

“About a month. My dad died five months ago, I lost my mum when I was little, so he married another woman who gave him my step sister. My step mum died two years ago, or rather disappeared. Dad left everything to me in his will. And my sister was fuming, saying that she was the one to deserve it. Back that I was so sad, I didn’t even realize she said that. During the four months I was grieving, but then I started to notice things.”

“Things like?”

“Her servants bringing me food and tea, which is a nice gesture but...it’s usually after I already ate. And then I started to get sick a lot more often. I’m not one to fall sick easily. The doctor said it was just a cold, but...I know she did something. The look on her face said it all. She looked happy when I was in bed for a week. I tried asking for help, but everyone thinks I’m paranoid.”

“I believe you.” said Watson as he looked back at Sherlock who only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly only the mind of a woman, making up scenarios. Why are you really here? You are wasting my time.” his words were harsh. And they hurt. Just as the nice Doctor turned to scold his friend, you spoke up, tear running down your face.

“I hope Mr. Holmes, that you will visit my grave one day. I just wish to see your face when you realize that you were wrong.” you said as you stormed out of the house.

You felt so silly. And to think that you were extremely nervous when you decided to seek for his help. You didn’t even realize that you left your scarf at the house.

***

You were truly helpless, you didn’t have any friends to talk to, your maids were fired by her, leaving only her trusted ones behind. You were trapped in your own house.

And you didn’t have evidence to go to the police either. Although you looked everywhere in the house for signs. But you were unable to find anything, no bottles, no poison, nothing.

The worst however was that you were gradually falling more ill, day after day.

It felt like you were dying from the inside. So, you called the doctor over.

The doctor said that your illness was due to the loss of your father. The doctor blamed depression, but you knew it wasn’t that. Not with the way your sister was smirking and smiling when she thought you weren’t watching.

One day, you felt so terrible, you couldn’t even get out of the bed.

And from that day on, you didn’t.

You were so ill, the sun hurt your eyes and you felt useless. You just laid in bed, you weren’t even sure for how long.

You had barely any appetite. And you wondered how many days have passed.

***

“Miss Y/L/N, two gentlemen are here to talk to you. They said they brought your scarf back.” one of the maid’s said before they left, leaving the door open to let the two men in. You tried to sit up, look at least presentable, but you were too weak.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you recognized that voice, that calm and kind voice.

“Dr. Watson,” you said smiling at the man, not noticing that Sherlock was also in the room.

“You left your scarf. Don’t get me wrong, My Lady, but you look very ill.” said the doctor as he placed the cloth by your hand. You grabbed it and thanked him.

“The doctor was just here, yesterday I think. Said it’s only depression.” you said letting out a long sigh.

“That’s ridiculous. I saw people looking more heathy on their death bed. May I examine you?” you gave him a weak nod, then you turned to Sherlock who was standing on the other side of your bed.

“Will you take my case now, or in a few days when I’m gone?” you asked looking at Sherlock. His eyes met yours.

***

Dr. Watson determined that you needed immediate care in a hospital. Although your sister argued with him, telling him that you already are in the care of a doctor.

That day, Sherlock took your case. He clearly noticed something which he didn’t’t share at the time.

You were in the hospital for three days, and you already felt better. Every day Dr Watson would come over to talk about the case or ask questions. Although you were sure Sherlock was already close to finding evidence.

***

One day, you were finally better, so you could walk around a little. You were sitting outside, reading a book under a tree when you noticed Mr Holmes making his way over to you.

“It was the food and the water and the tea and the cookies and everything.” said Sherlock as he sat down beside you. “You were poisoned gradually, small portions on everything you ate, and drank. The maid did it, because your sister ordered her to. Both are in custody as we speak for attempted murder.” he said, but even with your suspicions being right, you didn’t feel better.

“Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will pay you as soon as I get out of here.” you said before turning to look up the tree, watching a little bird hop from one branch to the other.

“Hmm.” you didn’t notice the look Sherlock gave you. But he noticed just how much livelier you looked. Your eyes shined, your skin shimmered in the light. You looked a lot better. “So, as I observed, you are not married. Neither am I.” he said.

You had to admit this was the worst possible way someone tried to court you. You looked at him, eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“I’m saying that I find you quite beautiful and I would like to know you better.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it?”

“Don’t get me wrong Mr. Holmes, I appreciate the compliment, it’s just... Your timing, Sir. I am still in hospital because my sister tried to poison me, my brother-in-law is still out there, possibly stealing everything that he can move from my home. And you are...handsome.”

“Then, I will be back with the same proposition in a few weeks. Ms Y/L/N.” he said as he stood up and left.

You laughed a little, thinking that he was joking.

After all, what could a man like him possibly want from you?

***

It had been almost a month since you left the hospital.

You were half right about your brother-in-law. He did steal a couple of items when he left, but luckily they didn’t mean anything to you, so you were just happy that he was gone.

You hired new staff and fired everyone. You were not sure who you could trust.

You also made sure that every food and drink was thrown out or went down the sink. You were not taking any chances.

The fact that you only had 2 members of staff made you do some work you were not used to. You were no brat and you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty, so you helped with the cleaning where you could.

You were working in the kitchen, cleaning the cupboards when a voice behind you made you startled. You nearly fell off the furniture as you were cleaning the very top shelves.

“Miss, Mr. Holmes is here.”

“Thank you, Tina! Let him in, please.”

“He is here, Miss.”

This is when you finally turned around and noticed the man smiling up at you. Tina already left to get back to her duties.

“Nice to see you again, Miss Y/L/N. I must admit, every time we meet I can see a different side of yours. I have never seen a lady on the sink, cleaning the shelves.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” you said slowly climbing down. Sherlock helped you, making sure you won’t fall. “I assume you came for your payment. Give me a moment. I put it in an envelope in the library.”

You said washing your hands before heading into the library. You pulled the drawer of your father’s desk out and pulled the envelope out.

“For your speedy resolution, and for Dr. Watson’s help regarding my health, I added a bit extra. Thank you very much.” you said handing him the payment.

“I actually didn’t come for the payment, Ms. Y/L/N.” he said but you watched as he reached out to take the payment from you and slipped in into his pocket. “I’m here to keep my word. What I said in the hospital, I wish to get to know you better. You seem like a very interesting and smart woman. You realized that your sister was bad, even when everyone, including me, thought that you were delusional. I apologize for that.” you honestly didn’t know what to say. You thought he was a man who wouldn’t see you in a romantic matter. But then again, he just mentioned getting to know you.

“Maybe, you can stay over for lunch? I will cook up something nice.”

“You?”

“Yes, I am yet to hire a new cook, and in the meantime I do the cooking, my old nanny taught me a few recipes.”

“Sounds nice.”

And so, he stayed for lunch, dinner and the next day he came over again and every single day after.

He was charming, and the two of you could speak for hours about everything and anything.

Before you knew it, months, and years passed.

You certainly didn’t think that when you decided to go to Baker Street 221B to ask for help, you would find your future husband.

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m0thisonfire · 2 years

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A Small Hint

Traitor Detective Au

Kickstarting the relationship partnership Prowl and Starscream have in the story

⥥The Au this is about for context

It was quiet. Unusually so.

Today was Monday… The city block Starscream was on should have been alive with the hustle of people and automobiles. Even the trolleys and trains that ran constantly throughout the streets seemed muffled today.

On the usual crosswalk, with his usual demeanor, by the usual coffee shop and alleyway. The only unusual thing was…

'Where is he..?' Starscream took out his phone and checked the time again as he waited for that annoyingly long walk light to change, 'He couldn’t have just disappeared.. This is the third time since Friday he hasn't shown up…'

Starscream liked his routine. Wake up, get a shower, grab his supplies, bag, and hoodie, get coffee, head down to the crosswalk so he could go to the Comics department where he worked, make a few sketches and panels, go home via the same crosswalk. It was a simple routine. One he was grateful to have. Yet there was one thing out of place…

There was another who followed a similar routine to him. A detective. Or Starscream assumed he was one of the detectives. The Detroit Elite Police Station was pretty much right across the street a ways to the right where he was standing, and that's the path the well dressed Manual Built would go.

Everyday until recently, they'd both stood at the crosswalk to go to their respective workplaces. They never really spoke, but one thing to count on is that the other was always there. On certain days they could see eachother on the paths they took to get there, meeting up and standing side by side as they waited. They didn't speak to each other, no. That just wasn't something Manual Built and Military Built did.

But there was an unspoken agreement. Starscream would give him a friendly smile in greeting and the Manual Built would give a slight nod in response. An acknowledgement of their presences. Oddly enough, Starscream had never seen him smile.

He was usually dressed in a nice suit and tie, holding reports and papers, sometimes talking on the phone. Starscream was, unfortunately, naturally curious (curse his built-in seeker habits!) and often couldn't help listening in.

From what he could tell, the Manual Built was an Autobot, part of an elite police force meant to hunt down Decepticon forces that would terrorize city sectors from time to time. He was one of the detectives meant to solve more difficult Decepticon cases and find out who was who in the perpetrations.

From the latest call, on Friday before he seemingly disappeared, the Autobot had been particularly irritated. Another oddity for Starscream considering the 'Bot was probably the most calm put together mech he'd seen. It had sounded like the Manual Built had hit a dead end in one of his cases and was being blamed for it. Starscream was mildly concerned about it, since, obviously, it was a little out of character despite not knowing him well…

Not that he, an old retired 'Con, should care. Starscream sighed, putting his phone away. He really shouldn't. It would probably destroy the little life he had managed to scrape together from the wreckage of his past. Getting swept up in Autobot affairs would only mean trouble and dig up old wounds.

Even after all this time, he still wasn't ready to face the consequences of all his actions. There were a lot of consequences…

And that scared him. He really was a coward…

As Starscream spiralled into one of his mild fits of depression he hadn't noticed the aggravated mech that took his place beside him with an agitated huff.

"...What? No smile today?"

Starscream immediately perked up, recognizing the voice instantly. Glancing down at his usual walking partner, a fanged grin split his face as the dark thoughts were chased away, "Hey! I was wondering where you went!"

He couldn't tell if the mech looked at him because of his visor (an odd unique detail… very few Cybertronians had them from what Starscream could tell) but for the first time, a small smile quirked across his faceplates, "Missed me or something?"

Starscream let out a slightly offended huff, "Actually, yes!" Returning his attention to the still not changed walklight, he grumbled, "Your unexpected disappearance kinda messed up our routine."

The small Manual Built actually looked at him at that, "Our routine?"

He sounded more amused than surprised. Starscream let out another huff as he feigned annoyance, "Yes. It was quite lonely having no one to greet everyday since who knows when."

A thoughtful look crossed the flight-based faceplates as he considered that, "When did you and I first meet? I honestly can't remember… nevermind that," returning to his stern expression, he glared down at the Autobot, "Where on earth did you ever go to?"

Starscream half expected him to say it was classified, but to his surprise the mech sighed exhaustively and brought a servo to his helm, "... I was stationed at another block for the last two days to find clues to this rogue Decepticon that's been weapon dealing."

He sounded so tired explaining, Starscream wondered how many times he had to explain it. He remembered having to constantly repeat himself to be heard and recognized his tone…

"I see," Starscream said slowly, carefully considering his next words as to not upset the 'Bot further, "Is…"

'Wait a click… I could help!' He realized. Even if he was a horrible person in the past, he did have extensive knowledge of the majority of 'Cons that may or may not still be in the old ranks. If he could narrow down the specifics…

"...Is there… perhaps… any certain key features you could spare?"

The Autobot examined him carefully before glaring at the walklight. Still not changing…

'Damn thing must be broken…'

"...All I've found is evidence of multiple mod use. Which should be impossible considering most 'Cons and 'Bots usually have one… Two at the max! And I have no clue who could have that many mods! It's ridiculous!"

'Lockdown! You know who it is, damnit! You already know that story! The medic! Send him to the medic!'

For once, Starscream was grateful that Lockdown was the gloating type when he drank. He had heard the story of Lockdown outsmarting that poor 'Bot so many times in the past he wanted to delete it from his memory core himself. But now…

"Sounds like… Something a medibot could help with…" Starscream quickly followed up when the detective gave him a confused look, "I mean, considering that they can recognize certain mods and their uses! If you can specify the kind of mods they use-"

The mech's visor glinted as he caught on, "Then I have a small chance to be able to track them! Through records or maybe even witnesses! Maybe-"

For the first time, Starscream saw him excited. As he started rambling about what resources he could use though, the flight-based couldn't help but become a little concerned. It sounded like he was more tired than he was letting on…

Yeesh, how much was riding on this case..?

"Hey. Hey!" Starscream tapped his shoulder before giving him a quick shake to get his attention. As a small hum answered him as the mech's visor widened in surprise. Gesturing to the walklight, he pointed out, "I think it's broken."

Looking at the light, a flicker of annoyance glinted in his visor, "Oh, of course it would be today!"

As they both set off electing to ignore the glaring red hand, Starscream couldn't help but feel giddy with the progress he made. As they reached the other side, he gave the Autobot a fond smile, "Starscream."

The Manual Built looked up at him confused, "Uh.. Gazuntite?"

"Ha! Funny, but no. That's my name. Starscream. And yours?"

He hesitated a second before responding with a small smile of his own, "Prowl."

"Prowl. Huh." Not a name Starscream would expect, but it seemed a good name now that he was thinking about it. It fit the small black and gold visored mech somehow.

"Well, Prowl. It's nice to finally know your name. I must bid farewell now, and I wish you luck on the case."

He nodded in response, as he did, and turned to go his usual route to work, now knowing who to ask about the mod revelation.

Starscream beamed after him, certain that now he would be able to find out who the weapon dealer was and would be able to finally relax a little. If a mech of his work caliber was able to rest at all…

With a hum and a shrug, Starscream continued on his way to the Comics shop, glad that things would finally return to a form of normalcy.

Nothing could stem from the case being solved that would affect him.

…Right..?

#Traitor Detective Au #redeemed starscream #prowl x starscream #tfa au #tfa #transformers animated #tfa starscream #tfa prowl #oh man here we go #careful Scream you might develop a crush there-#robots in clothes #humanformers #starscream #prowl #ninjastar

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teawaffles · 3 years

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The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 2

“Hey, madam innkeeper: where would you normally have been in the building?”

“……Since when did you get in charge of the investigation?”

As Sherlock took the lead, it seemed Gregson was displeased, but also no longer in the mood to put up a fight.

Hillary sniffed.

“I was always at the reception desk. I’m the only one managing the inn; I don’t have a single employee.”

“In that case, do you remember when these three men came to book their rooms? Or rather, at the time, had there been anyone with burns on their face?”

Sherlock was now diverting the conversation away from the case, instead attempting to verify if there were eyewitness accounts of the other fugitive. However, Gregson responded in a low voice.

“Holmes: it’s not going to work. We also tried asking her when we arrived at the scene back then, but it seems she has a strange policy of protecting her guests’ privacy, so she doesn’t check her guests’ appearances and such too closely.”

It seemed Hillary had heard him whispering, for she spoke up in defiance.

“You know, these parts are full of people with something to hide. I always make sure they pay up, but I don’t do such tactless things as staring people in the face.”

“Tactful, eh……”

Even Sherlock couldn’t stop himself; he cracked a wry grin. He didn’t know if it was an unwritten rule of the slums, but the innkeeper’s response was certainly a little too risky.

Nevertheless, at this point, there was nothing to be gained from laying blame on her. Sherlock continued.

“In that case, when the fire started, were you also at the reception?”

“That’s right. I wanted to stay there until the fire was contained, but a bunch of bobbies dragged me out at the very last moment.”

It seemed the lady possessed a truly dauntless spirit, so much so she had been willing to go down with her inn. That elicited something close to admiration within Sherlock, and he looked over the suspects.

“You mentioned ‘the very last moment’… That means you stayed at the reception until everyone had escaped?”

“Indeed: as the landlady, I have to ensure my guests are safe. Besides these guys, I definitely saw the ones from rooms 102 and 201 escape out the front door.”

“You’re indeed the epitome of a host.”

In his mind, Sherlock added this new piece of information on the guests’ rooms.

Excluding the murder victim, there had been five guests in total.

On the ground floor, rooms 101 (Jerry Dorff) and 102 had been occupied.

On the first floor, rooms 201 and 203 (Mike Myers).

Then on the second floor, room 301 (Bruno Campbell).

As he gathered the respective locations of the guests, the proprietress spoke up.

“Oh yes — earlier, everyone was talking about who had the chance to go up to the second floor, right? You’ll have to rule out Mr Jerry over there: for some reason, he immediately ran outside when the fire began. He seemed the very picture of alarm.”

“Hmm; this man, panicked?”

As far as he was concerned, people were free to run away in any manner they liked. But the gap between that and the taciturn, mysterious man before them made even Sherlock’s expression soften. It seemed Jerry had been strangely embarrassed by that reaction, deliberately clearing his throat.

Then, the detective turned to Gregson.

“Come to think of it, when you were going back upstairs, did you go past anyone? There must’ve been people rushing to escape.”

“I remember that: I passed by Bruno, Mike, and one other guest on the stairs. But is that important somehow?”

“If the killer had been among them, then he must’ve murdered the victim in the short period between the time you went downstairs to check the situation, and the time you returned to the second floor.”

Gregson groaned. “……Of course, that interval feels way too short. It didn’t even take me 30 seconds to go downstairs and back up again. So, that means……”

The locations of the suspects’ rooms. The escape route. The span of time until the victim had been murdered. Putting together all the clues they’d gathered by questioning the people involved, a single answer surfaced of its own accord.

“——It’s impossible for the killer to have gone upstairs and murdered him.”

Sherlock sounded as if he were pronouncing a judgement. Then, Gregson finally got his head around it — just like what a detective’s assistant would’ve done.

——“In that case, how did he murder the man in the room?”

“T-Then, the man in the room — how was he murdered……?”

Once again, the John in his imagination overlapped with Gregson. In theory, this ‘riddle’ had turned into something impossible to solve, and the assistant inspector was wracked with an anguish akin to agony.

However, that was a tale that only applied to ordinary people.

With his singularly transcendent powers of deduction, the consulting detective had already narrowed down two answers to this case.

Truthfully, right now, he could proceed to the solution right away. But for some reason, he didn’t want to do that. Surely, the reason why he was investigating the truth like this, was because he saw the figure of the man before him strenuously racking his brains.

As Gregson continued to despair, Sherlock Holmes placed a hand on his back.

“Gregson, do you have a moment?”

“……What do you want?”

He looked exhausted — but that was a weariness born from his own sense of responsibility, and even Sherlock refused to take a jibe at him now.

Gregson was shouldering a duty as a police inspector, so the detective resolved to use a little discretion.

“I want to talk to you outside for a bit.”

“…………”

Sherlock had said so in a serious tone, and Gregson didn’t put up a fight.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Once they left the inn, an unnerving oppressiveness made their skin prickle: clearly, the locals’ anger had only intensified. Lestrade was trying his best to negotiate with and conciliate them, but it wouldn’t be long before their frustration boiled over.

Yet, even as they were caught in this race against time, Sherlock remained unhurried. On the streets to which filth clung here and there, he began to speak as if they were simply having a chat.

“First off, from the conversation earlier, we’ve eliminated the possibility that the culprit went to room 303 and killed him. As such, we have to consider a different tack.”

“A different tack?”

“What I mean is, the idea that he didn’t attack from the door — rather, the window.”

Sherlock proposed the theory he’d thought up at the start: that the man had been shot from the window. With this idea, they could break free of the ‘riddle’ created by the locked room — the murderer could kill the victim even without going all the way to the second floor.

However, Gregson shrugged in amazement, and explained in an indifferent tone.

“This might dispute the deduction you’re so proud of, but we did look into that as well. Firstly, for this method to work, there must’ve been two men in total: one to start the fire at the inn, and the other to shoot the victim from outside. But hiring another collaborator to silence an accomplice, or settle a falling-out, brings its own share of danger. In addition, in order to shoot his victim, a gunman would minimally have to be at the same height as him. There’s a brothel across the street from the inn, facing its north wall, and with three floors to boot, it fits the bill. But at the time of the murder, there’d been people on its second floor, and no one testified that they heard a gunshot. Hence, that explanation has to be rejected.”

Unusually, the inspector had discussed his view without a hint of his usual thorny attitude.

But Sherlock was adamant. “If that’s the case, then——”

——“If that’s the case, then how about something like this? Sherlock.”

His partner’s voice resounded through his mind. Now, the detective persisted in playing the role of an assistant, raising another idea to the inspector.

“From the street beside the inn, he could’ve aimed at room 303’s window and shot the victim. With that, he wouldn’t have raised suspicions among the people in the brothel.”

“……That’s rather cliché. There were officers outside the inn, so if there’d been someone with a gun outside, they would’ve arrested him long ago. Moreover, the victim collapsed a step away from the room door. If he’d been shot from the window, he would’ve lain there still. Even if he had then used the last of his strength to crawl all the way to the door, with that level of blood loss, it’d be strange that there hadn’t been a trail of blood leading from the window. As I said earlier, as far as I could tell through the keyhole, I didn’t see any marks like that.”

The inspector calmly refuted his theory, and Sherlock made the same troubled face as John always did.

——Then and there, he eliminated one of his two suppositions, and completely saw through the ‘riddle’ of this case.

“Is that so? Then I’m completely at a loss here.”

“Hmm, what’s gotten into you since earlier? ……You kept making deductions that were quite unlike you.”

Gregson had casually said something that, deep down, revealed a glimpse of his recognition of the detective’s ability. Unwittingly, Sherlock broke into a gentle smile.

But just as quickly, he replaced it with the troubled expression required of the fool he was playing. Sherlock put both hands behind his head, and looked up at the sky.

“Hey, Gregson. Somehow, we’ve been talking over and over and getting nowhere; so for a change of pace, how about a quiz?”

“Huh? You purposely brought me all the way outside, for a quiz?!”

Gregson frowned, but Sherlock continued without a care.

“Let’s say there are two children, A and B, and they’re friends. One day, the two of them play catch at a distance of about 20 steps away from one another. But although A can throw the ball to B, B can’t throw it back to A. Why is that so? In case you were wondering, the two of them have the same strength.”

“……Hmm.”

Gregson forgot about his complaints for a moment, and pondered.

“Did B sprain his shoulder?”

“In a quiz like this, that kind of reasoning’s rubbish, isn’t it?”

“There’s a wall between them.”

“Then A couldn’t have thrown the ball over.”

“……Another kid suddenly appeared and stole the ball.”

“You’re being a little careless, aren’t ya?”

It was unclear what the intention behind this quiz was, and to top it off, Sherlock had rejected every one of his answers. At last, Gregson raised his voice.

“Dammit, just tell me the answer already! Also, what’s the point of a quiz like this?!”

“Come on, now,” Sherlock parried. “I’ll give you a hint: for example, try looking at this building here.”

“Hmm……”

The detective pointed to the inn they had just stepped out of. Coincidentally, just like the one that had burnt down, this building also had three floors.

“What about it?”

“Man, you’re still as slow as ever. Look……”

Sherlock pointed to a window on the upper floors, and moved his finger between that and the window below it a few times.

Watching that action, Gregson seemed to have arrived at the answer himself.

“I see. So the children were standing on the upper and lower floors respectively, and leaning out the windows to throw the ball? Although it could be thrown from the floor above to the one below, it would be difficult to throw the ball back up in the other direction. That’s to say, the distance of 20 steps was not lengthwise, but vertical——”

Right then, as if a bolt of electricity had coursed through him, Gregson twitched. His hand shot to his chin; sinking deep into thought, he remained absolutely motionless, with only his lips piecing fragments together into clues.

“There’s only one way…… To be able to kill without going upstairs…… In that case, the position of the body…… And it ending up as a locked room…… But, such an extraordinary method –– is it even possible?”

At his final question, Sherlock grinned.

“I don’t have the foggiest idea what you just thought of…… But when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” [1]

“………!”

Gregson looked at the detective, standing boldly where he was.

Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

That was what he’d always maintained.

A suicide, or an accident. Pretending to be dead. Entering the room and murdering him. A sniper shot from the window. After carefully pursuing all lines of thought, in the end, only this solution remained.

In that case, it had to be the truth.

Could it be, that he’d started this entire conversation in order to guide him here……?

“……Hmph.”

At that thought, Assistant Inspector Gregson reassumed his usual, haughty attitude: the manner of a police inspector who saw the detective as his enemy.

“Let’s go, Holmes. I’ll tell you what I’ve deduced.”

——This is my case.

As Gregson strode away triumphantly, Sherlock chuckled.

T/N: Sherlock has grown so much..! (my /heart/)

Footnotes:

[1] A quote from Chapter 6 of the Sherlock Holmes novel The Sign of the Four, by Arthur Conan Doyle. (Wikipedia)

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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ginanosakka · 4 years

Text

Passed Down Trauma

Masterlist

The War Has Begun | Next

“Why are you attempting to assassinate Eito L/N?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying, L/N. We found the notes in your home, we found the gun hidden in your car, and all of Japan has seen the video of you slandering your own father. Why did you do it?” Officer Yuikmara slammed his hands on the table in attempts to strike fear in you.

Without faltering, you said with a smile, “I can’t tell you what I didn’t do. . . but I can tell you that you have twenty four hours to let me go before it all gets fully released, Mr. Yuikmara.”

Katsuki and Kirishima stood in the living room of Katsuki’s apartment on what felt like pounds of questions and anxiety. Everything was going smoothly in the operation to protect Y/N and Ryu — now one was missing and the other was in police custody. The tension in the room was thick and despite Eijirou’s tendency to lighten situations, he made no move to ease his friend’s mind. In fact, deep down he wanted Katsuki to suffer for reasons that he knew were selfish and out of line. The unspoken feelings he had for a woman that he shouldn’t want were not hidden, and could not stay silent forever. Especially when that woman’s life was in danger and he couldn’t help but blame Bakugou.

“I’m going to burn that bastard’s house down, and Icy-Hot can put out the damn flames when I’m done.” Katsuki fumed as he paced the floor to try and calm down to think clearly. It was taking everything in him to follow the law and try to take Eito down the legal way, but with every minute he spent working on the case, he realized just how inbedded that man was in hero companies and the police force.

“That won’t get Y/N home, and you know it. What we need to do is wait for her to post bail and find Ryu, she’s probably worried about him.” Eijirou said, trying to find a way to solve all of this and think of what would help Ryu and Y/N.

Katsuki glared at Eiji, “you think you know everything? Y/N wasn’t even phased when we found out he was missing, you idiot!” Katsuki seethed at him.

“I know that Y/N loves her kid more than anything else, so maybe you were too busy being emotional to understand what she was feeling!” Kirishima bit back, not wavering under Katsuki’s harsh gaze.

“You’re just some sad, lovesick moron,” Katsuki taunted. “Why don’t you just admit the reason you don’t believe that she knows where Ryu is, is because you don’t want to believe that she’s hiding things? You think she trusts you so much that she’d tell you more than me? I can guarantee you that, like always, you’ll never be better than me.” Katsuki finished, both of them standing face to face with clenched fists and locked jaws.

The silence was loud like roaring beasts threatening the other to make the first move; two men who fell for the one they couldn’t fully get their arms around. Their friendship was equally as important to both of them, but how could one swallow their feelings for Y/N, simply for the sake of the other? Neither of them thought the other was worthy enough for such a beautiful tragedy you had written in your very bones. There was no personality, no smile, no heart that could compare to you. Even if they fought, the loser wouldn’t dare accept defeat.

A ringing phone broke through the silence, Katsuki’s pocket suddenly vibrating and taking his attention as he pulled it out. An unknown number was displayed across the screen, and in normal circumstances, he would have immediately sent it to voicemail with no hesitation or concern for who was on the other line. Today was anything but a normal circumstance.

“Hello,” he answered in a clipped tone.

“Mr. Bakugou, it’s Nanami. . I have important information I need to discuss with you.”

Rotting in a holding cell wasn’t how you wanted to spend your weekend, but it was better than being dead — you weren’t sure you wouldn’t be dead soon anyway, so you’re savoring just being in jail. You couldn’t even post bail, so you had to sit on the brick like bed and wait for everything to go through. Everything you built was currently being destroyed while you sat here calmly, waiting for the fire that is your father to be put out so you can remove the remains of his hold on your life and be free. . .

. . .Free to do what?

“L/N, you have a visitor, let’s go.” An officer interrupted your peace and opened the door of your cell, and you followed him without a word.

When you entered the small, dimly lit room, a woman sat there with such a crestfallen expression that you could barely recognize her. Her skin that was always flawless with minimal makeup was bare and her color suggested sickness. The gorgeous and bouncy hair that she did her best to maintain everyday was dull and clearly untouched. She looked like a mess, even in her bright flower patterned spring dress.

“Mom?” You said quietly, feeling a twinge of fear towards her when she was in such an unhinged state.

She looked up at you open hearing that word spill from your lips, and her expression brightened ever so slightly. It settled the fear and allowed you to fully fall into worry as you slipped into the chair in front of her — for the first time in years you offered her your hand for comfort. When her cold hand touched yours, you squeezed tightly in hopes of bringing her some warmth even in the cold room.

“I always knew you were secretly a momma’s girl,” were the first words out of her mouth along with an airy laugh. The joke was strange when it came from her, but for her sake you cracked a small smile. “I have a lot to tell you, Y/N.” She said in the softest tone you’d ever heard, grabbing every bit of your attention.

“You don’t have much time, so just say what you have to say.” You urged her, unsure of when you’d be able to speak to her again once she left this room. She had fallen off the Earth after that phone call, and you didn’t want her to leave you with questions.

Your mother began with a deep breath, “I’ve been married to your father for twenty five years. I did it for the money, never once thinking or caring about what he did and how he acted. . . until you were gone. I realized that he was. . different from other people. One day he was kind and compassionate, the next he was ruthless and cold, like a ticking time bomb that kept going off and shortening the time until it’s next reaction. It was easy to ignore at first, I just left him alone as I always did and made sure our interactions were kept completely secret. . Then he saw you on the news with that Bakugou boy-“

“You have five minuets left,” a man called on a speaker into the roo and you gestured for her to get to the point.

“What I’m trying to say is that there’s something wrong with him, Y/N. If you take him down by just destroying all his business and credibility I’m scared he’ll do something drastic that will hurt a lot of people.” Your mother said shakily, and the fear in her face was chilling you to the core, along with the fact that if you looked back you could tell that she was right.

‘What do I know about my grandparents on his side? I’ve never seen a baby picture from him, or even any picture of when he was young! What happened to him that drove him to become the controlling business man that would step on anyone in his way?’ You thought at a rapid speed, finding too many similarities between your reaction to trauma with how he always had acted. If not then more extreme.

“What am I supposed to do?” You whispered, your eyes falling to the cold metal table between you two.

“You have to talk to him,”’ your mother said. “I know you have a way of getting out of here, and when you do, go straight to him and tell no one. . You are his biggest failure in his eyes, and I know you’re the only one who can get through to him.” She squeezed your hand this time, assuring you that what she was saying was true.

“And what about you?” You asked. “Whether I destroy his business or get him the help he needs, you’re still going to lose everything.”

She smiled, “no. I just got everything I needed.”

A/N: We’re getting somewhere :P

Taglist (Closed) <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @damnirina @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @vintage-teddyxo @regalmigraine @samvmgh @iamagalaxy @officialtrashbusiness @xwackk @videogameboiwhowins @marajillana @ellasdilemma @plutoneu @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @thestarsanctuary @dewdropwifu @star-light-imagines @kritiiiii @bakugosbottombitch @the2ndl @candybabey @simply-not-the-same @sam-i-am-1025 @mes-bisous @eternallyvenus @peppytine @chaelysian @definitely-yours @oikawarc @suneaterofthebig3 @m0na-l0ver @nkb0048 @losertsukki @notyourfavorlte @caramelsquares @hikaru-mikazuki

#bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha #bakugo x reader #x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha angst #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bnha x reader #anime x reader #bnha kirishima #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #bnha eijirou

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

The Broken Soul of TK Strand (1/?)

so, that bonus fic i mentioned. i cannot take credit for it - it is a translation of 'la esencia rota de tk strand' by road1985, which in turn was inspired by my fic, 'out, damned spot'

i am so grateful to the original author for not only taking the time to write something based on one of my works, but also for allowing me to discuss the plot with her and translate it into english, especially when i am still learning her language. the only thing of this that is mine is the translation, and i sincerely apologise for any mistakes on this front 💚

ao3 | 3k | hurt tk, worried carlos, rituals, kidnapping, angst and hurt/comfort

The man leaned out from the alley and watched the scene. He had spent so much time preparing, he had carefully chosen the victim from many candidates weeks ago, and now it had all gone to shit because of a cigarette and some curtains embroidered by an old woman for her grandson.

He liked the fire. It was erratic, unpredictable, and powerful, just like his Lord, just as he himself aspired to be.

He watched the flames and longed to get closer, to touch them and know first hand the home of his master. But he still wasn’t prepared; he was missing one more sacrifice, the last one. He just needed one more soul, and then the doorway to hell would be open for him.

But it wasn’t just any soul he needed; he couldn’t choose the first stranger who crossed his path. That would be too easy - his Lord had told him so in dreams. To open the door to hell, he had to find pure souls which were close to the dark side, good souls that had been through horrible experiences and whose pain could be extracted together with their body’s vital liquid.

With each one of the souls he had already extracted, he had improved the ritual a little more. It was becoming cleaner, more discrete, and it seemed that the police still hadn’t found the other three bodies. With luck, he would finish the ritual before that happened.

But because everything couldn’t be perfect, the fire had ruined his plans.

He had spent days researching the people living in that building. All of them had problems, but David Archings was his target. An orphan and divorced, it was said that his parents died because of him, and this had destroyed his marriage even though the police found no proof. Now he lived alone in a small flat where no-one ever visited him.

He was a sad man, consumed by grief, and few would miss him.

But the fire had taken him before he could do anything, and this delayed his plans.

Or not.

Whilst he watched the flames consuming the building, the firefighters arrived. They worked quickly and in a matter of minutes, the fire was under control and almost extinguished.

He hated these people who always destroyed the work of his Lord. Who were they to put out the flames of the kingdom of darkness?

On more than one occasion, he had thought out teaching the firefighters a lesson, showing that that they weren’t and never would be stronger than the power of his master.

But there were always so many of them, always with police involved. For someone who enjoyed going unseen and carrying out assignments quickly, it would be too complicated and too much work to hurt them.

Despite everything, that night, the cards played a very different hand, one which could solve all his problems.

In that first moment, he didn’t know why he noticed the young paramedic, but there had been something about that that caught his attention. He had a special aura, which changed from dark to light and dark again, depending on the moment.

It was easy to focus on him. If men interested him, he would say that he was truly attractive. If he were searching for a pretty face, there was no doubt that the boy had it. He didn’t know him at all, but he could tell that he had a sad smile which hid fear and regrets - exactly the kind of darkness that he wanted and needed.

“TK,” an older man said, one of the firefighters who, judging by the resemblance, was clearly his father. “We couldn’t have done anything even if we had arrived earlier.”

“I know, but I can’t get the idea out of my head that it was my fault we got here late.”

“It could have happened to anyone.” The older man put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You are one of the best firefighters I know, and now one of the best paramedics. We all have the right to make mistakes sometimes.”

The man began to see some of the darkness he needed for the ritual, but he needed more.

Another man, a police officer, came closer to the young man and opened his arms. The firefighter buried himself in them and the officer kissed his head. It was obvious that they were a couple; they weren’t hiding that they were together, and there was a great love between them. The officer was worried for the paramedic - it almost seemed like it had been taken from a romantic novel.

“Ty, your father is right. You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. Tommy said that the man was dead before you got here.”

“I know, but I always think that it’s not fair, that things could have gone another way.”

The man smiled; the paramedic blamed himself for these two deaths but it was easy to see that he carried more guilt inside him.

“When these things happen, I remember what happened to me. If it hadn’t been for my dad always worrying about me, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“That’s a thing of the past and, look, thanks to it, you are here. Have you thought about it that way?” The police officer kissed him and they hugged again before leaving.

It was incredible. He had only thought about taking a soul who was close enough to what he needed. But that paramedic who had been a firefighter, that TK, was exactly what he needed. He was a broken soul, an aged vase in danger of shattering into a million pieces. A firefighter, perfect for punishing those meddlers, and, further, in a relationship with a police officer.

But he was surrounded by people and in the middle of a shift; he wouldn’t be able to take him that night. His master had taught him to have patience, so he let him go, taking note of the firefighters’ station number, so he knew where he worked.

The idea that he would have the soul he was sure was the perfect subject excited him greatly. He didn’t want any mistakes or to find him with a perfect family at home, so he decided to wait and do things right.

TK didn’t sleep well that night. They returned to the station after the fire, but he needed time to get to sleep and he woke up many times. When he finally did manage to sleep, he had nightmares about the idea that they could have saved those two strangers.

It wasn’t his fault, not directly at least, but if he had been ready earlier, if he hadn’t forgotten to replace the bandages in the ambulance, they would have arrived on time. Maybe then things would have turned out differently. He couldn’t be sure of course, but the nightmares did nothing but tell him just that.

He got up. Everything was still; with a little bit of luck nothing else would happen and they could finish the shift calmly and go home. But this didn’t make him feel any better, so he made himself a tea - if he had a coffee he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink - and left the station. There were barely any buildings around it, so there was always a beautiful view of the sky.

A little while ago, they had placed some deck chairs on the small back patio and TK sat on one, with a blanket around his shoulders as it was a cool night. He drank the tea slowly as he watched the stars; they never changed, no matter what happened below. Whether people lived or died, the stars remained unshakeable and, in a certain way, this comforted him.

He liked the idea that there were things that couldn’t be changed, things that always happened in a certain way and, as much as he or anyone tried, it couldn’t change.

He closed his eyes - maybe he would be able to sleep out here, and in the worst case, he would catch a cold and spend a couple of days in bed with Carlos. That didn’t sound bad at all. TK drank the last drop of the tea and tried to relax; he had almost managed it when a noise at his back grabbed his attention.

It sounded like a crack, like branches breaking or something similar. He got up and peered into the darkness but there was no-one there and nothing moved. The sound returned, a little closer; maybe it was a wounded animal or one that was trying to get into the station’s trash in search of food.

“Hello?” TK called, only to feel like an idiot a second later; he already knew that there was no-one there.

He headed towards the trash cans but there was nothing there, and he sighed in relief - he would not have wanted a pissed-off raccoon to throw itself at him. TK turned around, but a dark figure, wearing a large coat or cape that didn’t even show a centimetre of skin, appeared in front of him.

“Who are you?” he asked, taking a step back and throwing two of the dumpsters to the floor.

He received no response other than seeing the gleaming edge of a knife the man had taken from under his clothes as he approached him.

The station lights turned on - throwing the dumpsters had raised the alarm. The stranger turned - he wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted, but before Paul and Judd arrived, he used the knife against him. TK raised his arm in defence and shouted at the sensation of the blade cutting his skin. He stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, but no-one was there save for his friends running towards him.

“TK, are you okay? What happened?”

He looked around him, but the stranger had already managed to disappear. “Where did he go?”

“Who? Hey, that cut looks bad,” Judd said, helping him to his feet.

“There was someone here, he attacked me with a knife.”

Owen and the others arrived a moment later, and searched the station, but found no-one. Judd pushed TK to go back inside so that Tommy could treat his arm.

“It’s not a deep cut, but it has nicked a couple of veins so it looks worse than it is,” his captain said as she finished bandaging his arm. “You said that a hooded stranger did this? It’s possible that you tripped and cut it on glass or a broken bottle.”

“There was someone in front of me, he had a knife.”

“Something tells me that the fire today affected you a lot,” Owen said behind him. “Captain Vega, don’t you think it would be a good idea for him to go home and rest?”

“No! I’m fine, really. That man attacked me and then disappeared.”

But they forced him to go home.

Carlos was waiting for him; he had been asleep but he always left the sound on his phone in case anything happened to TK. Judd had called him and told him what had happened and that TK had been put in a car home.

He met him at the door, barely having time to prepare himself before TK was hugging him.

“I’m not crazy, babe, and the fire didn’t affect me so much that I’m having hallucinations of people attacking me.”

“Shhh, I know. I know you’re not crazy.” Carlos left kisses on TK’s forehead and cheek, and did the same when he took his hands, kissing the palms and the back as he led him to the sofa. “You need to sleep and relax. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“But…”

“But nothing, baby. Sleep, and I’ll stay awake so no-one else tries to hurt you.”

TK wasn’t sure if Carlos believed him or not, but he always felt safe in his arms. He let go and, without bothering to change his clothes, curled up next to Carlos on the sofa. He sighed, feeling his arms surrounding him, and closed his eyes.

They were all right about something - between the last shift and what had happened by the dumpsters, he was exhausted and needed sleep, so it wouldn’t hurt to do it.

When he woke up, Carlos was still awake, reading. By the yawn he gave, it was clear that he had fulfilled his promise and not slept all night.

“Are you feeling better?”

TK looked at his arm, hoping that what had happened the previous night had been a dream. But the bandage was still there.

He nodded. It was stupid to think that someone wanted to hurt him, or that they’d wait around the station until dawn to do it. Maybe it was true, maybe he had had a nightmare about the fire and ended up cutting himself with glass, like Tommy had said.

The kiss to his cheek brought him back to reality.

“Should I make breakfast?”

“We could do it together?” TK offered, but Carlos clicked his tongue and laughed. “Okay, sorry, what I meant is that you make breakfast and I’ll lend a hand.”

“Perfect.” With another kiss to the forehead, Carlos circled his waist and made him get up. He looked happy, with that warm, perfect smile that made TK feel as if nothing could go wrong. “What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?” Carlos asked.

TK shook his head and the smile returned. His arm didn’t hurt and the fear of the hooded stranger disappeared all at once. He took Carlos’s hand to go to the kitchen and they spent the next hour making a breakfast that, between laughs, games, caresses, and a round of sex on the kitchen island, ended up more on them instead of being eaten.

“Happy anniversary,” Carlos whispered in TK’s ear, feeling the fast beat of his heart.

“Oh, are you serious? We’ve been together for a year today?”

“You forgot, right?”

“Babe, I’m so sorry, I… No, I did forget, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Carlos took off his flour-covered shirt and gave him a quick kiss. “You don’t have to, don’t worry,” he said, before heading to the bathroom.

“Carlos, babe, wait.” TK tugged at him. “Everything’s been so perfect with you. And it’s gone so fast too. When we started dating for real, I didn’t want to give myself hope that we would last and I decided to take it day by day. I was always scared that…”

Carlos took his face in both hands. “I’m not Alex, nor could I ever be Alex.” He never lost his smile; even now that he was hurt, he kept smiling and kissing TK. “And I’m going to be here, with you, forever. I love you, Ty. I love you so much, so I’m going to carry on as if I hadn’t heard anything, and I’ll wait for you at the precinct at six tonight so we can celebrate our anniversary.”

“Okay, though what we just did…”

“That was just the appetiser. Babe, you have no idea what I have prepared for tonight.”

TK worked that shift like normal, though every once in a while, he looked at his arm. He’d convinced himself that it was impossible that someone would have attacked him. Why go to the station to hurt him? Why him? It didn’t make sense.

Luckily, the shift was quiet and it enabled him to rest; they only went on one call and the rest of the day, Tommy and his father both told him to take it easy. But now that he wasn’t thinking about the fire, he couldn’t get out of his head how bad Carlos must be feeling after TK forgot their anniversary.

He had to do something, to somehow make it up to him.

“Can I leave a little early today?” he asked Captain Vega, before telling her everything that had happened.

“Go, buy him something pretty - forgetting the first anniversary is very serious.”

He had studied the area, parking the car somewhere that wouldn’t appear suspicious, but also a place where he could see the soul he lacked.

His blood was perfect; the ritual he had done last night had been a success, and its taste was exquisite. Now all that was left was to take him and prepare him for the final ritual.

He had decided to wait until his shift was over, but there was no doubt that fate was helping him, as he saw him leave two hours early. He got out of the car, seeing him put in his headphones, and raised his hood to avoid the wind.

“Hey, TK!” a voice behind them said, the only thing that hadn’t gone as he expected, the only thing that made him improvise.

He hid the syringe he carried in his jacket pocket and, gripping tightly to the iron bar he’d found nearby, hit his victim in the head.

TK fell to the floor, sounds reverberating around him, barely able to see anything other than white lights.

“He’s already left,” said another voice inside the station.

“I’m… I’m here. Help,” TK breathed, his voice barely there. Even that was painful as he watched the stranger, the same from the previous night, approached him with an iron bar in his hand. “Dad… Judd… Please.”

“For the return of the Great Dark Lord,” said the other man, closing the gap that separated him from TK. He knelt in front of him and placed the iron on his chest. “For the Lord of the Dark to walk the earth, you will give your life, your blood, and your soul. You are the fourth chosen. The fourth cardinal point to mark his return.”

“Please, you’re wrong… I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“You are. Soon you will see.”

Before TK could say anything else, a second blow to his head left him sprawled on the ground, like a broken toy.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #tommy vega #judd ryder #911ls #lone star #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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seijorhi · 4 years

Text

Untouchable

TW: Kidnapping, implied/referenced abuse & non-con

“Would you like something to drink? Water maybe? We have tea or coffee, or I’m sure we have some hot cocoa somewhere, it might not be the world’s greatest stuff, but it’s war-”

You plaster a tight smile across your face. “I’m fine, really.”

It’s a lie, but he nods politely anyway, the faintest hint of a flush dusting across his cheeks. He’s young, older than you obviously, but he barely looks old enough to be wearing the uniform at all, and certainly not old enough to be a Sergeant, but he’s shown you his badge, and Sergeant he is.

Sergeant Shinji Tanaka of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

But of all the officers they could have passed you off to, they stuck you in here with him - that had to mean something right?

He smiles gently, easing back in his seat. “Alright. So why don’t you start at the beginning, hm?”

You swallow, dropping your gaze to focus instead on your hands, twisting uneasily in your lap. Maybe this was a mistake. You weren’t thinking straight when you’d run, this- this was the first place you’d thought of coming.

This was the only place you’d thought was safe from him, but what if this was a mistake? Would they even believe you? Hell, what proof did you have?

You’d seen news footage once of some poor woman being rescued from her abductor's basement. Her captor had kept her locked away for months, he’d hurt her - understandably she’d been a mess. The image of the poor woman had stuck in your head for a long, long time afterwards. Sallow skin stretched too tightly over bones, covered in bruises and cuts, hair wild and untamed, and there had been this look in her eyes - hollow and vacant and yet so, so terrified. Nobody looking at her would ever doubt that she’d been through something awful, something traumatic.

You on the other hand… he always took such good care of you. He kept you well fed and healthy, made sure you had plenty of pretty things to wear, that your hair was brushed until it shined. He showered you in gifts, treated you when you indulged him and played along.

There were bruises and bite marks that littered your body - your breasts, the insides of your thighs, the soft, sensitive skin of your neck, but those were easily explained away. Love marks, left in the heat of passion. Hardly a smoking gun.

“It’s okay, take your time. There’s no rush, you’re safe here,” he murmurs, and it’s oddly calming. Your heart’s still pounding in your chest, and you’re terrified that at any moment that doors gonna swing open and there he’ll be with his arms folded over and that cold, disapproving stare… but despite that fear, it’s a little easier to breathe. He gives you an encouraging nod, “You can start with your name, and we’ll go from there.”

Your voice is little more than a whisper as you talk. You give him your name, and you don’t miss the way that his eyes widen just a fraction and the blood drains from his face.

“That’s not possible,” he breathes. He’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and you have to fight the urge to curl up in a ball and shy away from him. It’s not like the stares that you’re used to, but it makes you feel vulnerable all the same - as if he’s laying you down bare and peeling away whatever was left of your defences. “You-” he takes a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I thought you looked familiar when they brought you in, but I never…” he trails off, clearing his throat loudly. Your heart is pounding against your ribs, and you can’t bring yourself to speak, and you don’t know what you’d say even if you could. You can only sit in that uncomfortable plastic chair and watch as the Sergeant tries to process… whatever it is that’s going on in his head.

He seems to realise that you’re waiting on him to explain and he takes a deep breath, swallowing audibly. “September 27th two years back, we received a call from a young woman, hysterical, crying that her best friend had been kidnapped. Two officers were dispatched, and sure enough, the girl’s apartment was a mess. There was blood on the floor, furniture broken - signs of a struggle. Clothes were missing, some jewellery, a few pictures, but nothing of value. It wasn’t a burglary.”

You can barely breathe, you can hardly hear him over the pounding of your own pulse in your ears. You don’t remember much from the night you were taken, but you know that there wasn’t much of a struggle at all - not with his Quirk. You never stood a chance against a Pro Hero like him. The blood, the destroyed furniture, he must have done that later.

Yet it’s not the reminder of that night that you were stolen that makes your throat tighten uncomfortably, but the mention of your friend, your best friend -Riko.

Does she still live in the same apartment, not two blocks away from here? You’d thought about going to her first, she was the one person you knew would believe you, but the thought of him finding you there with her-

She was Quirkless. Innocent and sweet and you loved her more than anyone. You couldn’t bear the thought of putting her life in danger for the sake of protecting you - he wouldn’t hesitate, you knew it. Not if he thought she was standing between the two of you.

Sergeant Tanaka kept talking, his wide eyes fixed uncomfortably on yours, “They assigned me your case in my first few weeks here. A test, I suppose, or maybe just luck. Pretty young girl abducted from the ‘good’ side of town. They even had some heroes trying to find you, Hawks and Midnight… Eraser Head, I think-” He misses the way you flinch, your hands tightening into fists in your lap at the mention of your captor, too caught up in his recollection. You didn’t know that Aizawa had been a part of the search for you, but somehow it doesn’t surprise you in the least. “But you were just… gone. There was no DNA evidence, no trails or leads, nobody saw anything, nobody came forward and well, eventually the case went cold…” he trails off, awkwardly rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, but you know plenty well what he isn’t saying.

You were nobody important. People went missing all the time - nobody expected him to keep searching forever, especially not Pro Heroes. Still, you can’t deny that it hurts, that your life, your disappearance was just shoved away into some file in a box in a room full of dusty old records.

A sudden memory flashes to your mind - long fingers brushing through your hair, his lips trailing a loving path from your neck up along your jaw. ‘Nobody will ever love you or care for you as much as I do,” he murmurs. ‘You know that, don’t you, kitten?’

Something flickers in the Sergeant’s eyes and he sits up straighter in his chair, “I can’t help but remember the cases that I don’t solve, all the people I’ve let down, but I never thought I’d ever see the day that you would just walk through those doors. I-I,” he exhales harshly. “I am so sorry.”

And suddenly you’re crying, tears spilling down your cheeks as your shoulders tremble. If anything, the Sergeant only looks more alarmed at the sudden burst of emotion and he reaches for you only to pause with his hand hovering awkwardly a few inches off your shoulder. “Please, I- I need your help,” you manage to gasp between sobs. “I can’t let him- I can’t-” you can barely finish your sentence, but the Sergeant just nods.

He ends up going to fetch you that cocoa that he mentioned.

When he comes back it’s with your file, and a notepad and pen. “I want you to tell me everything, or as much as you can,” he amends when he notices the way you stiffen.

But there’s that nagging feeling in the back of your head that tells you he’s not going to believe a word of it, and what’s worse is that you can’t even blame him for it. Pro Heroes were supposed to be good, pillars of the community, role models for children everywhere.

Aizawa’s record is spotless. He might not have the rankings of Endeavor or Hawks, but he’s respected all the same, especially as one of the teachers at UA!

Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt, and you can’t bear to meet his gaze, so you just stare at the metal table instead, willing yourself not to cry again.

This time, the Sergeant doesn’t miss your discomfort. “Hey, look at me,” he says, and reluctantly you tear your gaze from the shining metal surface to meet his stare. “Whoever it is that did this to you - they’re not gonna get away with it. They can’t hurt you here, I swear it.”

But they don’t know Aizawa like you do - the lengths he’ll go to for you.

You take a deep, shaking breath, “... Even if the person who did this is a Pro Hero?”

Tanaka’s eyes widen for just a split second before he schools his face into a blank mask. The seconds that tick by as you wait for him to speak feel like a lifetime, and the silence is deafening.

You know the level of Hero worship that’s so prevalent in Tokyo, hell, you’d been guilty of it yourself before everything happened. They were your heroes too, they protected you, protected the City and they could do no wrong - at least, until Aizawa ripped that fantasy away from you.

You can’t read his face, you don’t know what he’s thinking and it’s awful. You have no reason to lie; you don’t want some big public spectacle or fame, you don’t even care if he gets punished, you just want to disappear somewhere and know that he can’t ever find you again.

You just want to go to sleep in your own bed without having his arms wrap around you and pull you close.

It’s an eternity before finally, the Sergeant’s impassive facade breaks and he huffs out a sigh and shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believeable.”

It hurts. You’d braced yourself for it - the disbelief, a scoff or a roll of his eyes, but somehow it’s worse than you expected. You feel a wave of nausea rise up and suddenly, it’s all too much. The room is too bright, too quiet, and you can’t bear the thought of spending another second in there with the Sergeant. Tears prick at your eyelids, stinging, and you have to blink them furiously back. Part of you just wants to disappear entirely, but mostly you just want to run and hide and cry your fucking heart out. “I-I shouldn’t have come here,” you mutter, forcing your shaking legs to stand. “I’m sorry-”

Sergeant Tanaka stands so abruptly that it startles you. “A name.”

You can only blink owlishly at him. “What?”

“Which Pro? I need his name. Or hers.”

The tension in the room is palpable. You can’t bring yourself to hope, but… “You believe me?”

The Sergeant’s eyebrow quirks, but his face is stony and impassive. “Are you lying to me?”

“No.” Your voice doesn’t waver this time.

He nods, slowly lowering himself back into his seat, “Good, then I need you to sit back down and tell me everything, starting with their name.” When you don’t move, he sighs, his expression softening, “Please. I failed you the first time, and it’s not often we get a second chance. I don’t give a flying fuck how powerful or popular the Hero who did this to you is, I promise you - for whatever they did, they will be punished and, more importantly, they will never, never lay another finger on you again.”

“S-shouta Aizawa,” you whisper, sinking back into the plastic seat. “Eraser Head.”

He leaves shortly afterwards promising to bring water and something to eat. You’re shaking and food is the last thing on your mind, but you nod anyway.

It could have been five minutes or twenty by the time he returns, there’s no clock in the interrogation room, and you don’t have any way of telling the time. When he does come back, he’s got a sandwich for you, and there’s another officer with him - older than Tanaka and judging from the pristine uniform, more senior. The Sergeant introduces him as Chief Inspector Ishizaki.

The two of them listen as you begin again, talking through the night of your abduction - or what you can remember of it at any rate. You tell them about waking up in Aizawa’s apartment, and the first few weeks there. They don’t interrupt when you describe the punishments - the degrading acts he so loved subjecting you to, or the first night that he fucked you, ignoring your desperate cries and pleading as he got himself off. You don’t have the courage to tell them that he forced you to enjoy it too - you can’t forget the feeling on his calloused fingers rubbing circles in your clit as he rocked into you, or the way that he’d eat you out for what felt like hours at a time, making you cum again and again until you begged him to stop.

They listen without judgement as you describe the first time you’d tried to escape, only making it to the end of the street - and the broken arm you’d earned for your efforts.

Shouta had been particularly cruel after that little incident, but there was a sick kind of satisfaction in his smile as he’d held you afterwards. He’d showered you in his kisses, tucking your sobbing form under his chin, murmuring threats so sweetly that you could have sworn they were soft declarations of love.

You can’t bear the thought of what he’d do to you if he ever got his hands on you again.

The Chief Inspector’s phone rings as you finish explaining how you’d finally managed to escape, and with an apologetic bow to you, he leaves you alone with the Sergeant.

The silence that fills the room isn’t exactly comfortable, but you just don’t know what to say. Your head is pounding, and you’re suddenly grateful for the water that they’d fetched earlier. There’s more you can tell them - you’ve barely scratched the surface of the eighteen or so months that Shouta kept you, but you’re exhausted and emotionally drained and it’s taking all the energy you have left just to keep yourself sitting upright.

Tanaka’s face has remained a carefully sculpted blank mask since his superior stepped into the room, but it softens now that it’s just the two of you. He offers a small smile, “You’re doing really well. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you just nod.

“Is there somebody you’d like us to call, your family perhaps or-”

“Riko.” The words slip out of your mouth before you’re even aware of them, but Tanaka's smile widens just a fraction.

“Of course. I’ll see if we can’t-” but his sentence is cut off as the door opens again. You can’t help but jump as a burst of panic jolts through you, but you calm yourself when you realise it’s only the Chief Inspector.

Tanaka says something but his words are drowned out as Ishizaki looks at you. His face is grave and pale, and there’s this look in his eyes which makes your heart drop into your stomach. He ignores the Sergeant entirely, focusing instead on you. “I-I’m sorry, truly. It was above my head.”

With a bowed head, he steps aside and your heart seizes in your chest as another figure steps into the light.

Aizawa.

He’s not wearing his Hero costume, just a pair of dark grey sweats and an old black sweater of his. With his messy hair hanging loose and his eyes bloodshot and rimmed in red, he looks disarmingly non-threatening, but you know better.

The moment that your eyes meet his, your world implodes.

“Have you had fun, kitten?” he asks with a cold smile, his voice deadly soft.

He takes a single step inside and you jump to your feet, “No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “No, no, no-” Unbidden, tears spring to your eyes and you lurch back away from the table, away from him, until you hit the wall.

He can’t be here, he - you… no.

No.

You can’t comprehend the betrayal, the shame that burns on the Chief Inspector’s face, all you can focus on is the dark, possessive look in Aizawa’s eyes as he stares at you from across the room. It’s like a scene from your nightmares as he walks towards you, arms open as if he expects for you to just fall into him.

“What the fuck is this?!” Tanaka growls, all but throwing himself between the two of you. “Chief, you heard what she said, what this piece of shit did to her!” he spat, glaring up at the Hero as you cower away behind him. “Like fucking hell am I gonna let him lay another finger on her!”

Aizawa’s smile doesn’t waver, “Move.”

“Chief!” Tanaka snarls as you cling to his back and whimper, a detail that isn’t missed by the Erasure Hero.

The older man just sighs, “Stand down, Sergeant Tanaka. There is nothing we can do.”

His words drop like the executioner's blade, and what little was left of your resolve crumples. But Tanaka just shakes his head, “Like hell there isn’t. He kidnapped her, he raped her! Since when do we stand aside and let monsters like him walk free?!”

“Since we received orders to do so from the Commissioner to do just that. I won’t repeat myself, Tanaka. Stand. Down.”

The unspoken words ring loudly in the air. Aizawa’s a Pro Hero; he’s all but untouchable.

Aizawa watches Tanaka impassively, his dark eyes gleaming as the Sergeant spits on the ground in front of him and glares, but he complies - reluctantly tugging himself free of your grip to step aside.

With Tanaka out of the way, Shouta grins at you, though it’s a far cry from the soft, loving smiles you know he’s capable of. It’s a look that promises pain - punishment - and revels in it.

“Sweetheart?” he purrs, “It’s time to go home.”

You can barely force your legs to move as the tears spill silently down your face. You don’t want to go back to him, and every fibre of your being fights against it, but just like Tanaka, you know you don’t have a choice anymore. The longer you make him wait, the worse it’ll be.

Shouta lets out a barely perceptible sigh as you walk into his arms, and he wastes no time in tucking you against his shoulder and placing a surprisingly gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “There’s my girl, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into your hair.

You don’t reply. It’s only been a few hours since you’d escaped him, but you were never really out of his reach at all, were you?

#my writing #yandere aizawa #yandere bnha #aizawa x reader #yandere shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #kidnapping #implied noncon #noncon tw #yandere #eraser head #bnha imagines #bnha x reader

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slowly-writing · 4 years

Text

Hometown

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Word count: 2.1K

Requested by anon: hey! Can you do a JJ x reader where the BAU works a case where the reader has to go to her hometown and it brings up some difficult things for her but JJ helps her through it?

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence and a crappy family

“Three women have been found dead in their homes in the last week. Each time the unsub has left an elaborate harddrive at the scene. The locals have been unable to get into them and have requested our help,” Hotch starts the briefing. Everyone looks down at the case files in front of them. You’re all saddened at the brutality of the crimes, but your sharp intake of breath draws all eyes to you.

“You good, y/l/n? It’s bad, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen before,” Morgan says and you shake your head.

“I’m fine,” you snap, and that only confuses them further.

“Obviously you’re not. What’s going on?” Penelope asks and you grit your teeth.

“I said I’m fine Garcia. Just drop it!” There’s a moment of tense silence as everyone tries to process the situation before Hotch continues the briefing. As everyone looks back to the screen JJ grabs your hand under the table. She knows what’s going on, she saw it in the file too. You’re going back to your hometown, and it’s not going to be a nice reunion.

Hotch dismisses the briefing not long after and you dash from the room. Everyone looks to JJ, waiting for her to explain your behavior.

“Spill,” Morgan says and her jaw drops.

“Spill what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tries to blow it off and is met with several simultaneous eye rolls.

“Spill what’s got your girl all riled up. She’s never snapped like that before. Especially not at me,” Garcia states, crossing her arms and pouting slightly and JJ sighs.

“I know, and I know she’s gonna be beating herself up for it. Just, please be gentle,” she knows how upset you’re gonna be with yourself for taking your frustrations out on your team, and she hopes they won’t hold it against you.

“We’re gonna forgive her. We just wanna know what’s going on,” Rossi tells her.

“The case is in her hometown. She’s got some…not so great memories there. I don’t think she’s quite ready to relive them just yet,” the team all nods in understanding. “But it’s coming one way or the other. Come on, I’m sure she’s halfway to the tarmac by now.”

xxxxx

You had your hands shoved in your pockets as you walked into the precinct. You didn’t want anyone to see how tightly your fists were clenched. You shuffled in behind the rest of the BAU. You hadn’t talked to them yet, but they seemed to have an unspoken agreement to form a barrier between you and the locals, but there was only so much they could do.

“Well if it isn’t little Y/n Gardner, what brings you back to our humble town?” You flinch as the cop throws an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair. The rest of the team sends you confused looks for the second, and probably not the last, time of the day.

“I’m here for work, Charlie,” you shrug the man off and straighten your hair.

“Always working, aren’t you? Curious, wanting to solve all the mysteries. That curiosity of yours has caused you some problems in the past. Don’t you think it’s time you let up?” The rest of the team senses the anger in his voice and Hotch steps in.

“Regardless of the past, we have a job to do. Could you lead us to where we can set up?” He asks firmly and Charlie smirks.

“Chief Gardener is probably around here somewhere. He could show you,” he’s looking around and you cut him off.

“I know where the conference room is. We’ll get there on our own,” you say, walking toward the room on the other side of the precinct. You open the door, ushering the team inside with a grimace, “we can set up in here.”

The team is full of questions, but they’re also profilers. They know you’re in no mood to open up to them right now, so they shove the curiosity to the back of their minds and focus on the case.

xxxxx

“Alright, let’s deliver the profile,” Hotch announced to the team. It took everything in you to hold back your groan. Over the last few days you’ve been able to avoid direct contact with local law enforcement. They all had their eyes on you constantly, either sending looks of pity or hate to the girl who divided the town. Mainly you stayed in the conference room. Reid taught you how to build a geographical profile, and you helped Penelope with the computer where you could. You even managed to not be seen by the chief yet, but this briefing would put you right in his line of sight.

You stood up silently and went into the bullpen as Hotch asked the nearest officer to gather everyone. Your plan was to stand in the back and be quiet, but as you saw the man across the room look at you, you realized that wouldn’t be happening.

“The man we’re looking for is-“ Hotch is cut off.

“I wanna hear it from y/n,” the chief says and you clench your jaw.

“Now isn’t the time Jacob. Just shut up and let Agent Hotchner tell you who we’re looking for. The sooner we catch him the sooner I’ll be out of here and you won’t have to worry about me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“And let you ruin another innocent man’s life? I’m not gonna sit by and watch you do to somebody else what you did to dad,” he says, pushing himself off the wall he’s been leaning on and taking a few steps towards you and you snap.

“Dad was a lot of things, but innocent wasn’t one of them,” you can feel yourself losing your cool as you close the gap between the two of you. “He hurt a lot of people, Jake.”

“Oh and you’re quite the reliable source. His bastard daughter. What was it? Daddy didn’t give you enough attention? You had to find another way to get all eyes on you, huh?” he spits out. You’re about to throw a punch, but luckily you’re surrounded by a group of profilers who know you better than anyone. As you go to pull your arm back Derek wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up and quite literally removing you from the situation. When he sets you down a few feet away JJ’s face is in front of yours, her hands on your shoulders.

“Calm down, everything’s alright,” she whispers as you avoid eye contact, brushing her arms off of you.

“I’m fine,” you say for the hundredth time this week and take off, going outside to get some air. You make your way to the back alley, furiously rubbing at your face and trying to stop the tears you can feel building up. JJ is the first one outside and you don’t fight her this time as she pulls you into her arms. You bury your face in her shoulder as the tears start to fall. You’re exhausted from trying to keep it all in, both physically and emotionally, and soon you’re sobbing so hard you’re starting to hyperventilate.

“Hey, look at me, right at me. Just focus on my voice,” JJ says as she pulls away and takes your hand, placing it on her chest. “Just follow my breathing love, you’re okay.”

After a few minutes you’re able to get breathing back in check, and you latch onto JJ again. You hear the door open and your whole body goes rigid, not ready to face Jacob yet.

“Hey, it’s just us. We wanted to check on you,” Spencer’s voice is barely above a whisper, as if talking to a spooked animal.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, pulling away from JJ and wiping the tears away in embarrassment. You still keep a tight grip on her hand, but your gaze is on the floor.

“You don’t have to hide from us. We all get it,” Penelope says and you smile a bit.

“I guess you want an explanation,” you say with a self deprecating laugh, hating that you’ve ended up in this situation.

“Only if you’re ready,” Hotch gives you an out, but you don’t take it.

“No, I want you all to know. It’s just kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, babygirl.” You roll your eyes at Derek’s nickname before speaking again.

“That was my brother in there. He’s a few years older than me. Our dad cheated on his mom with mine when he was six and they had me. My mom died when I was four and I went to go live with my dad. None of them particularly liked me. Ever since I moved in there had been problems between my dad and Jacob’s mom. She pretended I didn’t exist and my dad…well I wished he did. He beat up on me pretty bad, but he was the chief of police, so everyone turned a blind eye. When I was nine I found out my dad was involved in some pretty shady stuff. Drug dealing, embezzlement, you name it he was probably doing it,” you explain and Penelope speaks up.

“How does a nine year old figure that out?” She asks and you look away again. JJ squeezes your hand drawing your eyes to her as she puts the pieces together. You can see the question in her eyes and you just nod, you can do this.

“I uh…I found his stash. I saw some powder in this little bag in his room and I thought it was candy, like a pixie stick or something. So I hid it in my pocket when he wasn’t looking. I was at the station after school, sitting in the conference room actually, when I went to eat it. I poured some on my tongue, the second I tasted it I spit it out. I came running into the bullpen yelling ‘Dad why does your candy taste funny?’ and waving the bag around. He panicked, started screaming at me, calling me every name in the book right there in front of the whole precinct. Half the guys still work here…I still don’t know if it’s the cocaine that I ingested or the fear of having him lose it, probably a bit of both, but I passed out. They had to rush me to the hospital. The one here doesn’t have a pediatric unit so they had to take me to the county one. When an ambulance came in with a little kid and half a dozen cop cars following it, the doctors had some questions. It launched a whole investigation. There was a whole ring here in town and a lot of people went down. It’s not like I was trying to break it apart, I was nine. I wasn’t investigating it. It was an accident but I sure got blamed. I had to testify at his trial. I knew the way he treated me was’t right, but I didn’t realize I was digging his grave a bit deeper with every word I said until a few years ago. Last I heard he was doing fifteen to twenty years. He should be up for parole soon,” you realize, and you start to spiral, staring off into space and wondering what will happen when he gets out. JJ calling your name pulls you back into reality.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I ended up living with an aunt after all that. I went by my mom’s last name, legally changed it when I turned eighteen. I kept my head down and worked my ass off. I graduated high school at 16 and never looked back. If I had I might know how the hell Jacob was able to get a job in this precinct, let alone run it,” you finish and before anyone can speak Penelope has practically tackled you into a hug.

“Did you know any of this?” Rossi’s question is directed at JJ and she lets out a sigh.

“I knew she had a bad experience with drugs as a kid. She freaks out whenever I leave a bottle of tylenol where Henry can see it, that makes sense now. I knew it was because of her father. And I knew she wasn’t on speaking terms with any of her family,” JJ lists off and you feel your eyes starting to water once again.

“It’s not something I talk about. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.” JJ shakes her head, cupping your cheek in her hand.

“I’m not mad. It was your story to tell me when you were ready,” she places a kiss on your forehead and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Alright, let’s go catch this son of a bitch so we can get the hell out of here,” you say and the team agrees, heading back into the building with a renewed desire to close this case.

tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @5aftermidnight @im-salt-but-not-salty @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

Criminal minds tag list: @reidingandwriting

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spencersawkward · 4 years

Text

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 3

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 4k

content warnings: mention of rape and victim-blaming (talking about Clea's previous job in sex crimes— not her personal experience).

masterlist

this chapter is drawn from the season 1 episode 17 episode "A Real Rain," which is supposed to be in New York, but I didn't wanna write about New York so I changed it to Boston.

I drop a second sugar packet into my coffee before taking a tentative sip. my face twists in discomfort. previous to working here, I would bring my own thermos from home and it would last me all day, but I've had to up my caffeine intake to two or three cups.

"you get used to it." JJ walks over to me, steeping her tea. despite the fact that it's early, she's perfectly put together. her hair is tied up and her eyes are sparkling.

"how?" I laugh. she points to the coffee pot, which is fresh and yet somehow tastes slightly stale.

"when you've been up for twenty four hours, you won't care how it tastes."

I avert my widened eyes at this.

"you could do what Spence does and just add a bunch of sugars." she tilts her head towards Reid, who is rocking back in forth in his spinny chair with a huge volume open in front of him. he doesn't even notice us staring at him.

"ew, what?" I giggle. JJ nods.

"hey, Spence!" she calls across the office. his head pops up to frown at us.

"yes?"

"how many sugars do you use?"

"five. occasionally six." he says this without a hint of the shame it deserves. my eyebrows shoot up and I take another sip of the bitter drink, trying to ignore the taste. it coats my tongue.

"see?" she smirks. "just so you know, we have another case. meeting in five." she sashays away to the conference room, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to sweeten my drink. I keep it at three and add a splash of creamer to drown out the bitterness, then walk briskly to my desk to grab a few of my things.

"we have a meeting, Reid." I say across the divider between our spaces. he holds up an index finger, slams the book shut, and grabs his things. I wait for him to get collected before we head up.

"what were you reading?" I ask, peeking at his workspace. books are lined up against the divider, loose papers scatter the surface, and there are three uncapped pens littered about. his disorganization surprises me.

"War and Peace." he replies, checking his watch.

it's not even nine am.

...

I'm staring out the window of the jet while Morgan and Prentiss battle out yet another card game with Reid. there's not much to see until we slice through clouds and fly over Boston, which is glittering in the early light. I sigh and turn back to my book, tucking my legs up beneath me.

"this is not how I planned to visit." Morgan notes, looks through his cards.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Boston." Spencer smiles softly. at this, all of us look up.

"you've never been?" Morgan asks doubtfully. Emily snorts.

"we've never had an unsub there." Reid doesn't seem to think this strange at all. Morgan and I share a glance before he speaks.

"Reid, it's an hour-and-a-half flight."

"I'll show you around if we have some time." Emily smiles reassuringly at the boy genius.

"it's an easy trip, man." Derek chuckles. Spencer isn't bothered by our teasing. instead, he draws another card from the deck and focuses on his game.

"I've never been either." I state. the team turns to me with surprised expressions, causing my cheeks to flush.

"you, too?" Morgan makes a face like I've disappointed him.

"I've been meaning to go." I shrug. "there's an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts that I wanna see."

"what exhibition?" Spencer doesn't look up from his hand.

"uh, Titus Kaphar." I haven't had the opportunity to travel much, so a lot of the art I've seen has been from a computer screen or in class in college. it would be nice to actually get some experience seeing things face-to-face.

"Shifting the Gaze!" Spencer's face snaps up to beam at me, referencing the piece so vehemently that it makes me laugh.

"yeah, exactly."

"I went to his talk a couple years back."

"no way. really?" I shut my book and lean forward while he nods. Prentiss and Morgan are watching our conversation like a tennis match. while Reid rambles about all the things he heard at the lecture, I listen intently. it's good, because I don't really feel like talking right now; my head is pounding all over again, and this is distracting.

"do you ever go to the art museums in DC, then?" I ask once he's finished. Reid gets this crooked smile on his face like he wants to say a bunch of things, but is holding his tongue. his face is animated when he tells me about the other exhibits he's seen at the Smithsonian and apparently abandons his cards. Prentiss and Morgan have lost interest in our conversation; they start their own game and let us talk for the rest of the flight.

when we touch down, I immediately feel overwhelmed by the crush of people around us. our first crime scene is a taxi cab in Hyde Park, where the driver has been blindfolded, shot in the chest, and stabbed right through his ear. the blade, broken off from the handle, is lodged in his brain.

despite the fact that his kills are violent and seemingly random, the unsub definitely isn't disorganized. he carries his MO out the same way each time, which makes all of us question if we've missed a connection between victims.

"it's possible he's a sort of serial killer groupie." Spencer notes as he examines the inside of the cab, which is splattered with a mix of rainwater from the night before and blood. I shift where I'm standing to try to follow his line of sight.

"what do you mean?"

"Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris drove ice picks into their victims' heads and broke off the handle." he explains.

"well, if he's doing that, then he's presenting a mixed profile." I frown.

"exactly."

"mixed profile?" the police officer next to me asks.

"yeah. the fact that this guy is shooting his victims first suggests that he needs a quick and effective means of controlling the situation, which means that he probably doesn't think he can overpower them." I say.

"he could have a physical problem-- or maybe he's just not confident because he's small." Reid is still examining the taxi for any further evidence, but it seems sort of pointless.

"plus, he's organized and hunts at night. that tells us he most likely has a steady job."

"so," the cop stares between us with a perplexed expression. "we're looking for a small, angry white guy with a day job?"

the sarcasm in his voice makes me smile a little.

"I know it doesn't narrow down a lot right now, but we know that this guy isn't blitz attacking his victims. it's more of an execution."

the officer nods at this and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn to Reid.

"we gotta go."

Spencer nods curtly, straightens, and starts to immediately walk back to the car. I shake my head at his behavior, then follow after.

...

we get called to visit a new crime scene in the morning, this time in a church. Hotch holds the door open for me and I walk in to see a body laid out in front of the pews. an older woman sits towards the back, comforted by a nun.

"how'd they find him?" Prentiss asks the police chief as she leads us to the victim.

"night janitor." she nods to a man being questioned by cops in the corner.

"did he see anything?" I ask her.

"no, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier," we walk past the older woman. she stares at us expectantly as the chief talks. "so there could be a potential witness."

we stop at the body of a priest, his eyes covered and a blade lodged in his skull, unsurprisingly. Emily and I stare down at him, realizing the same thing.

"first public killing." she notes as she bends down to examine his wounds. "he's getting bolder."

"the presentation is just as important as the kill." I join her on the ground, snapping my gloves tighter on my hands and turning his head to the side to get a better look at the blade. semi-dried blood coats the tied fabric around his eyes.

"I'm gonna go talk to that woman." Emily leaves. the crime scene agent crouches down on the ground across from me, and I bite my lip before making a strange request.

"would you mind... sliding that thing out of his ear?"

the agent blinks at me in disbelief, probably not wanting to pry a knife out of someone's head, but nods and does so carefully. I squint down at the wound. then I realize something.

"Reid?" my voice carries across the room. Spencer is talking to an officer when he hears me and walks over.

"this doesn't look like a normal blade, but I don't know what it is." I point at the now half-buried weapon. it sits unpleasantly out, the blood catching warm light. Spencer gets down next to the crime scene agent and examines it more closely.

"this is flint." he says slowly, turning to me with a concerned expression.

"like the stone?"

"flint is the symbol for protection and retribution in Egyptian mythology. with hieroglyphics, they used to display dangerous animals like scorpions and snakes being cut with flint knives in order to render them powerless."

"oh." is all I can manage while I process what he's saying. Spencer waits for me to say something else, but instead I bend my head down to pull back the silk tie.

"there's no way that using flint is a coincidence." I reason. the blood is all on the inside of the tie as well, which gives me pause. Reid recognizes this a second later, his eyes lifting to mine. they look almost brown in the candlelight, flecks of gold sparkling in them while his mind whirs endlessly.

"I'm gonna call Garcia to see if any of the victims have been charged with a crime." he tells me.

"good idea." we both stand, the crime scene agent scurrying off to do something else. I head back over to Emily and hope that we're right about this. flint is too specific of a weapon for it not to be intentional, right?

...

we deliver the profile by the end of the work day, our unsub a serial vigilante with a personal edge to all of his killings. my body is slightly shaky from downing cups of coffee without any actual food, so the promise of eating out after we finish makes my stomach eager.

we go to a Chinese restaurant by the station and keep talking about the case, despite having promised ourselves not to do so. I sit between Prentiss and Reid while I dig into my dumplings. I like listening to them swap theories and past cases, how they weave together all their stories.

"you forgot to add something to the profile earlier today, Aaron." Rossi says as he piles more noodles onto his plate. our attention immediately focuses on the Italian.

"what did he forget?" Prentiss has a ghost of a smile on her face. I've noticed that she tends to speak like she's on the inside of a joke that other people don't understand. the intonation of her words feels like a secret.

"I didn't mention the possibility of our unsub being a cop." Hotch takes a sip of his ice water. there's a moment where we all reflect on this information before Morgan breaks the silence.

"I mean, they do know the system."

"they could easily take matters into their own hands, given what they see every day." Prentiss adds. I nod.

"when someone like our victim is killed, police refer to it as a public-service murder." Reid struggles to get the noodles onto his chopsticks, which I notice but don't say anything about. he tries again, the food slipping back onto his plate. Morgan notices this shortcoming of Spencer's and I see that he's about to start teasing him, so I change the subject.

"I saw a lot of rapists walk when I was in sex crimes," I put down my dumpling while I talk. Hotch watches me intently. I haven't spoken much about my previous job with anyone on the team, especially not him. in fact, he barely knows anything about me. "a lot of the victims didn't feel safe pressing charges, or the juries said they were asking for it. it's enough to make you wanna explode."

"it's a long way from feeling like that and actually committing a murder, though, don't you think?" Emily asks.

"not really." I turn my gaze back to my plate and start to feel nauseous. there's a clinking of plates and silverware as we continue in silence. Emily nudges my arm gently with hers and offers me a supportive smile.

I hear Spencer next to me, getting the attention of a passing waiter.

"excuse me," he says in a low tone. "can I get a fork, perhaps?"

Morgan snickers as the waiter takes off to get the utensil. at this point, there's a palpable tension as we wait to see who makes fun of Reid first. he drops his chopsticks into his bowl with a defeated clatter and Derek gently pushes his knuckles against Spencer's cheekbone.

"having some trouble, kid?" he asks. Spencer smacks his hand away.

"don't be mean." I giggle, reaching onto my wrist to grab a hair tie. "here, try this." I wrap the thing around the end of Spencer's chopsticks so that they're easier to use, handing them back to him.

Spencer tries again and it works-- if not somewhat clumsily. he gives me a little appreciative smile and I smile back before returning to my food, listening to the stories that Rossi doles out. he even pays for dinner despite our half-hearted protests.

the entertainment for the evening is pretty nice, but when I've stuffed myself with Chinese food, Emily leans over to me.

"do you wanna go to that museum you were talking about earlier?" she whispers. I peek at my phone to check the time.

"I doubt we'd have much time before they close, but yeah, definitely." excitement bubbles up in my stomach as I realize I might actually get to poke around for a while. Prentiss throws her napkin on the table abruptly.

"Clea and I are going to the Museum of Fine Arts. anyone wanna join?"

I look around to gauge some reactions.

"I'm interested." Morgan nods.

"I've already been several times." Rossi takes a sip of his drink as he politely declines. Hotch shakes his head.

"I have some paperwork I need to finish."

"again?" Prentiss complains.

"I'll go." Spencer sits up straighter as he looks at his brunette friend, folding his napkin neatly on his plate. my eyebrows raise a little, although I'm not surprised that he'd be interested in visiting any museum. we stand and get ready to go; Hotch warns us to be ready to go at seven in the morning tomorrow. a little weight is lifted off my chest as I realize that there will be some reprieve during this case, and then we're wandering out into the evening air.

we ate dinner sort of early, so the sky is still slightly aglow with a bruised shade, preparing to sink into its favorite darkness. after finding the route to the museum, we hop on the train.

Boston is lovely in the kind of way that aches of neat corners and airy lights. stores crammed with antiques and novelty products line the sidewalks, people wander about as they take in a pleasant night. somehow disjointed and cohesive all at once.

whatever bit of conversation we had on the way dissipates into breathlessness once we get inside the enormous entryway. it's cavernous, extravagant, gorgeous. we flip through brochures advertising different exhibits. Emily raves about Impressionism and decides that that must be our first stop, so we head off with the rest of the museum stragglers who have decided to feed themselves with art until they're forced to leave.

my head is constantly spinning to admire something else in the enormous white rooms. it's a bit overwhelming at some points, what with the gargantuan canvases that greet me at every turn. but it's impressive, too, and I find myself hungrily reading all the small plaques. I venture out of the Impressionism vein and into Korean art, my feet carrying me away from Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer broke off a while ago; to where, I have no idea.

I check out vases and pottery, sculptures, renderings of historical events. images from the crime scenes fill my head intrusively. there's no use in trying to shut them out; they've been in my dreams for a while now, the kind that wake me up in a cold sweat. I haven't told anyone about them— I'm sure others get them, too— and I don't want to seem like I can't handle it. every time I close my eyes, I begin to feel the pressure of a knife against my temple.

"a lot of these are from private collections."

the voice causes me to jump, my skin erupting in goosebumps as Spencer stands beside me. he holds his bag against his side and follows my line of sight to the 18th-century bookshelf screen.

"that's interesting." I reply. what else is there to say to that?

"really makes you think about what other art pieces won't ever be seen by the public." he turns and starts walking onto the next work, seemingly done with this conversation. my brow furrows while I watch him go, his posture miserable as a result of his skinny build. he's quite tall.

"what do you mean?" my voice comes out quiet, but it carries in the otherwise empty exhibit. Reid turns around and stops in his place, allows me to catch up briefly. we start to read another plaque by a silver basin.

"you could have a Cézanne just rotting in your attic and it would never be examined by the right scholars." he shrugs.

"I really doubt there's anything nearing that value in my attic." I laugh.

"you ever seen 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks non-sarcastically. I balk.

"sure."

"you never know." he's not a man of many words, apparently. I get his message regardless and we continue to walk, him setting out facts for me in neat rows, simple and easily taken in. he's definitely a know-it-all, but not in the way that makes me want to escape his presence. it's sort of comforting, having someone around who just understands everything. his absolute lack of social graces makes him easy to be around, too; I don't need to force conversation because he doesn't care.

we wind up in the mummy section, where the walls tingle with an energy that could only be described as magical.

"spooky." I nod to the domineering sarcophagus lid of Kheperra. a spotlight illuminates all of its intricacies and I make a beeline for it. Spencer trails behind me and we fall into silence as we peer at the exquisite details. it's intimidating, for sure, hulking and made of carved black stone. "you feel that?" I whisper to Spencer, who is enthralled in the image.

the way the spotlight spills over onto him is interesting; it emphasizes the shadow below his jaw and the delicate quality of his bone structure, his cheekbone prominent at the place where his ear meets his face. his lashes are long and lovely, his Adam's apple poking out of a slender throat. he turns to me with a curious expression.

"feel what?"

"the energy change," I smile. "from the ancient dead bodies."

"it's probably just the dark lighting and the media associations you have with mummies." but his eyes begin flitting about the room in a slightly panicked manner. I feel a smirk tug at my lips as I step closer to him.

"are you scared?"

"no," he scoffs and makes a face like I've made the world's most absurd accusation. "why would I be scared?"

"because we're all alone in here..." I use a lower tone to freak him out a little. "who's to stop them from coming out and... snatching us?" when my hand snakes around behind him to pinch his arm, he jumps.

"what the--" he catches sight of the devilish grin on my face. "don't do that!"

"sorry, Einstein." I laugh and turn in the other direction, him following me to the next piece. Spencer doesn't seem to have more thoughts to give on the exhibition, probably still a little creeped out. part of me begins to feel guilty for startling him, even though he constantly does that to me. his footfalls are weirdly soft.

I wonder what Spencer is like outside of work. what he does when he gets back to his apartment. how could someone like him entertain themselves? maybe he just reads books until his eyes glaze over. he definitely doesn't go out often, but maybe he has other nerdy friends. I hope he does. there's something in his eyes that's too viscous for me to grasp, something swimming and pocketed. I'd like to understand it, although that doesn't seem like a great idea to pursue. he barely gives his closest friends information about his life.

we end up at opposite ends of the room, him still examining an entombed husband and wife couple while I check out a canonic jar. the silence in this room is tangible. I wasn't lying when I felt an energy shift— it's like gold and clay and it smells like cracked cinnamon.

I'm trying to get a better look at the detailing when I feel a cold hand wrap around my forearm, easily encircling it. I jolt.

Spencer stands behind me with a playful smile, like he's quite pleased with himself.

"Reid!" I yank my arm away from his long fingers and see him let out that rare laugh. it's pleasant and fills the room with a warmer light as I rub my arm where his fingers held me. I'm surprised he was willing to touch me at all; it's pretty obvious that he's got a problem with germs, which is understandable.

"who's scared now?" he tries to defend himself with his palms when I reach out to gently smack his shoulder.

"you know, I was starting to feel bad for you." I laugh. he smiles brightly and keeps walking into the next room. I realize that the way we move is like two weighted ends of a string. he drifts out on his own, I follow, and vice versa.

I appreciate that he's beginning to loosen up around me, so much so that he smiles at a joke I make in the English Regency section. we walk quickly to absorb as much as we can before the museum closes, but we still don't get through all of it. Spencer isn't much of a conversationalist, and he doesn't really need to be. he listens to me talk, I listen to his erudite observations, smiling when he uses certain terms that sound like they're from someone much older.

by the time a curator tells us we have to go, we've completely lost Prentiss and Morgan and end up meeting back at the entrance. it's pitch black outside; Boston is still bustling, except my legs are tired and I'm ready to crash in bed. we have another packed day tomorrow.

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #dr. reid #criminal minds #mgg #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #friends to lovers #BAU #slow burn

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sweeethinny · 4 years

Note

Hinny in a vehicle for lust please :)

thank you! I made it an AU where they are in the Muggle world! I hope you do not mind

‘’Are you going out again?’’ Molly asked, in front of Ginny’s bedroom door, watching her get dressed. Ginny sighed, finishing tying her hair and then sitting on the bed to put on her boots.

‘’Just strolling around .. Come on, mom, I’ll be fine.’’ She reassured the woman, or tried. ‘’I’m already a big girl.’’ Ginny joked, finishing zipping her left boot, then standing up again, looking in the mirror to check everything.

‘’Ginny… are you going alone?’’ It was a prank, she knew that, but she didn’t blame her mother 100%.

‘‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back early.’’ She turned, picking up her purse and overcoat, stopping to hug her mother and mark her cheek with the red lipstick she had put on. ‘’I love you, don’t just stay awake for me.’’ And then she left.

Ginny didn’t want her parents to be concerned about where she was going out and with whom, but it seemed almost inevitable when every week his face was in the papers and on TV. It almost seemed like a trick of fate, to make her stay in the city where she grew up even more difficult.

She even tried to make them calmer about the idea that she's possibly going out with him (everyone knew it was up to him, the town was small and everyone loved gossip), but all she got was her crying mom and her dad arguing with her for being inconsequential.

Well, she was of age so she wasn't doing anything really wrong. But since she was at her parents' house, she respected their desire not to appear even at the door with Harry.

And that was why she had to walk to the next block to find him.

Boot heels echoed on the empty street, and the neighbors were sure to speculate tomorrow about where Ginny Weasley was going at that time, dressed in an outfit like that.

Not that she was wearing anything very sexy, honestly, she had already used things much worse, but when a woman left home with any part of her body on display in a neighborhood full of gossips and conservatives, it was already a cause for turmoil.

‘’You’re beautiful.’’ He spoke as soon as he saw her, leaning on the car and smiling like an idiot. Ginny laughed, approaching and kissing him quickly on the lips.

‘’Thank you, you’re not too bad either.’’ Harry squeezed her waist, making her stay longer than she wished, stealing a kiss from her. ‘’We’re going to get out of here before someone says we’re making out in the middle of the street. ’

‘’I wouldn’t say we’re far from that.’’ He said, smiling against her mouth. ''You look so beautiful in a skirt.'' Harry looked at her, that expression laden with lust that she knew very well. ‘’But so much better without.’’

‘’So why don’t we solve this soon? My mom can really call the police.’’ Ginny said, pulling away from him and getting in the car, happy to have chosen that outfit. The skirt and boot really did something for her legs.

''I'm glad I'm a cop.'' Harry blinked.

It was for this reason, precisely, that her parents hated him.

Harry and she had known each other a long time ago, when Ginny interviewed him for the London newspaper about the newest drug dealer he and the team had arrested. It was the first time she covered something so important, and the first time that Harry appeared on TV ... as well as the first time they were together.

Ginny continued to work on those cases, interviewing the other policemen and traveling wherever they went, and that's how she ended up at her parents' house, in that small town where she grew up. Of course, the residents were terrified of the idea of having a very violent gang disturbing the peace of the city, and it did a lot of work for her, at the same time that it made her even closer to Harry.

He had been receiving some threats, sometimes from the residents themselves, for thinking that he didn’t do the job properly, and other times (in most) of the traffickers he chased. Her parents were terrified of just mentioning his name, afraid that Ginny might become an easy target.

It was a very extensive circle of drugs, and there seemed to be more and more people linked to the case (both living and dead).

‘’Where are we going?’’ She asked, crossing her legs and watching him accelerate to the opposite side of her parents ’house.

''Don’t know yet. Are you the one who was born here, so tell me, where can we go?’’ His hand stopped on her thigh, as naturally as ever.

‘’Whatever.’’ She shrugged. ‘’Those have been tense days.’’ Harry nodded.

They continued to talk about everything and nothing, avoiding the subject of work, of course. The path Harry took was not so unknown, they had done that same path last week, and Ginny knew that they would probably park behind a hill, where it was difficult to access and few people frequented, and make out in the car.

Harry shared an apartment with the other investigative detectives, so there was no chance of them going there.

"The first thing I want to do after everything is over is to stay with you in a real bed." He said, lying in the driver's seat (they lowered the seat), holding Ginny's waist so she wouldn't get out from his lap.

‘’I like your car, but I can’t take it anymore either.’’ She leaned over to kiss him, feeling her skirt go up and curl up where his hands were planted. ‘’I wish I could decently remove your clothes.’’

‘’I wanted to do so much with you that we’d spend the day listing everything.’’ Harry held up a hand, holding her cheek and bringing them even closer. Ginny closed her eyes in anticipation, swallowing the sigh when she felt his fingers playing with the seam on the side of her panties.

‘’Really?’’ Ginny moved even closer, feeling her lips almost touching his, by just under inches.

‘’Hmm’’ Harry murmured, pulling the back of her neck so that they finally kissed decently - as decent as the situation provided them - releasing all the tension he felt throughout his body, not caring too much about being kind. Ginny looked just as hungry. ‘’But for now.’’ He said, putting his hand inside her panties and caressing her, feeling a little dizzy with the sensation of her being so hot and wet. ‘’I can handle sex in the car.’’

#hinny #harry x ginny #hp au #hinny au #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #read-a-hinny-fic #secret relationship #hp muggle au #hinny prompt #hp couple #Harry and Ginny

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cry-stars · 3 years

Note

For the ask, Katrielle and Ernest, AU where somehow his mother is missing instead of dead?

Absolutely! Thank you so much for asking, and I'm so sorry for taking so long with this! It turned out much longer than I expected. The AO3 link to it is here, but I'll also put it below a read-more here as well.

...

The wind rushes through Kat’s hair as she pedals her way down Chancer Lane, her heart pounding in her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the concerned glance of the waiter from the cafe, and the curious stare of Aleks Lipski as he looks up towards her through the bakery window. Quickly, she summons up a smile, throwing her arm in the air and waving as she passes them by. Then, she turns her eyes back to the road, her smile fading as she puts all of her energy into her pedalling, her mind focused solely on her mission.

She’s not panicking. Of course not.

Everything is fine.

But it’s so unlike Ernest to not show up at the agency, let alone for days at a time, without letting her know. And it’s even more unlike him to ignore her calls. Something isn’t right.

Kat hadn’t noticed the first day that he’d been missing. The Layton Detective Agency is buzzing with activity these days: after the news spread that Dad had returned, the people who had been searching for him for all this time gravitated to Kat’s little agency like moths to a flame. Kat’s seen so many people that she hadn’t seen for months or years within the space of a few weeks. Al, Lucy, Flora, and so many others crowded themselves into the building, chatting and crying and laughing, and Kat had been right in the thick of it all, lost in the excitement of Dad’s return.

Within all the chaos, it makes sense that an ordinary person wouldn’t notice Ernest’s absence; he’s quiet at the best of times. But Kat should’ve noticed. She’s solved a hundred mysteries like they were nothing. She’s more observant than the whole police force put together. She should’ve noticed that her loyal assistant wasn’t there.

The weekend passed uneventfully; Katrielle didn’t bother going to the agency, busy as she was with her family. She’d left a message at Ernest’s number, letting him know that she wouldn’t be there. It didn’t bother her too much that he didn’t pick up; it was the weekend, after all.

But come Monday morning, Ernest still wasn’t at the agency, and this time, it was impossible to shrug off his absence. She’d tried to call him in the morning, but there had been no answer. Somewhat rattled, she’d forced a smile and settled down to do some reading and paperwork on her own. Of course, she missed her usual morning tea (yes, she’s capable of making it herself, but Ernest’s tea always tastes best), and she missed simply having him around; the agency just doesn’t feel the same with only she and Sherl in it. But in the end, she’d shrugged it off as best as she could. Perhaps Ernest had slept in today, or wasn’t feeling well. It had been a hectic past few weeks, after all. And perhaps he had been in the agency yesterday, and she just somehow hadn’t noticed.

She left one more call before going home. Still no reply.

Surely he’d be here tomorrow.

But he wasn’t.

Three days without coming to the agency… five days if you count the weekend… Surely she’s not being overly anxious about this? A five day absence isn’t something that she can play off as normal or unusual; it’s completely unlike Ernest to do something like this.

“He’s still not here, Sherl,” she’d said this afternoon, fighting to keep her tone of voice neutral and curious. “Do you… do you think everything’s alright?”

She wasn’t anxious. No, not at all. But she needed Sherl’s reassurance.

“He hasn’t had a day off since Christmas, Kat,” Sherl had said, yawning as he curled up on the sofa. “And you wouldn’t even let him have that whole day off. Even the most loyal of dogsbodies need a chance to curl up and have a rest now and then.”

“But it’s been five days if you count the weekend, and he hasn’t answered any calls.”

Sherl cracked one eye open, then the other, his face creasing into something like a frown. “Well. It is unlike him to leave you on paws like that.” Katrielle could hear the doubt creeping into Sherl’s voice with every word that he spoke.

That’s when she knew that she had to see if Ernest was alright.

If there’s nothing wrong, she can downplay it to Ernest and to Sherl, or to Dad if he asks, playing it off as one of her many whims. Oh, she just happened to want to go on a bike ride, just wanted to burn off some nervous energy on her way home from the agency. And she wouldn’t be lying, not really. She has to get home somehow; she’ll just be taking the scenic route, passing by Ernest’s flat. The… very long, out-of-the-way scenic route, but...

...she won’t be able to sleep tonight until she makes sure that he’s alright.

The sun is already setting by the time she arrives at Bowlyn Hill. Kat throws a half-nervous glance over her shoulder at the statue, with the massive globe upon its shoulders, before making her way down the hill. She’d like to make it to Ernest’s flat alive, if possible.

Before last Christmas Eve, before that evening at Richmond Court, Katrielle hadn’t known that Ernest lived in this part of town, but in hindsight, it makes perfect sense. He had known so much about the area during the Ratman case, and, since he grew up with such a small income, it makes sense that he would live in this area.

Before that night, Kat had really known almost nothing about Ernest. And still, she really knows very little about him, other than the tragic history of his family. He’s still a very private person: of course, he spends most of every day with her, but he works constantly during that time, and certainly doesn’t waste time chatting when he could be cleaning or sorting something that Kat’s made a mess of. And then, he goes home, alone.

At least Kat knows where he lives now: she’s visited his flat once or twice, dropping off something he’s left at the agency, or bringing over one of Rosa’s many treats that she’s “made too much of.” But still, Kat isn’t exactly a Bowlyn Hill regular; it’s easy to get lost here, amid the twisted alleyways and dark roads. She half-wonders if she’s going to get lost as she pedals her way through the streets as quickly as she dares.

At last, Kat pulls up in front of the building where Ernest’s flat is located. The building is noticeably newer and taller than others nearby, but is still coated with the same grime that covers so much of the surrounding area. At least it appears to be all in one piece, unlike many of the other buildings in this area. While some buildings in Bowlyn Hill, like Mrs. Slow’s tailor shop, have a sense of charm, there are many others that are in horrible disrepair.

Kat casts a wary glance behind her toward the old hospital, shut down almost ten years ago, which looks like something out of one of Flora’s murder mysteries. She’d heard the stories of how Dad had been beaten, so many years ago, and had stayed in this very place for weeks. While the Ratmen patrol the streets now and hopefully keep Bowlyn Hill from seeing any more violence like what Dad experienced, Kat can’t help but feel anxiety stir up in her stomach. Did something like that happen to Ernest? Is that why he’s been absent? Is he lying battered in some lonely alley?

Fighting back nausea, Kat hurriedly dismounts from her bicycle, clumsily leaning it against the wall as she rushes to the door of the building, tripping over her own feet as she reaches for the handle—

The door opens.

“M-Miss Layton!”

Ernest stands before her, shock dawning over his face.

He’s alright.

A wave of relief gently washes over Katrielle, and a second wave of self-consciousness slaps her in the face. He’s completely fine, and yet she rushed here in a panic, almost barging through his front door. This is why she should think through things more logically; she shouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her like this…

“I-I’m dreadfully sorry.”

Kat startles, snapping back into reality. Why is he apologizing? She stares at him in confoundment, noticing how he stares through the floor, his hands coming up and clumsily attempting to smooth back his uncombed hair. “It’s been days, I know,” he stutters. “I sincerely apologize… I should have been there; you shouldn’t have had to come look for me...”

Kat realizes too late that she’s simply been standing here, silently staring at him, ever since he flung the door open. She forces a chuckle. “What? Did you think that I came here to scold you?” Kat uses her usual teasing tone, but it’s far from genuine. Is he really that afraid of disappointing her?

Perhaps he’s not alright after all.

“W-well…” Ernest’s fingers slow their movement through his hair, his hand pausing above his eyes. He slowly looks up, meeting Katrielle’s gaze, his gaze half-hidden by his hand. Kat notices, for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I promised myself that I’d do everything I could to help you, and I’ve failed once again.”

Any irritation that Kat might’ve felt at Ernest’s unexplained absence has completely vanished at this point. Her curiosity is in overdrive, but given Ernest’s state, it seems like some tact is called for.

“Nonsense,” she says, gently but matter-of-factly. “Now that we’ve found Dad, the greatest purpose of the Agency has been fulfilled. So I don’t need…” She was about to say that she didn’t need help anymore, but that would wound Ernest’s pride.

(And it would be a lie).

She amends her statement. “I don’t need constant help anymore. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“But… but I like helping you.” Ernest bites his lip. “I really do. But I just couldn’t this week, Miss Layton. I should have told you why, but, I…” He stares through the floor. “I… I’m just not sure what to do, and I didn’t want to burden you, when you’ve done so much for me.”

How could Ernest be a burden? Katrielle has helped countless people with simpler matters than whatever’s troubled Ernest so badly. Are her powers of observation so sub-par, that Katrielle didn’t know that he felt like he’d burden her by asking for help?

“It would hardly be a burden, Ernest.” She places a hand on his shoulder, summoning up a confident mask of a smile. “Any mystery solved—that’s my motto. And I want to solve the mystery of why my loyal assistant seems so worryingly unlike his normal self.”

Will this be enough for him to understand that she genuinely wants to help him?

Ernest blinks. He turns away from her once again, but not before Kat spots the pink colouring his cheeks. “I’m sorry to have made you worry about me,” he says slowly. “It’s… it’s been a difficult last few days. But, I… I’m glad you came.” A quiet smile colours his face, so small that it’s almost invisible. Perhaps Katrielle’s powers of observation aren’t completely unreliable after all.

Ernest breaks the silence, clearing his throat. “I was just about to go on a walk, if you’d care to join me, and I’ll try to explain, if you’ll allow me to.”

Kat slowly feels a genuine smile lighting up her own face. “Of course”

They walk together down the street, Katrielle walking her bicycle beside her. She’s not quite sure if the silence between them is comfortable or not—she’s still relieved that Ernest is physically alright, but there’s still something wrong. Will she be able to help him half as much as he’s helped her for all of this time?

Ernest stops suddenly, and Kat blinks, reorienting herself to reality. They stand before the gates of a cemetery. The iron gates are battered and rusted, and Kat can see moss growing over many of the tombstones.

“I come here every Wednesday,” Ernest says quietly as they enter the gates. They walk between the tombstones, the long, damp grass staining their shoes. “Mama passed on a Wednesday. It really wasn’t all that long ago, in the scheme of things, but it’s so hard to remember. It’s all a blur. One moment, I was talking to her in the hospital room, and the next… they’ve… they’ve taken her away.” He keeps walking, his head moving back and forth, his eyes scanning the tombstones on either side of him. “I never knew where she was buried. Nobody ever told me. I come here every week to look, to see if I can find her grave. But I’ve never found it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Katrielle says quietly. It’s difficult to know what else to say. She understands the grief of losing a parent as well as Ernest does. But she’d known in her heart that Dad was still alive, and that had given her the strength to go on, to become a great detective and to hone her skills, searching for him. Finding him had been a dream come true. But Ernest’s loss was permanent—

“But—” Ernest bursts out, breaking through Katrielle’s thoughts. “The group home where I stayed after Mama died called me Thursday night. And they said that…” His voice rises in pitch; his rapid breathing is barely constrained. “...that someone named Ms. Richmond came and… and was asking about me.”

Katrielle freezes. “What?”

Ms. Richmond...that must be—

“I know.” Ernest’s hands are shaking. “I don’t know what to think either. How could she still be alive? But I rushed to the group home as soon as I could. But I missed her, and they don’t know where she went. And I’ve been reeling ever since. I’ve called everywhere I could think of. I’ve scoured the city as best I can. And then, when I couldn’t find anything… I locked myself away because I’m… I’m afraid.”

“Afraid?” Katrielle repeats his last word gently, eager to find out any further details that Ernest might know.

“I… I don’t know what to do. What if I never find her? Or, what if I find her, and it turns out that she isn’t Mama?” Ernest lets his face fall into his hands. “I… I can’t bear to go through that again: to get my hopes up, only to lose her all over again.” He turns away, staring off into the sea of tombstones. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. You have so many other things to think about. You can go home; I’m alright.”

Katrielle’s mind races. How could Ernest’s mother still be alive? A mix-up at the hospital, perhaps? Perhaps she was only at death’s door, and never truly died? Or could this be a bigger conspiracy?

What an intriguing mystery. One that will take a great detective to solve.

After all, Ernest has done so much to help her in her own search for Dad. It’s only fair that she does the same for him.

“Any mystery solved, Ernest.”

Ernest blinks, looking up at her with confusion in his eyes. “Pardon, miss?”

“Any mystery solved.” Kat gives him a smile, hoping that it comes across as reassuring. “It would be better to find out the truth, wouldn’t it? This mystery’s come across your path for a reason. If you don’t solve it, I know that you’d regret it.”

“Yes…” Ernest starts hesitantly. He clasps his hands together, staring down at them as he kneads them anxiously together. “But I… I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s why I’m going to help you. You’ve helped me look for my dad for so long. One good turn deserves another, wouldn’t you say?” She holds her hand out to him. “What do you say, Ernest?”

For what seems like forever, Ernest stands still, staring toward her; Kat can’t tell whether he’s dumbfounded or whether he’s going to cry.

Did she push too hard?

She’d never wanted to give up on searching for Dad, but in her darkest moments, there were times where she’d thought that it would have been easier if he had actually died, if she didn’t have to explain to everyone (including herself) that he was missing. She regrets thinking that way, but perhaps Ernest doesn’t. Perhaps he wants to leave the past in the past—

“Miss Layton…”

Ernest’s voice cuts through Kat’s thoughts. She blinks, refocusing her gaze on his face, noticing his tiny smile, and the teary shine in his eyes. “Thank you… thank you so much,” he says, his voice trembling. “Even… even you simply coming to see me means so much, but offering to help me…” He chuckles weakly, looking away, swiping at his eyes with one hand. “I’m supposed to be the assistant, but ever since I’ve known you, you’ve assisted me far more than I ever have assisted you.”

He’s far too hard on himself. “Nonsense, Ernest. You’re the best of assistants. It only makes sense that I’d want to help you now and again, don’t you think?” She sets her hand on his shoulder, hoping that it will come across as a comforting gesture. She’ll let go of a little of her pride, just this once; she wants to see him as his usual self again. “Besides, this is your case. So perhaps you don’t need to be an assistant this time.”

“O-oh! Well, that doesn’t sound right--you being my assistant.” Ernest chuckles again, but this time it sounds a little more natural; beneath her hand, Kat can feel the tension in his shoulder leaving by the second. He looks up, meeting her gaze with a hesitant smile. “But thank you. I… I do want your help, if you’re willing to give it to me.”

“Of course I am. Whenever you’re ready to begin the search, I’ll be there.”

Ernest smiles again, but Kat can still see pain behind his eyes.“I’m almost ready,” he says. “Just one moment.” He turns away. Kat watches his eyes scan the gravestones, as if searching one last time for the elusive stone engraved with his mother’s name.

She’s impatient to begin the search, but Kat forces her feet to stay still, forcing herself to stay silent as he surveys the graveyard. She’ll give him this moment. He helped her day in and day out searching for her father for more than a year. She can wait for him.

#katrielle layton #ernest greeves #professor layton #katnest #just if you squint #my fanfiction #thank you so much for asking!#I've been wanting to write about kat and ernest more #and I really love this AU!

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moonflower-31 · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 21

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Nothing much, just the usual.

A/N: Hey, so, Saturday, also known as Halloween just so happens to be my birthday. So, naturally I will be taking that day off from writing to celebrate. Just as a warning!

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @thatsonezesty13

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer widened his eyes and rushed to the receiver, standing beside Hotch as the call was put on speaker.

"Morgan-! Morgan, w-where are you?!" He asked hastily, his hands finding the edge of the table and gripping harshly.

"Nngh… I… I think Charleston? The concussion I got from his damn gun isn't helping my vision much. I know we're in West Virginia. I got somebody to send Garcia some coordinates." Morgan explained in a tired voice.

Spencer felt a heavy and relieving sigh leave his chest. Morgan managed to get free. That meant they had a good fighting chance to find you.

Hotch nodded and began to gesture to JJ to talk to Garcia. "Thanks Morgan. Keep in touch and get some help-"

"Hotch, that isn't it. She… I wasn't able to get out on my own. She… she made a deal for my freedom. She said she'd… consent." Morgan revealed, sending a shiver of shock running down his spine.

Spencer’s eyes widened at Morgan’s reveal, feeling his heart break in his chest for you. If he wasn’t already showing it on the outside, he was grieving for you and the pain you had to go through.

"...what?" He asked.

"You know what I mean, Reid. He already raped her once. Right in front of me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Just… just get here dammit. She doesn't have too much longer."

Hotch sighed. "Alright. We're on our way now. Just get some help for those injuries. We're unfortunately going to need you as a guide."

Spencer was still in shock, his anger growing slightly as he made the promise to kill Peter if he got the chance. He had done the worst thing he could do to you. And Spencer was pissed.

"Got it Hotch." Morgan replied, hanging up shortly after.

"Wait!"

Spencer looked up at the stairs, still seething from what he’d learned of your experience, and saw a frantic Garcia rushing down the stairs. "Wait! Did-Did he already hang up?" She asked.

Prentiss nodded. Garcia whined and groaned. "Damn it. At least he's okay. I got the coordinates. It does in fact center in on the Charleston police station." Garcia informed.

Spencer looked down, took a deep breath, and began to think, the gears moving in his head. Rossi looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"I know that look. What you got, Reid?" He asked.

Spencer bit his lip for a moment before he quickly opened his satchel bag. "Garcia, did you run those properties? Everything Peter’s ever purchased?"

Garcia raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. But nothing stands out."

"Well, narrow that down to properties bought in the last 5-6 months and near the Charleston area." Spencer urged.

Garcia's eyes widened and she smiled at Spencer. "Goody gumdrops, this is why we call you the resident genius, g-man." She says, hurrying back up the stairs. "I'll call you guys with the info on the jet. Just get down there and find our other genius." Garcia insisted.

Hotch nodded. "Right. Wheels up in ten. We need to get down there and fast. Like Morgan said, (Y/N) may not have much time before he relocates her. Or worse."

At Hotch's final statement, the team dispersed to get their go-bags and gear to get on the jet. Each of the members had a determined look on their face. Spencer would be lying if he said that didn't comfort him even just a bit.

Spencer hurried towards his desk and slung the strap of his go bag across his shoulder, rushing towards the jet before anyone else. But who could blame him?

The rest of the team joined him one by one on the jet, each giving him their version of a look of pity. But Spencer wasn't paying attention, all he was doing, was trying to figure out how they planned to find you.

"Hey…" Spencer heard.

"Hey." He said quickly, never looking up from the seemingly interesting wood pattern of the table in front of him.

"We're here if you need anything." JJ smiled down at Spencer as the plane began to take off. Spencer, still not looking up, just nodded and mumbled an incoherent form of 'yeah'

JJ frowned, but didn't push it, taking her seat quickly. Prentiss sat a seat ahead of him, Rossi and Hotch being a few seats away across the walkway.

Spencer never broke his concentration on the table, his mind wandering to each and every possible outcome for this. He didn't want to lose you. He'd already lost too many people. He couldn't lose you too.

A single tear fell from his eye, encouraging him to close his eyes tiredly. He sighed gently, rubbing his thighs.

Then, the thud of a chess set case echoed in front of him, jolting him from his concentration. Spencer quickly wiped away the tear, blinking a few times as he looked up to see who had dropped the set.

Rossi leaned against the seat in front of Spencer and gestured towards it. "Mind if I join you?" He asked.

Spencer took a moment before he nodded silently, trying to re-focus on reality. Rossi took the seat in front of Spencer and opened up the set, setting up the pieces with white in front of himself and black in front of Spencer.

"You know, we can all see right through you." Rossi spoke casually, continuing his set up.

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked. Rossi hummed for a moment, finishing up his set up.

"We can all see how much you care for her. It's almost like you like her or something." Rossi teased gently, flashing a knowing look and a smirk at Spencer.

"T-there was never an attempt to deceive you all, I-I do like her." Spencer answered, fumbling with the king piece he had subconsciously grabbed.

"Oh?" Rossi replied, pausing for a moment. "You didn't say anything."

"T-that's because statistically only 60% of all relationships end up working out. Especially those that start with very little time in the beginning to get to know each other. And… adding the fact that I am socially awkward, unable to flirt properly like Morgan has tried to teach me, and that I am increasing in age, the probability of anything working out between her and me are slim. I didn't want to rush into anything without being sure." Spencer rambled, gesturing with his hands as he nervously went through all of what he thought were aspects of why he wasn't made for you.

Rossi raised an eyebrow as he took his first move. "Kid, you always listen to those statistics but never your heart. That's your problem. You know," Rossi began, beginning to talk in his story-telling tone. Spencer took his turn, trying to focus on both the conversation and the game. It was a little tough.

"My second wife, she always told me that I worked too much. Wrote too much and never spent that much time with her. Though my heart kept saying I wanted to. I never listened. And now here I am, three wives down and a dozen books added to my collection. Don't be me, Kid. When we find her, you're gonna run to her, and hold her in your arms again. If that feels right, holding her like that, she's the one." Rossi encouraged, taking a second move.

Spencer’s eyes wandered over the board before quickly taking his next move and tanking three of Rossi's pawns. Rossi widened his eyes and nodded to Spencer, impressed.

"I… I know I want to be with her Rossi. But I also know that, after traumatic events, it takes 6 months or more for a victim to recover and get back into their daily routines. Let alone start anything new. I don't want to add to her pain, or start our potential relationship on her thinking I'm using her. Or her just using me for comfort and then leaving me after she's better." Spencer debated, watching as Rossi took another turn.

Spencer then spoke up. "Check."

Rossi raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Reid, do you know her to be that type of person? To use someone for her own benefit?" He asked, taking his next move.

"No…" he replied, taking his as well.

"Then should you be worried about her doing so?"

"No…" Spencer sighed, shaking his head as he watched Rossi take another turn.

"Then don't worry about it. Just trust your gut. And follow your heart before it betrays you." Rossi says, taking his hand off of his piece.

Spencer then moved his, and called out. "Checkmate."

Rossi chuckled. "Well, you are the undefeated champion of the BAU. I should've expected that." He laughed. Spencer’s lips curled into a gentle smile.

"You could do it, you just have to focus on the logic." Spencer says, smiling at Rossi.

"Eh, who needs logic when you've got aged wine and some good pasta? Solves every problem." Rossi teased, beginning to get up.

"Rossi, a-actually…" Spencer began.

Rossi turned his head, facing Spencer and encouraging him to continue.

Spencer sighed. "Would you mind playing one more round? It… it's helping me clear my head."

Rossi smiled and nodded. "Sure. I haven't gotten my butt kicked enough yet today."

Spencer chuckled gently, and helped Rossi begin another game. He was still worried about you, but you were going to be okay. He… had to trust his heart.

○●♡●○

You bit your lip as he finished, exhaling long and hard. He sounded satisfied. You knew he was. You hadn't fought him. You hadn't moaned either. Sure, you still felt the effect of what he was doing to you, but the horror and the pain overwhelmed the faint pleasure you had felt.

Peter pulled himself from you and fastened his pants back, leaving you against the wall. "That was amazing… better than the first time. Such a slut for me." He slurs, causing a painful shiver to run down your spine towards your bruised core.

You looked towards the wall, refusing to look at him or let him see you cry. He didn't deserve to. Nor would he get the pleasure.

"Oh come on, you liked it." He insisted, standing up and rebuttoning his pants.

You still refuse to reply, your bottom lip quivering softly. Peter rolled his eyes and kicked your shin, causing you to cry out in sudden pain.

"Such a weak thing. Big ol' FBI agent? Pathetic." Peter snarled as he pulled a gun from his back pocket. You looked up at him, fearful of your life.

"W-what… what are you going to do with that?" You ask, trying to mask your fear.

"What do you think, bitch? I had to let that bastard go so I could get you to listen. Now, I gotta go kill him so nobody ever finds you. Just relax, I'll be back for round two." Peter grinned, not missing the crack in your voice or the sob that came from your throat.

The cellar door slammed, and you curled up your weakening body. You then began to silently cry. All of this would soon be for nothing if Morgan didn't get somewhere else in time. You felt hopeless and alone. Not even thinking of the dance you had invited Spencer to was able to calm you. All you could do was cry, and hope to whatever God there was that you'd make it to see the other side.

○●♡●○

Morgan sighed and winced as the medic bandaged his leg properly. "Watch it man, I still need that leg to find my friend." He hissed. The medic nodded his apologies and continued his first aid.

It wasn't long after that the doors of the police station opened, and in walked his entire team. Hotch and Reid were the first ones to approach Morgan.

"Hey… how're you feeling?" Hotch asked.

"Eh… like I got hit by a semi truck. Twice. But I'll live. What do you all got?"

"Garcia and I narrowed down Peter's properties and found he purchased a large portion of land nearby in the last 5-6 months. He also had work done on it to build a cellar." Spencer explained.

"That's gotta be where he held us. I was only able to see the way we got there from the car. Couldn't tell you the directions to the place though. I can take you all back to the cellar though. If I retrace my steps." Morgan assured, adjusting his position. The medic continued to fuss over Morgan, trying to keep him still so that they could work.

"Morgan, if you can't walk or are unable to help us, you'll be the best help here getting as much rest as you can-" Hotch began.

"I ain't a vegetable Hotch! If I can get up and I can walk, I'm gonna go with you. I want to help you all get justice served to this bastard on a silver fucking plate." Derek seethed, his hands forming fists at his sides.

Hotch sighed and nodded, knowing it would be of no use to argue with Morgan now. "Alright, just let us know if you need to take a break." He assures before he begins getting the police and the SWAT team ready to search the woods.

Spencer began to turn to do the same, before Morgan grabbed his hand, pulling him back. Spencer raised an eyebrow, a bit confused by the action.

"Reid… kid… I gotta warn you… she's not in the best mental state. She's gonna try and get away from you at first. She's...not going to look her best is what I'm saying." Derek sighed, letting his hand fall.

Spencer nodded. "Of course. I-I'll try and calm her before I approach her. Promise." He says, flashing Morgan a gentle smile.

"And… one more thing…" Spencer added, sighing gently. Morgan looked up at the younger man, encouraging him to continue.

"Is she… does she blame me at all? Is she injured fatally? Anything I need to know?" He asked, beginning to ramble his worries.

"Pretty boy… calm down for a minute. No, she doesn't blame you. She's gonna be hurt, but not that bad. She's sick though. Probably an infection causing her fever." Morgan answered, rubbing Spencer’s lower arm.

Spencer sighed in relief and closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"'Course. Now come on, let's go find her and bring that asshole to Justice." Morgan enthused, slowly rising to his feet and beginning to limp towards the exit.

○●♡●○

"Are you sure it's nearby, Morgan?" Hotch asked, aiding Morgan in walking through the woods. Spencer was ahead of them, looking for anything that resembled a cellar door that Morgan had described.

"Yes, I recognize the gravel trail. There was a ton of it, that's how we knew he was coming. The rumble of the gravel." Derek insisted, wincing as he put all of his weight on his bad foot for a moment to climb up the slight hill.

Spencer urgently looked to and fro for any sign of a cellar or even some brush that looked out of place. He heard the feet of the search dogs behind them, breaking his concentration for a few moments.

Spencer shook his head and sighed, wishing he had better navigation skills. Then, he spotted an area of gravel that began to collect together. He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before he slowly advanced towards the northside of the rock that prevented him from seeing the rest of the gravel. The team thankfully followed behind him, preventing him from having to instruct them on where he was going. He pulled out his gun slowly and aimed it in front of him as he advanced forward.

It took him a few minutes, as the rock had turned into a large hill that was just on an incline. But as soon as he reached the bottom, he saw the wooden door. He rushed over to the door, trying the handle only to find it locked.

The team met up with him and saw his struggle. "Is it locked?" Hotch asked.

"Yes, just… Hotch?" He asked, looking to his boss pleadingly. He was so close, so damn close. One door couldn't be the dividing force. He wasn't going to lose you over a damn locked door.

Hotch sighed and rolled up his sleeves, nodding to Spencer. "Move out of the way, Reid." He says. Spencer does so, and not a minute later Hotch kicks the door in and the cellar is soon filled with the team.

"FBI!" Hotch called.

You shrieked and began to shrink into the corner as much as you could, pulling on your chains as they came in. "P-please! P-please don't do it again! I-I don't want it! I don't want to, please!" You beg while sobbing, holding up two hands in front of your face to prevent being hit. It broke Spencer’s heart to see you so terrified.

Hotch shared a glance with Spencer, earning a gesture from Spencer that meant 'wait'.

Spencer then slowly approached you, not even trying to keep his tears from falling. "Hey… I'm not going to hurt you, (Y/N/N). Promise."

You slowly moved your hands, shivering in fear. Spencer finally reached you and gently touched your hands with his warm ones, finding yours extremely cold. "See? You don't have to be afraid of me." He tightened his hold on your hands, rubbing his thumbs against your cold fingers. "Let's get you out of here, okay? I'm a doctor, you can trust me." He looked into your eyes with hope that you would see the truth in them. And he thinks you did.

You bite your lip and finally give him a good look. You saw his tear-stained face and his worried eyes, feeling a deep realization fill your body. Your mind's haze finally began to lift, and you recognized him again. You felt your eyes fill with tears, blurring your vision. You then immediately pulled him closer to you, albeit slowly. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, as much as the chains would allow.

"S-spence… y-you found me…" you whisper hoarsely, trying not to sob. Spencer bit his lip and smiled happily, holding you close to his chest. He held a hand to your back and cradled your head with the other.

"Yeah… I did…" he whispered. He turned his head towards Hotch and gestured towards your shackles. He mouthed the word 'keys' before he turned back to you. Hotch nodded, and quickly found the keys on the hook.

Morgan took the keys from Hotch and came towards Reid and you.

You turned your head and let out a relieved gasp and sob as you see Morgan approach you, still holding onto Spencer as you did.

"Y-you're alive…" you whispered, smiling gently. He nodded, taking the key and unlocking both of your shackles.

"I am, kid." He says.

Once you felt your heart stop pounding, you also felt an exhaustion wash over you. You slowly close your eyes, laying in Spencer’s arms as you fell into a healing sleep.

Spencer smiled down at you, the smile quickly fading as he saw the numerous injuries that littered your body. He adjusted your form and began to carry you bridal style. Your head immediately leaned towards his chest, making his heart swell for a few moments. You were extremely warm to the touch other than your fingers and feet. He knew he'd have to get you to a hospital for medical attention quickly.

But for right now, you were safe. Even if Peter was still out there. But you were safe. That was all that mattered to him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader fanfic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds family #CRIMINAL MINDS FANDOM

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tonio-dawson · 4 years

Text

A crossroad

Antonio x Halstead!Reader

Word count: 1,783

Summary: AU where Antonio stays in the unit until season 7 (because I don’t like how he got written out :)). He found himself at a crossroad where he thinks he isn’t the right fit for the team anymore. Reader is Jay’s sister working as a Detective at another precinct.

Antonio walked up to your place, you could hear his footsteps even before his keys reached your apartment door. “It’s not lock-” you screamed from your kitchen but he already made his way inside. He took off his boots and his jacket, and made his way to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

You looked at him, he hadn’t said a word but he glanced at you finally recognizing your presence. “Sorry babe, thought you’re still at work,” he said while taking a swig leaning back to the fridge. His jaw clenched, his eyes were filled with fire, as if he’s ready for a fight.

“Woah, I’d say welcome home, but what happened? Rough day?” You turned to him, spatula on your hand. “Something like that,” he sighed.

“Wanna talk about it over this Arroz con Pollo once it’s ready?” You asked softly.

“I guess,” he gulped his beer this time.

“And maybe give your girlfriend a kiss before you go shower and change?” you walked toward him this time, pursing a smile.

His gazed softened as he reached his arms out to you and pulled you into a hug, “I’m sorry. It’s been really tough at the office today. And we’ve promised each other not to let work gets in between us.” he mumbled on your shoulder. You can feel that something is weighing on him.

“And you did not. Not yet anyway.” you pulled away and kissed his cheek, “Now go shower and we can have dinner,” he nodded and made his way to the bathroom.

Antonio was much calmer after his shower, much more after he filled his stomach with food, “This is soooo good, almost as good as mine.” he smiled. Usually you’d throw a napkin or anything within proximity at him but knowing he had a rough day you just chuckled, “If that’s your way to say ‘thank you my beautiful girlfriend, food is delicious’ I say you’re welcome,” you smiled.

“Of course I meant thank you, ‘almost as good’ is the highest of compliment,” said Antonio while finishing his plate. His expression changed to a tired face as he let out a sigh, “You don’t know how much I need this after today,”

“What happened? Ruzek picked a fight with you again?” You asked.

“Hmm.. yeah, he was on my list of problems today. But…” He trailed off and left his word hanging.

“But what? I’m sorry, it must have been a very hard day.” you looked deeply into him.

“Yeah, I don’t know if this is right… but I’m thinking to quit Intelligence.” he was hesitant at the beginning however his raspy voice was loud and clear when he mentioned about quitting.

You’re at loss for words, trying to control your expression. You didn’t even know whether to stop him from doing it or to support his thinking.

“I…are you, are you sure?” You stuttered.

Antonio sighed even longer this time, “That’s the thing, I’m not sure.” He grabbed another beer from the fridge and took a seat on the couch after clearing up the table.

You’re still sitting at the dining table, frozen, running different words to say to him.

“Babe?” He glanced at you.

You snapped back to reality and made your way to the couch, sitting next to him. “I’m sorry. I’m at loss for words. Don’t know what to say.” you said honestly, “I thought you love working at Intelligence,” you gazed softly at him.

“Yeah, I do. I like working the case. Our cases are always the toughest one, we put away the evil of evil and make the city safer. That’s what I love about being part of the team.” Antonio explained, you sensed a but coming.

“But…you know how Voight and the unit works. It’s not always conventional,” he continued.

“Yes, but you already know that.” you replied and he nodded at your sentence, “Most of the time it worked to our benefit. But lately, every one is trying to be like Voight, you know? Using any means necessary to solve a case. Maybe, except your brother. But Jay’s also has his way of letting things happen. And I can’t. I can’t do it. Not anymore.” he shook his head.

Antonio went on explaining how the last few years went down for him and the team. How they dealt with Al’s murderer - how Ruzek blamed him over not standing up for Voight though it wasn’t the case, how Voight handled Lopez, how Burgess let Q brought a gun to a sting and ended up killing the target, how Upton took care of Vanessa’s mess by planting evidence, the list goes on. And Antonio always got caught in the middle not wanting to condone their actions though not condemning either. But because of that, he was seen as the enemy of the team.

Beyond from short stories that Jay and Antonio shared with you, you didn’t actually know about how the Intelligence team works. As Jay’s sister and Antonio’s girlfriend you have good relationships with the team outside of work. You’ve known them to be good people and solid cops. But getting all of this new information, you can only feel for your boyfriend. You know that Antonio is the boy scout cop who does everything by the book. So these questionable methods that the team uses really challenge his ethics.

“I don’t care how Voight runs his shop. He brought me in to the team knowing already how I handle cases, and we always know how to work with each other despite our differences. But the rest of the team? I’m not sure anymore. These young folks think that Voight’s way is the only way forward. That doesn’t sit right by me.” he complained.

After Jules death, Lindsay’s departure, and Al’s gone, you suspected that Antonio’s feelings towards the team has changed. Team dynamic and roles have shifted and you’re not sure where Antonio sees himself within the team, and how the team positions Antonio.

Your suspicion only grew stronger after he told you what happened today.

A patrol officer got killed under Intelligence assignment to do a search at a suspected drug dealer’s home. But it was the wrong house, the officer came in hot and drew his gun already when coming inside. Much to everyone’s surprise, they only found a couple who are eating their lunch. Things got real bad, real quick when the husband - an ex-marine - panicked seeing a gun pointed at his direction and pulled his gun from under the table. In a matter of seconds, multiple shots were fired. The first officer died at the scene, the ex-marine is clinging to life at Med, the wife and the officer’s partner got several GSWs albeit not lethal.

The problem? They didn’t have a search warrant. It was an intel from a CI, a real bad one. Ruzek rushed it because a suspected drug dealer has been threatening Michele Sovana, Al’s only remaining daughter. With Ruzek now being questioned by Internal Affairs, the team turned to Antonio to pull in favor from ASA Peter Stone to issue a back dated search warrant to get Ruzek out of trouble.

“I think Jay’s against this. A fellow soldier got shot over a bad police misconduct? But he didn’t say a word.” Antonio’s eyes were filled with concerns, “The thing is, not only the warrant didn’t come through, but an officer shouldn’t draw their gun to a civilian unless necessary.” he sighed and remembered his almost altercation with Ruzek earlier today.

“They thought they’re walking to a lion’s den for fuck’s sake!” Ruzek yelled at him, “Well they weren’t, were they? Now you got two civilians injured; one of them served to protect the country!” Antonio yelled back.

“You always do this, man. A brother is killed and you’re worried about some political correctness? He worked patrol for 10 years, sacrificed HIS LIFE and one simple mistake you wanted to strip from his honor?”

“YES! Because that’s what we do! We sacrifice our lives as cops! Not only him. And because we’re the police we should be held to a standard. All the fucking time. You think you can knock on someone’s door and starts shooting?!” Antonio was boiling, in fact he was so close to hit Ruzek, but Voight broke them off and told people to go home and pick it up tomorrow.

“So, what are you going to do?” you asked.

“I figured I’d do what they say one last time and maybe…hand in my transfer letter the next day.” He replied.

“Wanna transfer to my unit?” you asked cheekily.

He laughed, “Only if I got to boss you around,” as he snuggled to you.

“Not gonna happen!” you threw a light punch.

“I honestly don’t know, you think transferring out is a bad move?” he asked.

“Well, I think working for Voight in the first place was a bad move. Same thing I said to Jay,” you scoffed, “But who knew you guys could go this far and rose to be a unit with the highest solving rate in the department. Whether or not you enjoy it, that’s for you to say.” you smiled this time.

“Hmm…” he hugged you closer and placed his head on top of yours.

“But whatever you decide, I’m behind you. One thing I know is that you’re a damn good cop don’t matter in which unit you work at,” you continued with a proud girlfriend tone.

“Thanks for always having my back. I love you,” He cupped your face and kissed you long and deep, “I love you too,” you replied as you pulled away. He leaned in closer for another kiss, more heated this time. His touch was more intense and you let out a soft moan. His hands traveled inside your shirt as he nipped at your neck. You both were all cozy until his phone rang. You both stopped and looked at the caller ID, “Your brother’s timing is impeccable. You sure he didn’t put a nanny cam around here?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Ugh. You have to answer him?” you asked.

“Actually I do. So tomorrow I don’t have to explain myself why I missed his calls. I’ll be quick,” Antonio replied and got up to answer the phone. He stepped outside to your balcony while you turn on the TV.

After three minutes or so, he stepped back in with a much brighter face. “Why are you so happy?” you asked. Whatever it was that Jay said on the phone has put Antonio at ease.

“I know I’m sure about one thing. That I always can count on a Halstead.” he smiled, pulled you in and continued where he left off.

#antonio dawson #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #antonio dawson x reader #antonio dawson imagine

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cmzucchero · 4 years

Text

a love for the ages.

summary: g/n reader wants to take a break from spencer, but things turn out to be more difficult than expected. uses (altered) lyrics from cornelia street, death by a thousand cuts, and i wish you would by taylor swift

requested: yes!! (and requests are still open!!)

warnings: tv 14 cussing, bar scenes and mentions of alcohol

———————————————————————

You make your way back home from the restaurant, alone. This did not surprise you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disappointed. This was your two year anniversary. You knew his job came first, and that was one of the things you loved about him- he was loyal. Unfortunately, you picked a man that had an aggressively demanding job he needed to be loyal to as well.

You sat in your car, passing streets, and stopping for red lights. You hopelessly look up and ask the traffic lights if things will be alright. Subconsciously, you think you hear them say ‘I don’t know’. The red glow fills your car as you quietly chuckle. ‘Great Y/n, now you’re really losing it.’ you think to yourself. After some time, you finally make it home. As soon as you walk into the door, you take off your shoes and throw the keys onto the small coffee table a few feet away from you. Finally, you sit down and let out a long sigh. You start listing all the times Spencer had stood you up, neglecting to inform you the plane was late or that there was a case.

Spencer did not like technology, and the thought of texting rarely crosses his mind. However, that did not mean you never crossed his mind. There is hardly a moment he doesn’t hear your voice instructing him to grab something to eat, that he would get more done if he rested, that it’s not okay to mix patterns with his shirt and tie; or that he passes a spot that somehow mimicked your aroma perfectly.

He had a damn eidetic memory, so he cannot believe he forgot about the date. By the time he remembered, he had already boarded the plane and lost cell service. ‘Okay, well, at the rate of velocity the plane travels at, we will be landing by 10:30. The flower shop closes at 11 and her favorite book shop closes at 11:30. The flower shop is 13 miles away-” Spencer’s thought process was interrupted by Derek asking if Spencer could move so Derek could get some “grub”. Spencer just moved his legs over in response, allowing Derek to cross.

“Hey, Reid, what’s on your mind?” Emily asked from across Spencer. “I- uhm- I forgot to let Y/n know that I can’t make it to our dinner tonight.” JJ and Emily share a look. “Spence, isn’t this your two year anniversary?” JJ asked, her voice laced with sympathy and bewilderment. “I know, I screwed up.” “Yeah, you can say that.” Emily said with a bit of a chuckle, but losing it as soon as she noticed Spencer’s reaction. “How do I fix this one?” Spencer asked a bit too helplessly. The girls shared a look again, ending when Emily looked back at the Doctor. “I’m not sure you can.” He just hopes he never loses you, he hopes it never ends.

It was no surprise you became bitter after listing off all of the times Spencer stood you up or stretched you thin. You began to pack your bags and leave Cornelia street, Hopefully you’ll be done before he even knew you were gone. That plan did cut out the rough confrontation.

He told you about his co-worker’s divorce, and you felt for the guy. His wife did not give him a lot of room to wiggle. Now you’re starting to think that was Spencer warning you what this job entails for the romantic partners of the team. You stood looking at the half full suitcase that laid on your bed you share. You want to run and hide, but he makes you turn right back around.

If you were right, Spencer should be over Kentucky. This gives you an hour and thirty minutes to make a decision. You needed a break, but this boy has had everyone leave him in this way, but he answer was clear… you’ve been stretched too thin.

The plane finally landed and Spencer did not take any time to get out of the plane and run to his car.

“I mean, yeah that plane ride was a bit too rocky for my liking, but didn’t pick the kid for a fear of heights type of person.” Rossi said while watching Spencer. “Hell, I would be running like that too if I had an angry Y/n to come home to.” Derek said smoothly walking to get his bags. Rossi made a “I know that story” face and followed Derek.

You didn’t even hit the tunnel before your phone started to ring. You knew it was him without even glancing at the screen. You decided against answering and just turned around. You waited a little bit after making your decision from earlier to test the universe. If Spencer came through that door, you would sit and talk about how you felt, but if not…

You made it to the door and started to look for your key. Spencer pulled open the door before you could fully get the key out. Your face remained unfazed, but you saw how full of worry he was. You’d be just lying if you said you didn’t feel a wave of guilt wash over you.

You push past him and stand between your breakfast bar and living room, facing him. He shuts the door and begins to apologise. You have to fight back the scream you felt bubbling up. You knew it was unfair, but damn it, tonight was supposed to be special!

You see flowers and a book lying on the same coffee table you had thrown your keys onto a few hours before. Damn, he’s playing all the cards in his hands.

You notice he had been quiet for a minute, so you turn and walk over to the window on your left, above the couch. Spencer watched you climb onto the couch and crawl out of the window, onto the fire escape.

You guys took every chance to sit out there for reading, eating, talking, anything. It had a nice view and had a way of calming the both of you rather quickly. Spencer followed you out. You both sat on the roof in silence before he said “I’m so terrified of you walking away, Y/n.” You sat, calming yourself and trying to find the best answer before you settled on “I think we both need to step away for a minute. Nothing permanent yet. I just think that would be the next step for right now. I just can’t pretend everything is okay when it’s not.” Neither of you looked toward each other, but you both knew you shared the silent tears streaming down your face.

Not much time passed before you got up, crawled back into the apartment, grabbed your stuff and left. You wanted to say something more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to it. Saying goodbye was already death by a thousand cuts. You drove back home with tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You had trouble sleeping that night due to all the flashbacks you kept getting of your time with him. You knew this was probably not the best decision, but at this point he probably thinks you hate him because he still has no idea what you never said.

Spencer walked into work the next morning, clearly off his usual game. Derek and Emily realized this and started saying some things that they knew Spencer would correct. To no avail, the Doctor still stared blankly at the papers on his desk. “Hey Pretty Boy, what’s got you head in the clouds?” Derek said, now turning his body towards Spencer. No response. Derek bumped into Spencer's chair, snapping him out of his trance.

“Wha-what?”

“Reid, are you okay?”

Derek asked now matching Emily’s worried features. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Has Hotch said anything about a new case?” Derek’s eyebrows are still furrowed as he slowly says no. After his response, Spencer stood up and announced he would be going to lunch early, and walked off.

“It’s 10:38.” Derek said more to himself than Emily. Emily nodded in response and walked over to JJ’s office.

Before your shift at the library, you went back to Spencer’s apartment and grabbed anything you thought you needed. Hopefully he wasn’t there. Why would he be? I mean he’s been out and at work for about two hours. You stuff some clothes, hygiene products, and books into a bag. For the past couple of years, he had always been at the back of your mind. Hell, he still is. Your heart, your body, your hips, your love..you're trying to find a part of you that he didn’t touch. Your time, your wine, your spirit, your trust..trying to find a part of you he didn’t take up. You begin to rethink your decision until rushing out before you have an unwelcome meeting with Spencer.

Spencer didn’t quite know where to go. His body and mind just followed his feet. Before he knew it his nose was hit with a musty and sour smell and his eyes had to adjust to the contrasting dark room. He was at a bar at 11:15 in the morning. ‘...great’ he said to himself. He slowly walked up to the almost vacant bar and climbed up onto the seat.

“Hey sugar, what are you having?” Spencer slowly looked up “Just a water please. I’m still on the job.” The bartender curtly nodded and slid a glass of water and a small cookie to Spencer. She sweetly smiled and turned around to top off the only other customer he saw in the bar. Spencer took a sip of the water and stared at the cookie, starting to smile a bit to himself. The sweet bartender came back and started talking to Spencer.

“So who was it? You still got a job that you’re loyal to. You seem too put together to be a regular day drinker. Wasn’t a death. So, who was the one who broke your heart?” Spencer looked at the bartender for a few seconds before answering.

“I can’t blame them if I’m being honest.” He said, diverting his eyes down to his glass of water. He chuckled to himself about what the bartender said about his job “And yeah, you can say I’m loyal to my job. That was the thing that caused the ‘break’” The bartender looked Spencer up and down “The only job I can think of that is that demanding would be the police force, but, no offence, you don’t look like you belong there.” Spencer laughed, picking at the cookie. “Yeah, I’m sorta the police. I figure out the psychology behind why people kill and my team and I help solve cases with that knowledge.” The bartender raised her eyebrows. “Intense” was all she said. Spencer nodded and dropped his eyes back down to his water.

After an hour or two, Derek walked into the bar. He looked around and moved towards Spencer. It wasn’t that hard to spot him since he was the only other person at the bar besides a trucker on the other end.

“Hey kid, you okay?” Spencer didn’t acknowledge Derek. They sat in silence until Spencer finally said “I gave them so much but it wasn’t enough.” Derek nodded and ordered a glass of water for himself. He knew they would be there for a while.

“Do you want my advice?” Derek said after a sigh. ‘No, I really just want her back.’ Spencer thought, but decided to remain silent. They stayed in the bar for a bit longer.

“Sure.” Spencer said meekly.

“You’ve got to win her back.”

“And how do you suppose I do that, Derek?” a more snappy response from the Doctor.

“Well, you could go to the library. She’s working today, right?”

Spencer nodded but was still confused about how going to their work and suffocating them when she wanted a break would win them back.

“I’ll go with you and we’ll say we need a book for a case.” Derek said, hopeful.

Spencer sighed. “They’ll know it’s an excuse.”

“No they won’t. What makes you think they will?”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

“And you’ve never read twilight.”

“What?”

“You’ve never read twilight. If they asks, we say that one of our unsubs is mimicking something from it.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, then gathered his coat and bag and made his way for the door.

“Alight!” Was all Derek said, grabbing his coat and following Spencer.

You were talking to your coworker about Spencer, not noticing the bell ringing from the front of the door.

“I mean it hasn’t even been 24 hours but I already miss him too much to be mad anymore.” you say, shaking your head, thinking you were being just a bit too pathetic.

Your coworker tried getting your attention by tapping her pencil rapidly. She wishes she chose a better distraction cause you kept going on while the certain FBI agent kept getting closer. Suddenly, Spencer ducked behind a bookshelf, leaving derek looking around confused after realizing his friend disappeared.

“I just have a feeling this will be the kind of heartbreak time will never mend, you know. I don’t know, I just wish he was right here, right now, and it’s all good again.”

“Well your last wish is granted!” Your coworker whispered, slightly agitated.

Your eyes grew as you looked around, looking for Spencer. The only thing you saw was Derek Morgan approaching the check-out desk with an alarming smug look on his face.

You felt your face heat up and turn red while you grab the book he slid over the counter.

“Hello Derek, what brings you in.”

“Oh, Pretty Boy and I have to get some books for a case.”

Your heart dropped. ‘Shit! He’s in here!’. Alarms start going off in your head. Derek leans over the counter and whispers “Don’t worry, I don’t think he heard.” Your eyes widen, but you are slightly relieved knowing Spencer didn’t hear your pathetic rambling.

You clear your throat and ask if that was all Derek was getting. He looked around, what you guessed was him looking for Spencer, and nodded. “Good bye, Pretty.” he said with a wink, then turned around toward the door. You continue to watch and see Spencer practically run out of the aisle closest to the door, following Derek out. You can’t help chuckle, despite the pain in your heart.

“Thanks for the warning.” you said to your coworker, Anne, while you were still facing the door

“I tried to tell you!”

“Yeah, sure” you chuckle, finally turning towards her.

“You wanna grab a drink tonight. No offense, but it seems like you need it.”

“Jee, thanks. I will take you up that offer.”

Anne was the only person you thought would have room to have you as a roommate until you find another apartment. You felt bad for barging in, but you didn’t think your car would suffice. Besides, she owes you for all the shifts you picked up.

Spencer ended up going back to work with a stupid book and a large dent in his pride. The rest of the day was slow. There was no case and the other members apparently took most of his files. He didn’t argue with them, though. He was drained and thankful they took that load off of him. He finished his stack about an hour before he was supposed to leave, but Hotch allowed him to leave. He felt weird about going back to the bar, so maybe he’ll just camp out at his apartment. After a moment of thought, he decided just to ride around in his car. He knew the apartment would remind him of you too much. It’d be like sitting in a haunted room, waiting for a sign of you coming back.You haven’t even been gone for 24 hours. How could he feel this raw and vulnerable?

“What are you wearing?!”

“Uhh, some clothes.”

“Those aren’t clothes for the bar!”

“I mean they do sorta meet up the dress code. I’m not trying to get any guys. I don’t want a rebound. Just want to forget for a while.”

“The only way to really do that is with another guy, Y/n.”

“No, Anne. By the way, you’re wearing two different earrings.”

“Oh- thanks!”

Anne rushed back into the bathroom while you stood in the middle of the living room. You felt a bit awkward, so you pulled your phone out of your jeans. ‘What does she mean ‘these aren’t bar clothes’?’ you thought. You were wearing jeans, converse, and a jacket over a shirt. What else are you supposed to wear?

You were broken from your thoughts by Anne walking out and hollering. You two weren’t very similar, whatsoever, but she was your closest friend in D.C., besides Spencer, but that doesn’t really count right now, does it? Anne was ushering you out the door with her, only pausing to lock her apartment door. You had no idea how this night was going to play out.

“C’mon, you came here to forget- shot.”

Anne was persistent trying to help you forget Spencer. You would’ve complied if you knew that you getting drunk wouldn't be enough. Once the morning came, you would be hit with the realization that he was not yours.

You endured a few more shots before sneaking away from Anne. You left her in a booth while you climbed up into a bar stool.

“Hey hon, whatcha want?”

“Just a water please”

The bartender gave a nod and slid the water over. She tended to a few other customers before she circled back to you.

“So what’s got you in the slumps?”

You’re a bit taken aback from her blunt demeanor, but at least she wasn’t giving you shots.

“I asked my...my boyfriend? I don’t know, I asked for a break.”

“And now you’re upset?”

“Yeah, I am. Sounds so stupid, but I think it’s too late to go back to him. I just got so frustrated! He’s more loyal to his job than to me. I mean, it’s a noble job, I’m not that upset about that, he just doesn’t communicate well!”

The bartender looked like she knew something when you talked about how Spencer was loyal to his job. You brushed it off as her being familiar with the same situation.

“I don’t think it’s too late. I actually think he might be just as down in the dumps as you are.”

“I don’t know. What makes you think that?”

“Cause there was a tweaky little guy in here earlier today. Eileene gave him a glass of water. I was eavesdropping from the booth. He barely talked- just poked at his cookie.”

You felt your heart start to race. Spencer was upset! ‘Of course he is, idiot.’ you cursed yourself.

You looked back up to the bartender, thanked her, slid a 10 across the bar, and rushed over to find Anne.

Spencer had been driving for a while now and he figured he should probably brace himself to enter the apartment.

He felt a painful ping in his chest when he passed the street the apartment complex rested on. All the memories started flooding back in. The dinners- cut to the break up. The Doctor Who marathons- cut to the breakup. All the whispered questions asking what someone meant in a movie- cut to the breakup. He knew he wouldn’t be able to pass the bathroom without smelling you.

Spencer opened the door and stood in the doorway for a minute, taking in the picture. You weren’t cooking, or dancing to Dean Martin; you weren’t lying on your stomach, reading; you weren’t hunched over your laptop, writing; and he didn’t hear your soft snores from the bedroom. It was colorless, silent, and empty.

After a few shaky steps towards the living room, he shut the door. He felt like a stranger in his own apartment. Without you, it was so bland and different. He couldn’t stomach any food, and he had already completely marked out the idea of going anywhere near the bathroom for a shower.

Spencer fell onto the couch and just stared. Your shoes weren’t by the door with your socks kicked several feet from them. Your keys were missing from their usual spot. Your presence was gone. And until yours came back, Spencer’s was gone.

You have two choices. Keep your pride and learn to live without Spencer, or, you would swallow your pride and go back home. Between the pain in your heart and the rain, you chose the latter.

He was upset, he skipped work, he came into your library. You stopped in your tracks. They had a case. He shouldn’t be home. He wouldn’t be there. If he’s not then maybe that’s just the universe- ‘No, Y/n, last time you thought the universe would choose for you it was wrong. It’s the thing that got you into this shit show.’ You began to walk again, quickening your pace every block you pass.

Spencer didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard a knock on the door. He slowly got up, trying to piece himself together for Derek or anyone else on the other side of the door. He had gotten to the coffee table when he heard keys jingling. His entire body halted, then jerked forward. He swung the door open as soon as you stuck the key into the lock.

You and Spencer stare at each other before, in unison, you practically leaped forward. You missed his smell. You have gone weeks without seeing him, but you never missed him as much as you have in these 24 hours. Spencer felt his spirit recharge the longer he held onto you. It made no sense to him, but he didn’t question it. He just wanted to stay like that, with you, forever.

“I probably smell like a wet dog.” you say, muffled, into his chest.

Spencer let out a laugh and pulled you out, arm length away, and still holding onto your shoulders. “Yeah, but I don’t really care right now.” You both break into ear-to-ear smiles while he pulls you back in to shut the door. He wanted both of you to stay in that apartment forever.

Both of you awkwardly stood in the hall between the living room and kitchen.

“I’m sorry.” you practically blurt out “I was just mad and childish. I wanted to be alone but I didn’t necessarily want to break it off. I think that was the anger. I don’t know. I just want that to go away. I’m sorry-” your rambling was cut off by spencer.

“Y/n, it’s in the past. It’s over now. You’re back. I’m back. It’s fine.”

You weakly laugh and just step back into him, tucking your head into his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

Spencer had always said it was a great love you two shared. You’re just so glad that the pages are still being written.

AN: Hello, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it!! I always accept constructive criticism!! This one was a challenge! Between making 3 breakup songs have a happy ending, and all the technical difficulties, it was a bit hectic, but SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!! I love challenges, so if you have any requests, send them my way (guidelines are in masterlist)!! Hope everyone has a day/night!!! <333

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llewey-watts · 4 years

Text

Work in progress post:

Detective Watts Best Quotes

Concocting A Killer

Watts: “Ah, so you’re the one who botched it.” Murdoch: “Excuse me?”

Watts: “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Brackenreid: “Listen, Detective Murdoch did nothing wrong. The Crown is just worried that Shanley may claim prejudice if the same detective reinvestigates the case.”

Watts: “Right, right, right. You’re just biased. The coroner’s the one who botched it. Coroners. Odd lot. Far from reliable to say the least. Not to mention the smell.”

Murdoch: “Our coroner has a flawless record. And she also happens to be my wife.”

Watts: “Good God, man. You’re married to the city coroner?”

Murdoch: “Yes.”

Watts: “Oof. Is she pretty? Ah, she’d have to be pretty. I don’t know how else you could tolerate being married to a colleague.”

“The streets of this fine city are my office.”

Crabtree: “Should I read these files?”

Watts: “Absolutely not. The less you know, the more pure you remain. From purity emerges truth. From truth emerges justice. Knowing nothing allows one to see everything.”

“Our mind is where we live our lives. The only home one needs is the human skull.”

Watts: “Oh, no. You interviewed a witness?”

Murdoch: “Oh, no. She called on me.”

Watts: “Your involvement was to cease entirely. Instead, it appears you are continuing to seek a conviction. And based on what? A visual test done 12 years ago by a neophyte coroner?”

Murdoch: “Dr. Ogden is my wife.”

Watts: “Which makes it all the more likely you’re blind to her mistakes. No, it appears this dinner was a poor idea. Good night Detective.”

Watts: “The detective was wrong.”

Ogden: “About what?”

Watts: “You’re not pretty.”

Ogden: “Excuse me?”

Watts: “Look at you. Classic, Romanesque bone structure, excellent physiognomic symmetry. You’re not pretty. You’re beautiful.”

Ogden: “Well, I suppose I’m flattered.”

Watts: “Why? It’s merely an objective assessment. But that necktie **shakes his head**.

“Honestly, Inspector, how does anyone work with this man? He is some kind of renegade to whom rules are a foreign concept.”

“Let’s suppose for a moment that Mr. Shanley is guilty of this current murder. Now, does that make him more or less likely to be guilty of the first? Are you the same man today you were yesterday? Your hair is not the same. You cut and discarded it. Same with your fingernails. Over time, our entire body falls away and is reconstituted. How, then, can you be the same? Oh, but our thinking changes with maturity, with experience. In truth, the continuity of personhood may be nothing more than a delusion. In fact, it makes me question our whole profession..."

“We need to get out of doors detective. The truth is in the air. We must **deep breath** breathe it in.”

“We both know you didn’t do it. — We have to blame someone. The function of the police is to attribute blame on behalf of the community, but the community doesn’t particularly care if we blame the right person. — Why not? Man has been using scapegoats since Leviticus. The sims were placed upon the goat, the goat was banished to the desert, but mo one cared that the goat was innocent.”

“The ignorami at Station One have done it again. I clearly told them to release the man who looks like Karl Marx. They’ve let out some fellow who’s as clean-shaven as bloody Kierkegaard.”

Hades Hath No Fury

“How could I have been so unaware? My sister was in distress, and I suspected nothing. Age is no excuse for inattention. -but, sir, you found her. Your sister’s alive.- Yes. So I’m at peace.”

“Yes. Well life is but a cruel sport for whatever maker you are forced to believe in. -Detective Watts I understand...- Would your sister forsake you for a house of women who have eschewed the world in which you live?-my sister was a nun.-“

“Truth is absolute, unyielding and eternal, Jackson. It is our one constant in a turbulent universe.”

“Your face is *pause* symmetrical, but that hat *shakes his head*”

Merlot Mysteries

Watts: “Wine is proof that God loves us and wants to see us happy.”

Murdoch: “I highly doubt that”

Watts: “Oh, you reject the words of Benjamin Franklin?”

Murdoch: “Even a clever man is capable of a bad idea. no. wine, like any alcohol, is a depressant. It hinders the mind.”

Watts: “Ah, but ‘in wine there is truth.’ -Pliny the Elder.”

Murdoch: “Writers and Philosophers are seldom the best of judges. Especially when it comes to alcohol.

Watts: “Well, no one less than Louis Pasteur called wine, ‘the most helpful and most hygienic of beverages.’ Is it that you don’t enjoy the taste?”

Murdoch: “Ah.”

“Oh. Wait right there. I’m going to show you how wrong you are.”

“‘Wine can of their wits the wise beguile, make the sage frolic, and a serious smile.’”

“In the words of Diogenes, ‘What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others.’”

Murdoch: “Spectroscopic analysis.”

Watts: “Ah, yes. Not reliable in my experience. How’s it meant to help us?”

Murdoch: “By comparing the wine in question to the light profile of other varying ages, we’ll be able to discern precisely how old it is.”

Ogden: “The older the wine, presumably, the light the color, thanks to the blanching effect of sunlight.”

Watts: “Mm, but it was kept in a cellar. Depending on conditions, two bottles of the same provenance could be wildly different. There’s absolutely to way to determine —“

Murdoch: “Thank you, Detective. Please.”

Watts: “All right.”

Ogden: “Ready?”

Murdoch: “Yes.”

Ogden: “It’s 4.3.”

**Watts waiting + messing around.**

Ogden: “It’s 5.2. 8.5.”

Watts: “Well?”

Murdoch: “[Sighs] They are all different.”

Watts: “Really?”

Murdoch: “Every grape, every year, every bottle.”

Watts: “Hm, you don’t say.”

Murdoch: “It compares to an 1880 Merlot...a 1902 Tempranillo...and...several others.”

Ogden: “Well, I suppose you told us so, Detective.”

Murdoch: “All right. Call in your expert.”

Watts: “Uh, not my expert. My sommelier.”

The Talking Dead

“No one intends to get murder **scratches his beard** and yet.”

Crabtree: “Sir, are you not concerned that you yourself are marked for death?”

Watts: “Oh, I don’y like it, but the truth is death could come to any one of us any day.”

Crabtree: “Still, no need to hurry it along.”

Watts: “Well, very little of life is under our control. Very little death as well.”

Crabtree: “Watts, have you ever been to Paris?”

Watts: “Ah yes, The City of Light.”

Crabtree: “I thought that was Buffalo?”

Watts: “No, I believe Paris came up with it first. Why do you ask?”

Crabtree: “Nina’s involved with a show that’s preforming there. She wants me to go.”

Watts: “Forever?”

Crabtree: “No, no, just a short while.”

Watts: “Well, the world is only an oyster if you choose to open it.”

Crabtree: “So go to Paris today, for tomorrow I might die?”

Watts: “Precisely.”

Crabtree: “What about you? What would you do with your last day?”

Watts: “Just this. Talk to a friend.”

Crabtree: “Who? Oh me?”

Watts: “And solve a crime.This is what were looking for.”

Crabtree: “Brilliant.”

Watts: “The City of Love with a beautiful woman. You’d be a fool to say no.”

Crabtree: “Thought you said it was the City of Light.”

Watts: “Light. Love. Are they not one and the same?”

Crabtree: “I prefer to love with the lights off, sir. I fear I’m bashful.”

Crabtree à la Carte

“A shame. It looks terrific. I think I’ll go out for lunch. Anyone care to join me? —- This disappoints me. But I soldier on.”

“I’ll work with her. People are not to be defined merely by their words, thoughts, and actions.”

“KRRRKRRRKRRRSHING SHING SHING SHING SHING! a moleta.”

“[speaking Italian] RESPONDA TO ME!”

That man’s look tho.

Watts: “It may once again be safe, but I’m not sure I’ll ever regard meat with the same enthusiasm again.”

Cherry: “Perhaps you should stick to freshly butchered cuts.”

Watts: “I thought the same. Then I read up on the abattoir conditions in the stockyards.”

Cherry: “The Shelleys subscribed to a Pythagorean diet. Da Vinci too.”

Watts: “Pythagorean? You mean vegetarian?”

Cherry: “I do. ‘My body,’ said da Vinci, ‘will not be a tomb to other creatures.’”

Watts: “Yes. Yes, it’s the only way to live, isn’t it? Join me, Miss Cherry. From this day forward, we shall follow the ranks of all moral men in our strict adherence to vegetarianism.”

Cherry: “Uh, I don’t think so. What, are we cows?”

Murdoch Schmurdoch

“Are you being facetious?”

“**To Constable John Brackenreid** Let me guess, you invited a lady to accompany you on an outing and she declined. — I would counsel you to persevere. Ask again. As Lord Nelson wrote, ‘the boldest measures are the safest,’ although I suppose a woman is quite unlike a Danish Fleet. — Yes. Tread softly, Young Brackenreid. Let her know that if her inclination changes, your offer still stands.”

Game of Kings

Ogden: “I see. Well, I don’t much fancy being stared at for the next five months.”

Murdoch: “Julia...”

Ogden: “Inspector, I couldn’t help but notice that you and all of the men were staring at the us both. Is there something you’d like to ask?”

Brackenreid: “Uh, no.”

Ogden: “Constable Crabtree?”

Crabtree: “What? [Chuckles]”

Ogden: “Higgins?”

Higgins: “No, ma’am.”

Ogden: “What about you, Detective Watts? You seem like a curious fellow.”

Watts: “Well, there is one thing.”

Murdoch: “What is that?”

Watts: “When’s the baby coming?”

Crabtree: “Oh!”

Brackenreid: “Bloody hell, Watts! They wanted to keep it a secret.”

Watts: “How could they do that when everyone clearly knows what’s going on here?”

Free Falling

Watts: “One hopes this won’t put too much of a strain on their relationship.”

Crabtree: “How so?”

Watts: “In the face of great loss, emotions can be misdirected. Feelings amplified. I knew a young couple who experienced a similar issue. They never recovered.”

Watts: “The secret to dealing with gruesome remains is to replace natural instinct with logic.”

Constable Brackenreid: “Okay. How?��

Watts: “Consider an ant. Imagine you trod upon one, crushing it, and leaving it’s body mangled beyond recognition. Now, does this disturb you?”

Constable Brackenreid: “Not really.”

Watts: “Exactly. So we simply apply the transitive law. If we are not disturbed by an ant, there is no reason to be disturbed by a beetle. If not by a beetle, then not by a caterpillar. Nor a butterfly, nor a sparrow, nor a fish, nor a rabbit, not a dog...nor a human. What we have here, then, is no more disturbing than the squashed remains of an ant.”

Hart: “What’s this?”

Watts: “A reminder of the inhumanity of man, Miss Hart.”

Hart: “How poetic.”

Watts: “Constable? It seems something’s troubling you.”

Crabtree: “How so?”

Watts: “There’s an expression on your face that suggests you have a thought in your head.”

Crabtree: “Do you remember I asked you about visiting Paris?”

Watts: “No.”

Crabtree: “And then I was away for some time?”

Watts: “No.”

Crabtree: “No. Well, in any case, I did. I went to Paris with Nina.”

Watts: “Mm.”

Crabtree: “And she wants to go again, but for good.”

Watts: “So you’re considering leaving us all behind?”

Crabtree: “I don’t want to. My whole life is here. But I could imagine a life there. I don’t know. If I...If I don’t go, I lose Nina. If I do, I lose everything else that’s dear to me.”

Watts: “One loss doesn’t outweigh the other?”

Crabtree: “The enormity of either seems too great to contemplate.”

Watts: “Oof. Well...I can’t give you any advice. But I can tell you what I know. I know that we spend our whole lives holding on to what we have. We fear loss as much as death itself. But without loss, there is no change. Without change, there is no? Life.”

Crabtree: “Detective. You realize there’s nothing written on the blackboard, right?”

Watts: “Uh, yes, but it provides a frame of reference.”

Crabtree: “Ah.”

Brothers Keepers

“Of course I’m not certain. Memories are fragmentary impressions at best. The mind moves like a flock of starlings. It’s hard to pin down a thought, let alone a memory.”

“Did I have reason? Nigel Baker tortured and killed a man I...A man who was in every way my brother. Someone who deserved my protection. I had ample reason to kill Nigel Baker. But as I have already made clear, I didn’t recognize him. So did I kill him with intention? No. Am I sorry he’s dead? No, I’m not. To be honest, even if given the chance to exact my revenge, I’m not sure I’m capable of it. Obviously, my philosophy rejects that very idea. No one asks to be the way they are, not even boys like Nigel Baker.”

In reference to justice being found:

Watts: “Where is that to be found? I’ve been asking myself that. To be honest, I’m unable to think of much else.

Murdoch: “You seek justice.”

Watts: “I crave it. If I could, I would demand it. I want the man who killed my brothers to feel their pain. To feel my grief at what he did to them. But he’s dead. At the hand of his father. Did he even know why? And now the father will likely hang. Is that justice?

Brackenreid: “Of a sort, I suppose.”

Watts: “Then why don’t I feel better?”

Annabella Cinderella

Constable Brackenreid: “Do you think I’ll get a chance to meet him?”

Crabtree: “Who? The lawyer? What do you want to meet him for?”

Constable Brackenreid: “I-I followed the trial. I felt sorry for her.”

Crabtree: “John, she killed her mother with an ax.”

Constable Brackenreid: “Harriet Rawlins wasn’t her mother. Annabella was a home child.”

Crabtree: “So that makes it alright?”

Constable Brackenreid: “She was beaten and tortured. Her home sister admitted as much.”

Crabtree: “The home sister that Annabella then tried to murder?”

Constable Brackenreid: “Rosemary Rawlins was abusive as well.”

Watts: “That’s what made it such a brilliant defense. The victim was painted as a villain, the villain painted as a victim. Annabella Cinderella.”

Crabtree: “So you’re a fan of the lawyer as well?”

Constable Brackenreid: “He took her case for free.”

Watts: “Oh, nobody’s motives are purely altruistic. It’s all in the service of his political aspirations. He running for mayor, don’t you know?”

Crabtree: “Thank you very much, Detective Watts, for everything. You as well, Mr. Daniels.”

Constable Brackenreid: “And I’m terribly sorry about all of this.”

Watts: “Of course you’re sorry. It doesn’t change anything, so why waste energy in saying it?”

Constable Brackenreid: “Does Detective Murdoch know?”

Watts: “No, he doesn’t. And that’s not the question you should be asking right now.”

Constable Brackenreid: “Sorry, I...”

Watts: “Nope.”

Constable Brackenreid: “W-What is?”

Lawyer: “How do we find her?”

Watts: “Ah. On the train over, I went through the file from the Crown prosecutor. There’s one more person we should protect.”

Lawyer: “Who’s that?”

Watts: “The doctor who filed the death certificate and attended the case.”

Lawyer: “Dr. Beattie was never called to testify.”

Watts: “He provided evidence that helped convict her.”

Lawyer: “Good point. Let’s go.”

Watts: “No. You stay. **waves gun in the air** This is police business. All right.”

Constable Brackenreid: “I’m not saying she’s innocent. I just pointed out that there are other people who may have wanted to kill her mother.”

Watts: “Which, if they did, would ipso facto make her innocent.”

Crabtree: “Did she say she was innocent?”

Constable Brackenreid: “She did, yes.”

Watts: “‘Twas ever thus.”

Constable Brackenreid: **opens the door** “Oh, my God.”

Watts: “Still think she’s so innocent?”

Constable Brackenreid: “This is my fault.”

Crabtree: “It’s jot your fault, John.”

Watts: “Losing the prisoner was your fault. This is merely a consequence. One cannot be accountable for every consequence, because the consequences of every action are infinite.”

Constable Brackenreid: “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Watts: “Your feelings are irrelevant. It’s simply the truth of it.”

Crabtree: “It does confirm our fears. The girl’s out for bloody revenge.”

#llewellyn watts #murdoch mysteries #jack walker #george crabtree appreciation society #detective watts #quotes

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