#please take in the disheveled appearance of the gif as similar to what I assume she would look like hungover
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loveofcharacters ¡ 9 months ago
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closed starter for @lungsandlips
Usually the detective hated the day that included a routine check ins with her CI's, but after the night she'd had. A day of rest is exactly what she needed. Half smiling to those who greet her, Tessa sighed on route to the detective floor. With sunglasses and a baseball cap, she knew it was a poor attempt to cover up just how hungover she was, but she couldn't take the day off. She wouldn't take a day off, not for this. Sighing as she reached her desk, what caught her eye was familiar green car slip. Removing her sunglasses to the harsh light and ironically a clearer view. She'd learned the second worse news today. "No, not today." she looked at her calendar and there is was, car maintenance reminder.
Tessa thought quickly and snuck into the police department garage, looking for the blonde mechanic who was often responsible for her car. "Liam, please, please, please. Can we reschedule the maintenance?" this would be the fifth time she's asked for a reschedule, simply because her hatred of paperwork surpassed any responsibility she had. That was the expectation when ones car gets maintenance, the driver will be on desk duty and working paperwork. Being stagnant and useless essentially.
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sw33tsnow ¡ 7 months ago
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Marijuana
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Mafia!Price x Bartender!GN!Reader (18+)
Summary: With the same age and the dexterity of a bartender, it's hard to find anyone to replace your compatibility with John.
Warning: NOT FOR MINORS, unedited, slow-burn, tension, mentions of violence, mentions of humiliation (towards reader, obv not from John), mentions of blood, non intrusion sex, marking, nipples play, ice kink, dry-humping, etc. Word count: 2k3
NOTE(s):
I'M TERRIBLY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY GRAMMAR ERRS.
Forgive me if this one is quite rush, iluvu.
Another busy night had come to an end, and you were standing behind the bar with your tie loosened, your body swaying slightly to the melodic jazz music still playing from the player. The dim lighting of the pub, combined with its subterranean setting, adds to the gloominess of the surroundings. You wiped the glass then placed it on the shelf behind and took a look around, there were still a few waiters cleaning, so you sighed and threw your black towel over your shoulder. Rubbing your eyes, you believed the night would finish like this after checking the locks and leaving last after those employees, but the familiar ding of the elevator indicated that the road to your bed was much further out of sight, apparently. 
John would come in exhausted, just as he did every night after the pub closed, and have a drink to help ease himself. Tonight was no exception, with his somewhat disheveled brown hair and a bulky coat with the layer of snow lingering on the collar revealed that he had just returned from a business visit. Throwing the pistol on the expensive oak surface and sitting down on the leather-covered barstool, John stroked his hair a few times and grinned up at you, a smile that you found charming because of the crow's feet on the corners of his eyes were visibly displayed.
"Evenin', love" The man began, sounding drained with a rasp in his voice.
"Tired day, I guess?" You asked, your arms resting on the lower counter in front of you compared to his as you leaned ever so little towards him.
"Oh no, pistol 's still cold, bet Marley will be very pleased seeing no stubborn impurities on my shirt t'day" John's butler, Marley, she'd been working in his mansion for over ten years so far. There was a time when you were lucky enough to hear the brunet grumble about how he was scolded by that butler for something related to laundry.
You pursed your lips but weren't able to muffle your small laugh, and that made John chuckled too. Given your similar ages, it is likely that you two get along well because you effortlessly understand one another's thoughts.
"What about you?" The man's brows raised.
Without rushing to respond, you strolled over to retrieve John's preferred bottle of Bourbon and poured it into a glass for him. Pushing the glass forward so that John could take it promptly, you set the wine down next to the brunet, and started engaging in conversation. 
That way, the two of you can sit and chat for hours on end without worrying that the other will get weary of listening to what people might consider idle banter. As the dong struck precisely one-thirty in the morning, the personnel had dwindled, well, time had gone by quickly. To be honest, you had forgotten your fatigue as soon as you saw John enter the pub, and when he spoke with you for an hour, you assumed he felt the same way. Even while it appears that your relationship is obviously unsuitable for your positions. 
John's bars used to consistently import alcohol from your supplier. Naturally, there is no need to discuss the quality of your booze, and in exchange, the brunet must handle shipment and a few necessary circulation documents on your behalf. You had one rule: you wouldn't engage in any major illegal activities but your appearance at John's pub was the complete opposite of what you claimed, which startled a lot of your mutual friends. The truth is that it's a covert promise between you and the man since John had to take charge and make all the arrangements in order to secure your safety after many inquiries strayed into your business under the permission of the authority. Initially, you were rather irritated considering the two tall men who were sent to inform you were too stern while the other had an excessively humorous demeanor. However, you complied with their instructions with perfect obedience, knowing it was John who gave them orders.
Being friends for long before, you two grew even closer and everyone in this place took it for granted that the man went to the pub every night to keep you company was a regular occurrence. Additionally, even though John never smokes marijuana, the lingering odour of cigars that permeates your nose whenever John shows up and the scent of your perfume on the brunet's jacket were enough to turn you two into addicts to each other.
“And don't forget ‘bout my friends stopping by tomorrow” Quickly downing the remaining wine, the brunet stood up and reminded you about the appointment the following day. 
You gave a modest smile, nodded, and bided your time until the towering back vanished from your sight. An ugly grimace appeared on your visage, John only informed you about these visits when the guests brought companions, in which case you believed it would either be prostitutes who were getting massive lavished or the sons who were so full of themselves. The success of those negotiations also hinges on how you handle these problematic clients. Anyway, you remind yourself, this wasn't something you had to deal with once or twice, only prayed that things wouldn't get out of hand.
_-_-_-_-_-_
Your head was already pounding with the volume of conversations being turned into screams surrounding you, let alone the sound of digital music seemed to be teasing every nerve of yours. And how wonderful your uniform consisted of a white shirt, black trousers and a gile with a matching tie didn't do anything to assist you feel more comfy in this circumstance.
It turns out that you've landed in the unlucky box because first, the guests you had to greet were a bunch of punks who were already drunk before entering your pub and second, they refused to sit at any of the tables. They chose to line up in front of you with the reason that they want to be served wholeheartedly because the bartender at the previous shop they just visited was very unqualified. You swore that what ever the fuck in front of you was no different from a pornography scene, just lacking a cine-camera and a director. They sang, hugged, kissed and attended to do more repulsive acts than you could possibly list.
"Uhm, sir...you're not allowed to use that here"
The familiar smooth voice prompted you to open your eyes and turn around. A waitress held the tray tightly to her chest, standing behind one punk who was preparing for a puff of his marijuana and poked his shoulder to remind him. However, she was clueless that she had set off a fire anthill.
"Who the fuck are ya to give me orders?" He spoke with an unsober voice, obviously inebriated, and kicked the girl's leg. His accent scratched the back of your brain disgustingly, making you want to punched into his fucking big nose right at the moment.
You hurried over and motioned for the girl to enter the staff changing area, knowing full well that nothing would stop after that warning. Also unintentionally drew the prickly brat's attention to you.
"And who are you to dare to poke your nose into my business?"
Calmly smiled and explained to this dickhead that according to the boss's regulations, all types of stimulants are not allowed because this was an open pub, not underground like others which John owned. But this punk didn't even let you finish your sentences. He yanked you down by your tie and blew the weed's smoke in your face, laughing arrogantly and forcing you not to look away. A hit stench stuck straight to your lungs, hogged your vision and felt like the breath you took demands to be a lot deeper for it to feel enough.
Unable to bear it anymore, you had to turn away only to be stunned by the liquid that had been reduced to room temperature. Dripping from your damp hair, drops of the mesmerizing crimson sparkle of Cabernet Sauvignon spread across your white uniform shirt, revealing your skin beneath the vibrant neon colour lights. 
Inhale deeply. After all, you should be thankful for this grace since your headache is completely gone. Maybe until the conclusion of the evening, your focus wouldn't be compromised. As long as John's negotiation proceeded without a hitch, just went along with this.
Clash.
Everyone's attention was drawn to your bar by the sound of the crystal glass shattering and the jerk's abrupt scream. Simon stood there, his thick gloved hand now drenched, staring at the dickhead who was laying on the ground clutching his bleeding head and still kept cursing.
"You should've watched where you are, kid" An unmistakably familiar voice which you didn't need a glance to confirm.
With the cigar between his lips, he removed his outer coat, passing it to Gaz, rolling up his sleeves and squatting down.
"Did your father ever tell you to consider your every action?"
John took grip of the jerk's hair and quickly hauled him back up after he had made himself clear. The brunet punched, then slammed his face into the floor. He dragged him, slowly, with each step to the front of your counter and threw him towards it. The torture, no, punishment was merciless. Not even the father willing to intervene, simply standing outside and shook his head in frustration.
As for you, you just stood there, stoically thanking Soap with the towel he offered you and blotting the alcohol from your wet hair as you watched John take out his rage on the newfound meat bag.
It was a good four minutes until the brunet was satisfied. His subordinates swiftly handed him a fresh rag to clean up the blood on his knuckles while he approached the father to end the terms of their discussion. Only to blame his dumbass of a son. 
"Leave us" Was all John said.
Everyone left, Soap went in behind to tell the girl to get off work early.
"You...stay" Pointing at you, he demanded.
When it's just you and John, the brunet gave you his unwavering attention. And you knew without a doubt that you were going to be chastised, so all you did was bow your head and keep wiping your hair without looking up at the man who sat across the bar table from you.
This uncomfortable silence must have offended John, so he grunted, just enough for you to quit and fixed your gazes on him.
"You know it's not necessary, John...." You maintained your calmness.
John groaned and leaned in closer, "There's a limit to everything, and that muppet crossed the line, that's what he deserved."
"And yet behaving so childish,what will they bat around? You, the one and only John Price, beats the hell out of his party's son for a bartender?" You scowled, not willing to back down.
How hilarious it was for John to act like a teenager boy, knowing that it was too ridiculous for him to stand up for you in that situation. Even if he wasn't concerned about his reputation, you were. 
John moved away from the wooden table, tossed the partially burned cigar into a random wine glass, circled the bar and approached you. He placed his hand on your neck, drawing you in but not using too much strength.
Ultimately, your lips crashed together, it's so sudden that you froze on your ground, letting him take control over everything including your body.
"A bartender, you say. 'll fuckin' show everyone what's this bartender meant to me, eh?" He snarled in your ear.
The brunet bent you down, hands roaming all over your entire body while his lips trailed hundreds of hot, wet kisses from your mouth, cheek, down to your jaw, shoulders, and chest. He’s so strong, pinning you down making your back laid flat on the counter, unable to escape from this unbreakable bear trap. 
John was not rushed about this. He took his time, nibbled on every inch of your skin, leaving red and purple bruises from where his mouth swiped through. Like a predator marking his prey. And you were too stunned, couldn’t form a normal sentence to stop him and limps were so numbed that couldn’t hold him back. But you both knew, you’re not against this, you craved for him as much as he craved for you. So he didn’t slow down, only loosened his grip so that you’d be able to touch him for his, no, you pleasure, too. 
“Fuck, John, wait….ah, s-slow down” You let out a breathy moan, nails digged into his back.
But of course he didn’t comply. Only tucked your nipple in and started lapping and twirling with his tongue, the other one was being taken care of by his thick fingers. Setting his leg between yours, rubbing, the brunet put more pressure to his knee and pressed it to the area between your legs. He groaned, sounded not so different from a starved animal.  
And it’s almost so painful that you had to reach your hand to John's crotch and tried to ease him. Your movement was quite messy or clumsy somehow but you both were just way too horny to care. You groped him, squeezing it gently and moving your palm up and down his shaft.
"Bloody fuckin'...." John grunted out in frustration, eyes shut in denial.
Couldn’t hold it anymore, the man flipped you around, pulling your lower body stick to his. The swell of your ass to his hard-as-rock midsection and he kept you there, didn’t start moving yet. Reaching for the ice box on his right, John picked two small cubes out and held them to your aching nipples.
“Fuck, John, please no….I can’t” You almost cried out, feeling like breaking your neck just to look back at him.
And this man only responded you with a fucking mischievous smirk on his face.
Took a good handle on your hips, he began to move, rubbing his solid brother against your ass, between your thighs, filthy but tempting. The only audible noises were his grunts and you half crying half pleading tone. And stopped when you both released and panting heavily. 
Taglist: @shadowlali , @ghostlythots , @brickwall035
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laurensprentiss ¡ 4 years ago
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Jouska [Hotch x Reader]
Chapter 11:
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Gif Credit: @dudeitiskarev
A/N: I told you shit was going to kick tf off! Poor Hotch is not having a good day today.
Warnings: Explicit details of injury, strong language. 
———
“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” - Nadia Scrieva
———
‘Fitzgerald House’ sits in white letters on an antique black board at the gateway entrance. Hotch turns over the engine and peers over at the notebook in McCall’s hand, squinting at the gated estate in front of him. 
They’re buzzed in by a security guard, and as they drive up, the estate expands. A pillared terrace is framed by dark brick, neatly trimmed shrubs line the circle driveway and encase a grand fountain. Behind it, a set of antique double doors are framed by more huge pillars and blossom trees umbrella the pathway. 
“Are you sure this is the right address, Aaron?” Mccall asks.
He nods. “Fitzgerald House. This is it.”
They step out of the car simultaneously, looking around them, the estate more intimidating up close. There’s something cold about this place, a familiarity he identifies with all too well. 
“This seem like the kind of place a twenty-something lives in?” McCall asks in disbelief. 
Hotch scoffs, air leaving his nose in an exhale. “Senator Fitzgerald’s twenty-something.” 
Hotch is light on his feet, feels as though he’s dirtying the kept tile pathway just by walking on it. Truth is, he’d grown up in a home like this - or spent his summers there at least. He’d felt just as uncomfortable then as he does now. He knows what kind of people are on the other side of those doors, and knows the kind of people that live here. Cold, calculating, drenched in privilege, toxicity and unbearable expectations. 
Borderline abusive. 
He was raised by them. 
He pulls his credentials from his inside pocket and reaches for the doorbell. They take a minute or so and when there’s no answer, he makes a fist and bangs on the door with the side of it. 
“Open up, FBI.” 
A woman finally pulls open one of the double doors, straining almost with the weight of it, the oak creaking. She’s around 40 years old, stands at 5’4 and she’s thin, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, greying slightly towards her hairline. A black and white apron completes her uniform.
“FBI? Can I help you?” She speaks with an accent, a thick lilt to her words. Eastern European, maybe, Hotch thinks. 
“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent McCall. We’re with the FBI.” They flip their credentials to show the lady, her eyes squint to read the writing on them. “And you are?” 
“I’m the housekeeper. Carolina.” She says. 
“Hello, Carolina. We’re looking for a Jordan Fitzgerald?” Hotch inquires with a smile. 
“Oh.” She stutters and glances behind her, frozen in place. 
“May we come in?”
“Yes, yes, sorry. Please, come in, I think Mr. Fitzgerald is still in bed. Just a second.” 
They step into the foyer of the home, taking in the room - it’s bright and airy, a white marble staircase leading up and off into both directions sits in the middle, framed by a dark bannister. The refined marble floor, and white walls make the both of them feel uncomfortable, uneasy. Tight-lipped family portraits and oil paintings of numerous well to do ancestors line the walls, casting a disapproving eye.
To the right, is a drawing room, where Carolina seats the two men, plush leather sofas are carefully placed in front of a massive window with a view of the front garden. An oversized antique ceramic vase sits in the corner of the room, perfectly polished and buffed.
Hotch swallows uneasily, his eyes scanning the room. 
They both sit tentatively, careful not to scuff the antique rug that lays below them. McCall glances at his watch and mutters to Hotch, taking care to look around so nobody hears him. 
“Bed? It’s noon.” 
Hotch scoffs, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees some missed calls from Haley that he skips over, shooting off a quick text to you. 
Hey. Good luck with your dad today. 
Talking to you is fast becoming one of the best parts of his day - he feels a little like a teenager again. His phone buzzes and he hopes it’s your name on the screen, he has a spring in his step whenever he’s on duty and he doesn’t have as much trouble waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re waiting for him. 
He’s suddenly ripped from his thoughts when giggles erupt from the top of the stairs, and two sets of footsteps approach. Hotch cranes his head in unison with McCall as a blonde woman with dishevelled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner stumbles down the stairs, shirt buttons done unevenly and skirt askew. 
She carries her shoes in her hands and has a purse tucked under her arm - Hotch concludes that she was probably drunk last night, the effects of which she’s still feeling now if her stumbling is any indication. 
Who he assumes is Jordan, trails behind her with a grin on his face. He’s undressed with only a pair of boxer shorts covering him and a dressing gown that lays open. Hotch and McCall shoot each other a wordless look and Aaron has to fight to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 
Jordan surprisingly has the decency to walk his unnamed friend to the front door, who turns and plants what looks like a messy and unpleasant kiss on his mouth. 
This is Jordan? 
Nice.
He’s tall but still stands a couple of inches shorter than Hotch, he’s broad with brown hair and matching eyes and has a tattoo across his clavicle, which he covers up when he pulls his dressing gown closed. McCall clears his throat when the unnamed friend releases herself from Jordan’s grip and turns to leaves after having Jordan swat her ass crudely. 
Jordan turns his attention then to the agents in his drawing room, padding towards them as they both stand in unison to introduce themselves. He glances at Hotch, eyes narrow, a miniscule flash of recognition appearing on his face. He subconsciously squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, gaze falling to the FBI badge Hotch has pinned on his lapel. 
“Mr. Fitzgerald? We’re with the FBI.” McCall tells him with an outstretched hand. 
Jordan takes it warmly, plastering a smile on his face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
McCall tells him that they’re here in connection with an ongoing case regarding you, to which Jordan has surprisingly little reaction, Hotch notes. 
Instead, he turns his attention to Hotch. “FBI huh?” He places his hands in his hips, an obvious attempt at trying to assert his dominance, and Hotch sees right through him. “Impressive,” he continues. “How old are you anyway, man?” His words drip with sarcasm and do nothing to veil the obvious insecurity he feels. 
He unsuccessfully tries to level with Hotch, subtly tiptoeing. 
Hotch’s jaw clenches as he looks down at Jordan. “24.” 
He repeats Hotch’s words slowly, ignoring McCall - who finds himself frozen in place, uneasy with the almost confrontational atmosphere between his partner and Jordan. 
“Wow. Someone’s ambitious. Got a lot to prove-” he flicks his badge. “Hotchner?” 
Hotch finds the words on the tip of his tongue, wants to chew this asshole out for being a sleazy piece of shit, difficult and lazy. But the thing that really bothers him, the thing that makes Hotch want to give him a black eye, is the fact that at one point, you were his - and his own actions sent you running back into Jordan’s arms. 
That thought makes his stomach drop, because it’s a feeling he’s wholly unfamiliar with. 
Jealousy. 
And he finds that most disconcerting of all. 
He’s used to being able to do his job with a degree of separation and compartmentalisation, to keep his emotions in check - but he finds himself in a predicament now, one that’s becoming alarmingly clear. The lines are blurred and he knows it, no matter how hard he tries to push it down. 
But he tries anyway. 
He takes a deep breath and goes on. “You mind putting some clothes on, bud? We have some questions for you?” His tone is biting, condescension masked with amiability, similar to the way he would speak to a child. He tacks on the ‘Bud’ to purposely get a rise out of Jordan. 
If there’s one thing he learned from his parents growing up, it was how to get under people’s skin with a smile plastered on his face, and he knew people like Jordan. 
He used to be a Jordan.
Jordan steps towards Hotch, his eyes narrow, a slew of expletives on the tip of his tongue no doubt until McCall subtly steps between them. He stops in his tracks, eyes still focused on Hotch standing behind McCall. 
His demeanour changes completely and suddenly, the animosity melting away to make way for his initial warm manner. 
He takes a deep breath and plasters an unnerving smile on his face. 
With a tilt of his head, he says, “I actually have back to back appointments today, may I come into your offices tomorrow?” His cadence sounds eloquent, polite, the way Hotch knows he was probably raised to speak. 
He frowns at the rapid 180. 
McCall subsequently agrees to let Jordan come into the office to keep the peace but Hotch knows better. The only appointments he would have would be with a few lines of coke and a bottle of scotch if his jaw movements and body odour were anything to go by. 
Still, Ben hands him a business card and tells him to come by at around 3pm for a few questions and bids him a quick goodbye. 
Hotch’s phone buzzes on his way out, a message from you telling him that you’re on your way to your father’s with Emily. 
‘Oh and like three MPD officers.’’ You add. ‘One’s new I think? How’s it going with Jordan?’ 
A small smile creeps its way onto his face while his attention is diverted and his eyes are glued to his phone. 
Jordan watches Hotch and McCall walk back down the pathway and into the car. His eyes narrow from the doorway as he gives a cursory glance to the business card he holds between his index and middle finger, and he flicks it onto the ground outside. 
McCall clears his throat once they’re in the car, but Hotch’s attention is still directed at his phone. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time.
Hotch’s eyes dart up as he looks at McCall. “What?” He asks innocently, slipping the phone into the centre console. 
“That who I think it is?” 
“Yeah, I just checked in to see if everything was alright.” He rubs the back of his neck, a dead giveaway gesture to anyone who knew him well enough.  
“Yeah? Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what-”
Without warning, McCall reaches over and pulls down the driver’s seat visor, sliding the mirror cover over. Hotch’s face is flushed, a ghost of a smile on his face, akin to a smug teenager. His guilty reflection stares back at him and stops him in his tracks. He didn’t realise he looked like that when he was thinking about you and he’s alarmed at how transparent he is. 
No, he thinks. So what? It’s warm, it’s even warmer in this car. 
It’s fine.
Still, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “What?” Hotch says, insistent as he turns a little in his seat. 
McCall sighs deeply next to him, hesitant. “Just. Be careful.” He says, head tilting to motion to his phone. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” 
“You know what I’m talking about, Aaron.” He says, his voice low. “I see the way you look at her. And what about that little display inside? Why were you so confrontational with Fitzgerald?” 
He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You gotta be kidding me! You saw the way he was antagonising me-”
“-Yeah and your job is to stay calm no matter what. You’re not supposed to let people get a rise out of you, especially not if you want a place at the BAU one day. Gideon got word of you, he thinks you’re good. Prove him right.”  
He sounds like an older brother lecturing him, but he has a point, Hotch thinks. Why was he so bothered by Jordan? 
He knows why. He doesn’t know how much longer he can deny it.
The feelings he’d tried so hard to bury deep inside were quickly rising to the surface, faster than even he could get a handle on them. Maybe all he could do at this point was to relax his body and let the water carry him - sink or swim. The possibility of what could be, maybe it was too big to keep fighting. 
He has feelings for you. 
He has feelings for you despite the numerous conflicts of interest, despite the moral implications and the danger to your investigation. 
He swallows dryly. 
“You have feelings for her.” McCall says, mirroring his conscience. 
He doesn’t know what to say back, but he certainly can’t bring himself to deny it. He’s not that good of a liar. Yet. 
He just stares back at McCall whose face is etched in concern for his partner. 
He has feelings for you. 
———
It’s dark when you hug your father goodbye. You hadn’t realised just how homesick you’d been for him until you’d visited today, more so now as you’re about to leave. 
You stand in the dreary rain and apologise again for not telling him about the restaurant incident, reassuringly rubbing his hand as you tell him you’re going to be okay. 
“Really, truly.” You tell him over the patter of the rain. “I’m going to be absolutely fine. I have Emily watching over me now.” 
He nods and places a kiss on your forehead. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still worry.” He sighs. “Bye, baby.” 
You wave to him one last time, pulling your coat closer to your body before you and Emily drive away, MPD leading the way. You glare at her, watching her avoid your looks. She grips the wheel a little tighter, and keeps glancing in the rear view mirror despite there being nothing there. 
After a minute or so, she grits between her teeth, “What? I can feel you staring at me.” 
“You told Dad?” You hiss. “I specifically told you not to, and you still told him?” 
“I’m sorry! He asked me outright if anything had happened, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”
“Yes!” You squeal. “Yes! You’re supposed to lie if I ask you to!”
“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it. He deserves to know that you’re okay. Think about it, what if it had been him? You’d wanna know.” 
In your attempts to not worry him, you’d forgotten that you were all he had, too. Maybe he was right for holding on so tight. 
“I am sorry, though. I should’ve let you tell him.” Emily whispers, glancing at you. 
“No.” You shake your head and apologise too. “You were right.” 
“Does he fly out tomorrow?” 
“Uh, no. Tonight. Some trip that’s been scheduled for months,” you reply distracted, watching the officers in front of you. 
The MPD car turns its hazard lights on, signalling to pull over on the side of the quiet road. You peer at the vehicle in front of you, confused, checking with Emily who shrugs. A text from one of the officers reads, 
‘Reports of a disturbance ahead, assessing alternate route.’ 
“Better settle in.” You show Emily the text and relax into your seat a little better now, leaning your head against the headrest and resting your eyes as the heater runs in the background. The rain slows to a drizzle now. 
She unbuckles her seatbelt to turn her seat. “Can I ask you a question?” Emily says after a while. 
“Sure.” You reply, eyes remaining closed. 
“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” She whispers.
“Who?” You frown. 
“Hotch.”
You all but jump out of your skin. “What?!” You squeak.
Emily rolls her eyes now, embarrassed that you’re even trying to deny it. “Come on. It’s me. Don’t lie.”
Your mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but your cheeks burn. It’s not entirely unexpected, Emily’s always been somewhat of an inner voice, a mirror that holds you accountable but you’d been quietly trying to work out your issues, the feelings you’d been having for Hotch, internally. 
Had you made it that obvious? Had you made yourself look stupid and naive, pining after a guy who was so much older and settled in life? 
“No of course I don’t, where is this coming from?” Your cheeks grow even hotter and you try to keep your voice even. 
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone can see it.”
“See what? There’s nothing to see!” 
You groan and bury your face in your hands in mortification. If everyone could see it, that meant that Hotch could too, he was on his way to being a profiler for God’s sake. He was probably just humouring you, sparing your feelings.
Oh God. 
“I mean the way you look at him?” Emily says.
“-Please stop, this is so embarrassing-” 
“-The way he looks at you?”
You freeze. “What?” You turn to look at her now and you find her smirking. 
“Come on, you’re seriously telling me you haven’t noticed? I noticed the day I met him, so you’re either blind or in denial, and I know you’re not blind. Even McCall knows it.” 
“What? No. He has a girlfriend and he wouldn’t-”
“Yeah that might be true, and I can’t speak to that. But it doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Even the way he held you that day? You don’t hold a friend like that.” 
Your chest feels fuzzy, warmth spreading to your bones, stomach flipping. 
“So?” Emily laughs next to you as she watches your expression. You try your best to stop the smile making its way onto your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She pauses. “He does too, y’know?” 
“What?”
“Have feelings for you.” She replies coyly. 
“Shut up.” You reply, rolling your eyes. 
Your smile reaches your ears now, cheeks aching from the strain. Still, you shake your head, and blow her off, instead turning your attention to the other side of the road. You chew on the inside of your lip, mulling over whether to let what you just heard go ignored or if you wanted to act on it. 
You turn back to confide in Emily but before you can, you see her squinting in the rear view mirror. 
“What the hell?” She mutters. You follow her gaze and see a car with beaming headlights, driving towards you, showing no signs of slowing down as it approaches. She sits up straight in her seat suddenly, as the car increases its speed and barrels towards you. 
The colour on her face drains as she fumbles with the gear stick and pedal, panic taking over as she attempts to move out of the way. You both flinch when the MPD car’s tail lights switch on, the engine revving and reversing. 
Both of your faces fall. “Emily...�� You pant. 
“Oh God.”
It’s over in a couple of seconds. 
The headlights get closer and brighter, both cars barrelling towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourselves for impact, your hand clasping hers as both cars ram into you, the seatbelt searing the neck of your skin. The airbags pummel your body from the front and side and your insides feel like they're turning upside down. 
Your neck snaps forward with the impact, glass shattering and piercing the skin on your face and arms as the blood pools slowly from your forehead. A high-pitched whine penetrates your skull as you look over to a barely conscious Emily, and then to the side mirror, a dark silhouette approaching the car. Your breathing is rapid, chest rising and falling as you hyperventilate before you finally black out with the taste of metal in your mouth. 
———
Hotch throws his keys haphazardly on to the table that sits next to the front door, loosens his tie and shrugs his blazer off. He finally breathes a sigh of semi-relief, feeling exhausted. He doesn’t bother calling out to the empty space to let Haley know he’s home, instead decides to just make his way upstairs and get a shower before turning in for the night. 
His shirt is unbuttoned and his socks are in his hands when he turns his attention towards the laundry basket in the corner of their bedroom. He goes to throw them in the hamper when he frowns, some stray fabric catching his attention behind the basket. 
Haley strolls into the room then, rubbing lotion into her hands as Hotch moves the basket to get a better view of the fabric behind it. She double takes when her eyes fall to what he’s doing, spotting what he’s reaching for. The colour drains from her face. 
She’s too late. 
Hotch pinches the fabric between his index finger and thumb and inspects it in front of him, frowning, Haley swallows dryly, going lightheaded.
A pair of boxers.
He frowns. They’re not his, but he swears he’s seen some like them before. 
“Hey, where did these-”
He barely gets through the whole sentence before Haley’s face gives her away entirely. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing hard, wringing her hands. 
His face falls and he blinks at her, stuck in denial. 
Surely not. She couldn’t have- 
She averts her gaze, looking instead at the carpet on the floor, cheeks hot when the boxers are thrown at her feet. She flinches. 
“Explain.” He demands. 
She opens her mouth but no words come, her head hangs in shame.
“How long?” He asks. “How. Long?!” His voice booms.
“It happened when I left for those two weeks.” Her voice barely registers above a whisper. 
Anger bubbles in his chest when he does the math, “You’ve been cheating on me for two months? Two months?! Was that him this morning?” His nostrils are flared and he knows he’s getting louder now, but he doesn’t care. 
She nods. 
“Use your words, was it him?” He hisses. 
She sobs, “Yes.” 
His mind runs rampant with fury and humiliation, he’d spent the last four months trying to make sure he put her first, had tried to balance his personal and work life and instead of meeting him in the middle, she had betrayed him in such a humiliating way. 
He paces the length of their bedroom now, head scrambling at the proverbial slap he’s just received . The cold familiarity of where he’d seen the fabric before suddenly dawns on him, creeping up his spine.
He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face her, asking the question he doesn’t want the answer to. “What’s his name?” He asks evenly. 
“Jordan - Fitzgerald.” 
He’d always thought the phrase, blood turning to ice, was just a saying but when Haley says those two words, he feels as though the floor has been pulled out from under him and his stomach sinks. He tries to piece together all of the moving parts, tries to connect the dots - he knows what this is, but his brain is still playing catch up. 
He’s in a daze when he answers a call from McCall, his voice even. “I’m on my way to you, there’s been an accident.”
“An accident?” That pulls him out of his daze, a cold harsh push back into reality. Haley’s head whips up when she hears the words, tears streaming down her face. “Where?” He asks. 
McCall pauses. “It’s her.” 
Hotch can already feel what’s coming next, dread settling into his bones, his stomach churning when he remembers you’d planned to have dinner with your father. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill out. 
“Status?” He whispers.
“Missing.”
———
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writingandimagines ¡ 6 years ago
Text
Enoch O'Connor x Reader One Shot ~ Photos of Love
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Requested by Anonymous: “Hello! Can you write a one shot for Enoch O’Connor X reader and it’s like their 1 Year anniversary and it’s romantic and fluffy please? Thank you & I love your work!!💕
A/N: This is based on the movie!Enoch, I hope that's okay. Thanks for requesting this one shot and also for your kind words :) - 🌸
Disclaimer: I do not own Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children nor do i own this gif or any other gifs on this blog unless otherwise stated. If you are the owner of this gif (or any other gif on here) and would like me to remove it or credit you please let me know :)
Word Count: 2,017
Warnings: None just fluff
Slight Modern AU with Enoch O’Connor
If someone had told you that you’d be standing in this position a year ago, you’d have called them crazy, but here you were getting ready to celebrate your one-year anniversary with Enoch.
The two of you had liked each other in secret for quite some time, well that was before your feelings had accidentally been shared with all the older children, not that either you or Enoch knew at the time (and didn’t until a couple of days later when the younger children found out) so of course that was a fun experience for a few days. Needless to say, Enoch was not best pleased when he found out, and as entertaining as you found it to watch him be an interesting mix of his usual grumpy, sarcastic rudeness, it was even better to watch the bright red flush appear on his cheeks. This was something no one had ever seen before, which to be honest only confirmed everyone’s suspicions that the rumour was in fact true. Not that you were complaining at all, in fact you too were donning a similar blush and Enoch had noticed. Honestly if certain events had not occurred that day, the two of you would probably still be hiding your feelings, too scared to say anything.
As you finished up getting ready, you sighed deeply at the thought of the inevitable teasing that would no doubt take place. Although since the two of you had taken part in the teasing at the other couples it was only time that you got your comeuppance for it.
You had no idea as to what Enoch had planned for the day, and the thought worried you a little. There had been multiple conversations and rules put in place by Miss Peregrine specifically for these occasions/milestones, which unsurprisingly included a long list of things that were not allowed to happen in the Home or anywhere on the grounds for that matter. Some of the other children had also decided to throw about their ideas on what you should do to celebrate, a lot of which were shut down by Enoch almost instantly.
Despite all of the glares and cynical comments, it was agreed by everyone that you brought out the best each other. The two of you saw in each other what others had previously failed to see and although neither of you would admit it, it meant the world to you both.
Your moments of reminisce were sadly brought to a close by a knock at your bedroom door, a knock you were all too familiar with. It was the knock that came during the day when hugs and cuddles were wanted, it was a knock that appeared during moments of weakness when you wouldn’t speak to anyone but him, it was the only knock that could put a smile on your face without any hesitation.
“Come in!” You yelled from the centre of the room. The door creeped open slowly to reveal your boyfriend with a rather nervous look on his face, his eyes avoiding your gaze. “Hey… what’s wrong?” You asked calmly, moving closer towards him.
“I wanted to make an effort but I… I can’t…” he stuttered a little, and lifted his hand up to reveal a tie. “I… Can’t tie this and no one… was around to ask…” he trailed off, his eyes finally shifting to meet yours. You smiled, laughing a little before taking the tie from his hand and folding his collar up his neck, beginning to loop it around. Enoch just stood, watching the concentration in your eyes as your fingers moved quickly on the fabric.
This was it, the vulnerable side that he didn’t let anyone see, all his fears, his insecurities, the things he was scared to share with people, what he hid behind the strong exterior, the softer side of him that just wanted to be loved by someone. The only other person that he had dropped these barriers around was Miss Peregrine, so the fact he trusted you enough to show everything with you meant a whole lot.
You tightened the knot and shuffled it upwards towards the collar, before folding it back down and gently adjusting it.
“There, all sorted” you confirmed with a proud smile etched on your face.
“Thanks Y/N” he nodded as he turned on his heel and began to leave.
“Hey wait a second” he stopped, turning his head back towards you, lifting his head up slightly indicating to you that he was listening. “What exactly is it that you have planned?” you asked as the worry reappeared in your head. He turned, pausing before he answered evidently taking his time to figure out what parts he wished to share with you.
“You’re going to have to wait and see my love” he muttered, turning back and walking towards the door, closing it behind him. You sighed, having expected something like this to occur.
For the majority of the day after that Enoch was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Jacob for that matter, which was odd concerning they weren’t always friendly with each other. You weren’t the only one that picked up this either, Emma too had been wondering where her boyfriend had gotten to, and with the day being an important event for you and Enoch the two of you assumed they were together, preparing.
It was early evening when the two of you finally crossed paths again, however this time he looked slightly more dishevelled, his usual neat hair was now a windswept mess, his clothes were creased and his eyes looked teary, a clear indication that he had in fact been outside or had at least needed to travel outdoors at some point. A soon as his eyes met yours, he adjusted himself, fixing his hair and patting down his clothes, gesturing for Jake to the same before whispering something to him. Jake then left, motioning for Emma to follow him which left you and Enoch alone in the sitting room. You moved towards the sofas, sitting down on one as Enoch followed and sat down next to you his arm wrapped itself around your shoulders pulling you closer to his chest.
“So, what have you been up to Sweetheart?” He asked, now resting his chin on your head.
“Not a lot really, just hanging out with Emma, reading to some of the younger children” you paused and moved your head, so that he would no longer be able to rest his head on it, this of course prompted him to frown at you. “I’m more interested as to what you were doing if I'm honest?” he smiled, his eyes shifting down towards the floor for the second time that day, why on earth was he still so nervous? You thought, titling your head to one side you slowly and gently lifted his chin up so that his eyes would meet yours. “What’s wrong Enoch?” you questioned.
“Nothing’s wrong sweetheart, I promise” he said, bringing his lips towards your forehead and kissing it sweetly.
“Then why are you acting so weirdly?” He sighed, a smile appearing on his face as he looked down once again,
“Because I'm worried, you’re not going to like your present, and I know how stupid that must sound to you” Enoch answered his eyes finally coming back up to meet yours as he spoke.
“Oh Enoch, I’ll love it whatever it is, it’s from you after all” You assured, playfully hitting him in the arm, him faking an injury from it.
It was then that he closed his and inhaled deeply to calm down his remaining nerves before re opening them and reaching down the side of the sofa to reveal a brown paper package.
“I hope you like it; it was Jake’s idea he thought since you’re closer to his time that you’d like something with a modern touch” he explained as he handed the parcel to you. The curiosity immediately took over you as you began to shake and pat areas of it, to try and guess the contents, being sure to be careful just in case it was fragile. You decided against voicing your guess and instead dived into opening it. Enoch watched on, excitement rushing onto him face as he saw your eyes light up when the gift was revealed to you.
Inside the brown wrappings lay a photo album, with a picture of you and Enoch on the front that Jake had taken of you both towards the start of your relationship. Your smile turned into a massive grin as you pulled the packaging off completely and threw it to the floor, opening the book to look at the carefully selected pictures of all your happy memories together. IT was clear that a lot of time and effort had gone into it, between pieces together to right pictures, writing quotes or sweet poems that had been suggested you him by others. However, that wasn’t what really got your attention, it was the handwritten note at the back, sealed in a silver envelope.
It read;
My darling Y/N,
It’s not like me to sit here writing out love letters as I'm sure you’re already aware, but for the sake of today I thought I'd give it a shot.
You’re the sweetest person I've ever met and I feel privileged to have been able to know you, let be able to say that yours. I know that I'm not the easiest to put up with at times, given the dark side to both my humour and peculiarity but despite most finding my abilities scary you instead were intrigued, asking questions that no one else ever had. You chose to spend your free time with me, watching me build the homunculi and waiting to see the epic battles take place. While all the other children had difficulties understanding me you didn’t,' instead you saw everything they couldn’t, even some that I thought I hid well. All the hurt from the years before I entered this loop and very reason, I left the other, somehow you managed to see it, though of course you didn’t know any of that back then, you could sense that it was there. I felt comfortable from the moment I meant you and for someone like me that’s a rarity.
I know how all of that sounds I don’t like it either but after 10 attempts at writing this this is the best we’re going to get at this point, I hope you like it and the present too. I wanted to give something back to you for all that you’ve done me.
Love Enoch xxx
Tears formed in your eyes as you read, unable to control or explain how his kind words had made you feel. You placed the letter down on the table and leaned over to hug him tightly, your tears now even more obvious.
“Thank… you so… m…much Enoch…I … I love it” you sniffled out before pulling away. Enoch smiled and gently wiped your tears away with his thumb and kissed your forehead tenderly.
“You’re more than welcome sweetheart” he assured, the happiness he felt evident in his voice.
Enoch leaned forward and caressing your cheek with his right hand and stroking his thumb across it affectionately. The two of you gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, sharing the emotions your words couldn’t. It was then that Enoch closed the gap between the two of you and kissed you softly.
The two of you spent the rest of the day together, trying your best to avoid the other children, determined to make the day as perfect as you could. Although, this may have included breaking a few of the birds rules by sleeping in the same bed, cuddling each other tightly until morning came.
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