#sorry if i misse pd a tw!!

[onlinedolly]

cw: drug use, misogynistic undertones (brief mention of gender roles), degradation, p in v, p in mouth, dubcon (if u squint maybe?), mentions of piss, mean awful leon, i think that’s it? lmk if i miss any ok thank u

an: for my angel 🕊️ annonie who rq more corrupt cop leon!!!! i don’t put tws in tags so please read the list above carefully. if any of those things are too much for you please feel free to bypass this okay thanks so much. also i did not proof read this cuz im terrible sorry ):

corrupt cop!leon is a mean man. a star in the raccoon city PD, an officer who’d spent years building up nothing but a positive reputation, but behind closed doors he was anything but kind. you were his pretty little girlfriend, over a decade his junior and a former rookie at the same place he worked.

corrupt cop!leon who drank the minute he got home until he went to bed, expecting dinner and clean home when he arrived. so pleased to see his pretty little doll and dressed up for him over a hot stove. he got too drunk, like usual, and that’s when he’d become violent and crude.

“why don’t you come over here, little one?”

corrupt cop!leon would say, patting his legs with an almost empty whiskey glass to his side. and like the pretty, sweet thing you are, there you’d go prancing over to place yourself on his lap. smothering him with kisses, asking about his day, complimenting him on what a good cop he was (not that he needed the ego boost). and he’d sigh, tap your pretty cheek to get you to open your mouth big and wide before slipping whatever pills he’d stolen from the evidence locker a few hours prior. it really wasn’t as bad as it seemed, leon would think to himself, he was just helping, right. the pills made you happy, pliable, sweet and made that little brain of yours dumb.

and oh boy, did corrupt cop!leon love when you were hazy and high and oh so fucking stupid.

“ain’t got a thought up there, do ya?”

corrupt cop!leon who’d roughly knock on your head as if someone would answer. and you just smile all bright at him, like you do so often, and tell him the only thing up there is thoughts of him. you were perfect, a small, sweet thing who let him do whatever he wanted to you. and he ate it up.

corrupt cop!leon who was drunker now, meaner, and after supper is when he’d start to push you around. climbing onto his lap to only be shoved into the cold hardwood as he mumbled how ‘fucking hot he was’. pressing down on your tummy with a full bladder until you pissed yourself, getting so angry at you for using the restroom on the living room floor. and still, you looked at him with hearts and stars in your eyes.

corrupt cop!leon who had you so trained all he had to do was pull his cock out and there you were, on your knees in a second.

“dirty thing, this is all your good for, hm? taking cock and fuckin annoyin me’”

corrupt cop!leon would slur out drunkenly, as you kitten lick the top of his cock. leon would let you tease him for only a few moments before he’d grab the back of your head, hand in your hair, pushing you roughly down the length of his cock. you sputter and cough in a feeble failed attempt to tell him to pull back, but it’s to avail (it’s usually not).

“bet you like that, don’t cha? choking around an older guys cock, whore.”

corrupt cop!leon’s cock which is so big you’re terrified it’ll break your jaw, and especially at the rough and fast pace he’s fucking himself. you can’t breathe and tears spring to the corners of your eyes as you desperately try to gasp for air. but leon’s never been one to give up, no. your tongue is swirling around his cock and your hands are cupped around his balls like you’ve been trained to do, despite the lack of air.

“ain’t you something? fucking perfect.”

corrupt cop!leon would growl out between moans. and right before he cums does he let you breathe, pulling you roughly off of him by your hair. you gasp for air, big gulps that can’t seem to come soon enough as you wipe the tears and snot away from your face. before leon even has to instruct you you’re sinking down on his cock, no panties under that pretty little dress he picked out for you this morning.

corrupt cop!leon who thinks you’re going just too fucking slow. so he takes matters into his own hands, grabbing your hips roughly and slamming you down on his cock and you cry out. leon loved to hear your pained little whimpers, especially when they were still paired with that oh so loving, hazy look you give him.

“next time speed up and i won’t have to hurt ya, so bad y’know? stupid little baby, need me to do fucking everything.”

“s-sorry, sir,” you sputter out, “need you to everything your rig-“ a scream rips through your body as he lifts you up and slams you back down on his cock, you lean forward gripping the back of the couch for some kind of support as he begins a brutal pace, pistoning himself inside your tight cunt.

“fuckers at the force think i’m so good, don’t they baby? it’s cuz im the best, ain’t i? go on say it, your old mans the best cop there ever was, hm?”

you want to speak, relay compliments on him like you’ve done a thousand times before. but you’re just so full and so so overwhelmed. you’re sobbing from the needy feeling as leon fucks into you, enough to give you a tinge of pleasure but never enough to hit that soft spongy spot inside of you.

and leon wasn’t an idiot, he was actually very smart thank-you-very-fucking-much, he knew exactly what he was doing. knew your body enough to fuck you until you’re begging for him to hit right where you need him too.

corrupt cop!leon is a mean fucking man, who loves fucking you like one.

“can’t answer me? what? am i a terrible cop? a bad guy? is that what you think of me?” he eggs on, venom laced in his words.

“n-no!” you cry, his grip on your hips so tight it makes you gasp, “leon’s a good man, good cop, good — ah — everything.”

leon’s fucking you brutally at this point, the exact words he needs to hear from his baby has him reeling, and finally he slams you down against his thighs, his cock hitting you so deep it’s borderline pain as he finally grazes that spongy little spot with his tip. it sends you over the moon, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as your hips involuntarily roll against him, hitting your g spot over and over again until your eyes are rolling in the back of your head.

“god what a slut you are, fucking yourself on my cock, now who told your pretty self you could do that?”

it’s like whiplash the way he picks your smaller frame up, spinning you both around and slamming you into the couch. your legs are spread in the air and he’s fucking you so roughly the couch rocks against the wall.

and corrupt cop!leon is a mean man, but he’s not cruel, so he takes one of his hands and rubs fast circles on your clit until your spasming around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a large tidal wave.

and he’s close too, he can feel it, so he picks up the pace, fucking you hard and ruthlessly as he mumbles pet names into your ear.

“god baby” “fuck, angel.” “cunt made just for me, hm, cupcake?”

finally he cums with a growl that’s almost animalistic, gripping your hip harshly as he unloads his seed inside of you. he’s sweating and panting and you’re looking at him with stars in your glossed over eyes, he takes a few moments to soften inside of you before pulling out.

“you should really clean yourself up, huh? look downright filthy with cum leakin’ out of you like that.”

he says before sauntering away, sure to grab his whiskey glass he’d left of the table.

corrupt cop!leon was a mean man and he was everything to you.

[marvelcriminalhoe]

Paper Rings

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Drunk Harmony

i.e. Season 9 Episode 7

TW: typical criminal minds case jargon, alcohol consumption, traumatic child birth, talks of past sexual relationships, that’s it

AN: I’m sorry this took awhile to get out. I had a lot of personal things happen last week and then I got in a car accident on Thursday so I've just now got round to finishing this chapter. Hope you enjoy it :))

Word Count: 2,232

Series Masterlist

You sit down on your couch, switching the tv on and scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something to watch. You have a rare night off at home and plan on relaxing with easy tv and some take out food. You settle on the show New Girl, something easy to watch, and start eating your sweet and sour chicken from the china place down the street. You’re half way through the second episode when your phone goes off, Garcia informing you of a new case.

So much for a night off.

You quickly get dressed, throwing on some skinny jeans and an old Beatles shirt. Your red converse match the red cardigan you throw over everything, and you head out.

“Beantown has turned into chokeville.” Garcia pulls up the crime scene photos, “3 victims, all male, wallets stolen.”

“The unsub uses a garrote to strangle his victims. He strikes at night and there have been no witnesses” Hotch informs everyone.

“How much did he get?” Rossi questions, referring to the wallets.

Hotch shakes his head, “Well, it’s odd. Each of the victims, socio-econmically, is lower to middle class. It’s doubtful there would have been much cash, and there have been no charge attempts on any of the credit cards.”

“So the murders might not be about money at all.” Blake supplies. “Taking the wallets could be a forensic countermeasure to delay victim identification.”

Garcia grimaces, “That could be the sitch with the first two victims, but the last one, Scott Delfino, he was on the phone with his roommate when he was attacked, call cut out unexpectedly, repeated callbacks went straight to voicemail.”

“And Delfina’s body was found an hour later. Indications were they’d been blitzed.” Hotch concludes.

You look down at the file, looking over the pictures more closely, “Which speaks to the killer’s prep work but also his desperation. He chose a location to lay in wait but wasn’t capable of adapting to a target on the phone.”

“That could be arrogance getting in the way and making his organization appear mixed.” JJ theorizes. “To me that screams false confidence.”

“Which means that desperation is what’s driving him.” Morgan adds.

Reid hums, “It’s not about the kills, it’s about what the murders represent.”

“He’s mission oriented.” You agree, “He doesn't want to kill them, he does it because he has to.”

“Which suggests the unsub has no personal connection to his victims.” Rossi says.

“Except chocking as a kill method is extremely personal, he feels each victim take their last breath.”

“Except he doesn't use his hands.” You and Hotch say at the same time. You concede to him, letting him finish the thought you both apparently had. You looked down, back to the file, and missed the almost smile on his face as he spoke, “He uses the garrote. If it was a more personal kill, or he knew them before hand, he wouldn't bother with that, he would want to feel them under his hands.”

Hotch dismiss the team after a few more minutes of sharing preliminary profile ideas back and forth, everyone going off to do their pre-jet routine. Part of your’s involves checking the weather to your destination and making sure the bag you brought in will work. You have two go bags, one with your normal, everyday clothes, and another with much warmer, winter clothes, that you keep in your trunk. You learned your lesson during one of the cases you had while under counterterrorism, freezing your butt off in Montana, you definitely won’t be doing that again.

You’re standing next to Morgan in one of the local PD conference rooms, studying the case bored, when Hotch walks in, gathering both of your attentions, “What’d you find out?”

“We just talked to JJ,” You turn towards him, away from the crime scene photos, “Scott Delfino’s roommate said he was a bit of a womanizer but was too good of a guy not to like.”

“We heard something similar from Ryan Maxford’s family.” Morgan informs Hotch, “Stand-up guy, but he was walks broke and asking for money. They would give it to him because despite his flaws, everybody loved him.”

Hotch’s brows furrow down into a frown as he looks back and forth between you and Morgan, “Well, that fits Mike Dunmore, too. He spent a quarter of his income on Marijuana, but he volunteered 5 mornings a week at a soup kitchen.”

“It’s a stretch, but could this be our link? Is the unsub targeting men based on their supposed character flaws?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest. You don’t like that theory, but you need to discuss the possibility.

“He’d have to have stalked them well in advance.” Hotch argues.

You ponder that thought for a moment, “Why stalk someone you don’t have a personal connection to?”

“Because he’s not targeting a specific person. He’s targeting a specific type.” Hotch states, coming to a conclusion.

Morgan pipes in, nodding along to your boss’s theory, “Men he thinks are too good to be true.”

You look over to your boss, studying him as he looks at the case bored.

Better hope the unsub never meets you.

Okay, that’s enough.

You shake your head, shaking out the inappropriate thought of your much older boss, and get back to work. Because that’s why you're here, for work. Not to make unprofessional comments about your boss.

You, Morgan, and Reid race to the unsubs ex wife’s home, barging through the door to see her in distress, and very much in labor. The unsub picks up a pair of scissors, putting them to her neck.

You, Morgan, and Reid don’t flinch, keeping your guns raised in the air as you walk further into the room. “Put it down.” Morgan demands.

“You can’t be in here.” The unsub states.

“Tanner,” Reid tries to connect with him, “Think about what you’re doing. You don't want to hurt your baby, do you? Not after what happened to Jermey.”

“Go away! Just get out of here!” He yells, as his ex wife screams in pain at the contraction that starts.

“Hannah, how far apart are your contractions?” You talk straight to her.

She grits her teeth, “They’re constant!”

You share a look with Reid, both coming to the same conclusion, “The baby’s coming now.”

“Look man,” Morgan tries to get through to the unsub again, “Your baby is about to be born. Now, we want to help you, but you need to put that weapon down.”

“No! This is my child. I’m not leaving.” He demands.

Reid lowers his gun, bringing out some gloves and putting them on before kneeling in front of Hannah. “Hannah, I need you to breathe deeply.” He commands her. “Hannah I need you to start pushing.���

You watch everything unfold in front of you, never taking your gun off of the unsub. You see Reid look back at you and Morgan, before looking back to Hannah, “Guy’s somethings wrong. The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s throat.” “Well, Reid, do something.” Morgan tells him, knowing what he has planned.

“I need something to cut the cord with, quickly!”

The unsub moves from behind Hannah, handing him the scissors, “Use these.”

Morgan immediately goes into action, apprehending the unsub, as you kneel down to help Reid with the birth. “Don’t worry Hannah your baby’s doing fine but you need to keep pushing, okay?”

Blake and JJ come in through the back door, “Medics on the way.” “We can’t risk moving her. We’ll have to deliver the baby here.” Reid informs. The baby is born healthy and happy, giving the team a nice victory to the case.

On the jet ride home, you’re sat across from Reid, playing a game of chess, as the rest of the team is scattered around you both. “Check” Reid states, not for the first time. You move your pawn one space forward, watching as his next move is to take it out. You play your next move, looking up to your messy haired teammate, “Check mate.”

You laugh along with everyone else as he looks down, eyebrows furrowed in an impressive frown that could give your boss a run for his money, “How did you do that?” You just shake your head, leaning back in your seat, pulling out your phone.

Garcia texted you, informing you of the plan that the team was going to go out for drinks when you land and wanted to know if she could catch a ride with you. The both of you had gotten closer since you joined the team, both having a knack for fantasy novels and comic books. Penelope is the easiest person to talk to on the team, and you think she is probably the embodiment of sunshine. You should write a research paper on that.

You write her back, letting her know it’s okay, and decide to get some rest before you land.

Sitting at a table with the rest of the team, you all lift up your drinks, cheering together as your boss makes a toast, “And to Dr.Spencer Reid, Who may be adding M.D. to an already impressive list of credentials.”

“And to Spencer Johnson,” Morgan Adds, “May he prove to be the child prodigy like his namesake.”

“How on Earth did you know what to do?” Blake questions him.

“When JJ was pregnant with Henry, I memorized the delivery manuals just incase she went into labor in the field.” Reid shrugs. You share a look with Penelope, both pouting at the cuteness, both putting a hand to your hearts. When you look back at the rest of the team, you see your boss watching the interaction you just had, making you embarrassed. You think you do a well job at hiding your flustered state, but by the very small smirk you saw flash across his lips, you know he caught it. You put your focus back onto what Reid was saying, trying to shake out the moment.

“This night is not about me, though. To Dave Rossi.” He lifts his glass.

Rossi hums his appreciation, “I still can’t believe you guys did this.”

“We wanted to make sure you had one last proper goodbye.” Garcia nods, agreeing with Reid, adding, “And I may or may not have posted on the Quantico message boards that all drinks are on you tonight.”

You all sip on your drinks, sharing laughs and stories, before the conversation, Thanks to a one Derek Morgan, moves to a more, adult conversation. “I was 16 and definitely knew what I was doing.”

Everyone laughs as you scrunch up your nose at him. Your colleagues having sex is not something you need an image of.

Morgan smirks at you, “Oh, come on now, girl genius. Don’t play coy. How old were you? 16? 17?”

You shake your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “Derek.” You sigh, “I had just graduated with my Masters from Colombia at 16.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Wait— you’re not still a-“ You interrupt him with a head shake, “Not that that is a bad thing, but no. I’m just saying my high school and college experiences were a lot different then yours.”

Spencer nods, agreeing with you. He also graduated high school at 12 and understands the hardships that, that, can cause when trying to build relationships. Platonically and romantically.

“So when?” JJ asks.

“20.” You tell her, “Right after getting recruited into the FBI.”

Penelope gasps, “Don’t tell me it’s a fellow agent!” She looks around the bar as if she would be able to point the guy out.

“No.” You laugh, “He’s a doctor at the local emergency clinic.”

“Are you still seeing him?” Hotch speaks up, asking. It’s not a weird question. Actually you expected it from someone at the table, but coming from him, it feels loaded, heavy. You shake you head, “No. It ended about a year ago.”

You watch as he nods his head, taking a sip from his whiskey. You want to tear your eyes away from his, but with the alcohol in your system your brain is a little slower when listening to you. Though, your boss doesn't tear his eyes away either. You file that away to analyze when your sober.

“This,” Rossi gestures around, “Has been an excellent goodbye. Thank you.”

“It’s not over yet.” Hotch informs him, gesturing to the stage behind Rossi, “I don’t believe that, uh, any of the members of this team have heard you sing.”

“Next up is David Rossi.” The waitress announces. Making the rest of the team perk up at the prospect of hearing the seasoned team member do karaoke.

Rossi looks over to Hotch, giving him a death glare, “That was intentional.”

Hotch doesn't even blink, just smirking at his friend, “Next up is David Rossi.”

The rest of the team moves closer to the stage, “To all the great memories that have happened within these walls, if you think I’m doing this without backup, you’re nuts.” He gestures to the team to head up, and you have to physically pry Penelope’s hands from your arm in order for her not to drag you up with them. You watch with a wide smile on your face as they drunkenly sing the song, laughing when you see Hotch pull his phone out to record them. He looks over at you, watching him, and sends you a wink, before looking back at them. Giving you another thing to file away for sober you to analyze, while drunk you basks in the harmony surrounding you.

********

taglist: @buckyswintersoldiermask @ssahotchnerxx @bestillmystuckyheart @eternal-silvertongued-prince @honeyofthegods @pitchblackstars @averyhotchner @hotched @mintphoenix

[noladyme]

Spencer Reid: Pretty Ugly - part 1

TW: liberal use of incorrect legal terms and titles, fluff, blood, violence, death, slooooow burn.

Annabel Leigh joins the BAU on her first case. Thrown straight in to her role as unit assistant, she struggles to keep focused when she has to work closely with the Scarecrow to her Dorothy; Spencer Reid.

Set in season 9

“All little girls should be told they are pretty, even if they aren't.” - Marilyn Monroe

1.

I had my hands under my thighs, trying to avoid giving away how much they were shaking. I’d only had about three hours of sleep with how nervous I was before my interview that morning; so, my coffee-intake had been substantial. Wearing the only conservative looking clothing I owned – a grey blazer over a button-up shirt, and a pair of slacks I’d had to press, to get out the wrinkles from them having lain scrunched up at the very back of my closet – I was feeling more than a little uncomfortable. The office I was seated in was very prim and proper, save for the desk, which was loaded with files and folders. It seemed disorganized on purpose, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was set up specifically for me.

“Do you have a problem with messes, miss Leigh?”. The serious looking agent in front of me, closed a folder containing my information. “You wouldn’t be asking me that if you could see my apartment”, I replied. “It’s just everything else in here seems so tidy; I’m surprised you’d let your desk get so messy… Sorry…”, I added in a mutter, as he looked at me with sharp eyes. “And what does that make you think about me?”, he asked. I shook my head, and chuckled. “I’m not applying to be a profiler, sir”. “Humor me”, he said.

I swallowed thickly, and looked around the room. “Well, if it was really like this all the time, I’d say you were only organized on the surface”, I said. “In reality your job might be too much for you to handle; which makes me – or whoever you hire – necessary so you can focus on what matters. Taking down kidnappers, killers and rapists”. “But you think it’s a set-up”, he said. “Why?”. “Before you closed my file just now, you organized all the papers in the order they came, and even straightened the picture of me. Your job puts you in contact with a lot of messed up situations, and to have done it for so long that you’ve become the leader of the BAU, you’ve probably had the need to be extremely organized, to have some sort of respite from that”. “And why did I set it up?”, he asked. I stifled a smile. “To be able to ask me those questions”, I said. His lips twitched into something resembling a smile, and he nodded shortly.

“Well, your resume looks quite impressive. Just tell me one thing. Why did you quit your job as a receptionist at the downtown PD?”. I didn’t know SSA Aaron Hotchner, and his stony face gave nothing away about what he was thinking; but none the less, I knew he was testing me. “I didn’t quit. I was fired”, I said. “Hmm”, he said, nodding shortly. “Do you mind me asking for what?”. There it was. I could say I didn’t want to share it with him, or even make something up; but so far, he seemed to already know everything about me, and he was just checking to see if I was going to be honest. I could tell him the truth; but I wouldn’t be able to do that without at least a grain of pride in my voice, and I wasn’t sure that was the response he wanted. Either way, I wasn’t getting the job. In the end, I opted for the last; chosing pride over lies. “I misused my credentials”, I said. “That’s unspecific”, he said. I sighed deeply. “I… used my credentials to track down a list of members of a pro-life organization, that had been protesting outside a Planned Parenthood facility”. “What did you do with the list?”, agent Hotchner asked. “Shared it on social media… where it’s possible a group of pro-choice activists might have gotten hold of it”, I muttered. “You doxed them”, Hotchner said. “They could have gotten hurt”. “As you probably already know, they didn’t”, I said. “Their houses got egged, and a couple of tires were slashed… It was a closed group on facebook. None of the members struk me as dangerous”. “Still… In spite of your attempt to avoid anyone getting hurt, and in spite of your probable good intentions, something could have gone wrong”, he said. “Our technical analyst would tell you; nothing’s safe on the internet”. “You’re right…”, I said. “But I don’t regret it”.

Hotchner narrowed his eyes at me, studying my expression. “If you were to take this job, would something like that happen again?”, he asked. “I wouldn’t be able to get away with it, would I…”, I said, more as a statement than a question. “True…”, he said.

He leaned back in his seat, and seemed to think for a long moment. “I’d like you start out on trial with us. You’ll be assisting the whole team, not just me. This is going to be new for all of us, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out along the way”. My jaw dropped. “Really?”, I asked. “Yes”. He reached his hand across the desk, and stood up halfway to shake my hand. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to not let you down”, I said, and took his hand. “That’s an interesting choice of words”, he said, holding on to me for a few seconds. “You could just have said I won’t let you down”. “I can’t promise you that. I’ve never had a job like this before, so I’m just being honest”, I said. “I appreciate that”, he smiled, and finally let go of my hand.

“Can I ask you something, sir?”, I said. “Go ahead”, he replied. “Why didn’t you hire someone from inside the bureau? You reached out to local PD’s for a receptionist; when you could have gotten an agent-trainee. I just happened to catch the email, before I was locked out of the servers”. He cleared his throat, and sat down again. “Let me be frank”, he said. “I didn’t want to hire someone for this job; I’m not sure we need a UA at all. The higher ups put it on me, because they seem to think it might make our work-flow better”. “And that’s necessary?”, I said. “Like I said, I don’t think so”, he replied. “But the director insisted, and if he thinks the BAU is worth spending more money on, I’m not going to complain. It might mean he’s open for more improvements in the future”. “That still doesn’t explain hiring from outside”, I said. “I insisted that of I was going to have a UA join the team, I wanted to do the hiring myself; and I wanted to be open to outside opportunities”. “Alright…”, I said, not convinced he was giving me the whole story. Either way, I‘d gotten the job, at least for a trial-period; and I was excited to begin.

Agent Hotchner got back on his feet, and I followed his lead. “So, when do I start?”, I asked. Hotchner’s phone vibrated on the desk, and he looked down at it before meeting my eyes again. “Right now”, he said. “Now? You didn’t even give a real job-description yet”, I said. “And yet, you both applied for and accepted the job already”, he replied. “Everyone on this team has to be ready to learn as they go. Did you bring a go-bag, like I asked?”. “And over-night bag? Yes, but I don’t really understand why. Aren’t I working from here?”. “No you’re going with us. Right now”, he said. “We’ll be gone for at least twenty-four hours. Is that a problem?”. I thought about the frozen pizza in my fridge, and my hot date with the newest episode of Sister Wives later that night; and shook my head. “No. No problem”, I said.

He walked over to open the door to the office, and gestured for me to follow. “This way”.

---

I followed the agent into a room with a large table, around which were sat five people I figured must be his team. I locked eyes with a slim, young-looking man with caramel eyes, and unruly hair. He gave me a slight smile, and I returned it shyly. He was sat next to a beautiful blonde woman, who was hanging up a call. “Yeah, I know. Just remember, no lemonade with dinner. Just milk. And he has a rash on his… Yeah, great. Thank you. Bye”. She hung up, and groaned. “Is Henry ok?”, the caramel-eyed man asked. “Yeah. It’s just, Will is out of town, and our usual nanny is down with the flu, so…”. She sighed. “It’ll be fine… It’ll all be fine”. “I’m sure it will”, the man said. His voice was soft and kind. Other than the two agents I’d noticed when I came in, was a fit looking man with closely cropped hair; a brunette with intense eyes, and an older agent, I thought I recognized from somewhere.

I stood idly in the doorway, as Hotchner sat down with his team. I heard the clacking of heels behind me, and a big-haired bespectacled woman, in a bright pink dress came rushing through the door. “I’m sorry, I’m late. I got knocked offline, thought it was an outside hacking-attempt. Turns out Kevin unplugged the friggin’ servers, to update the… Never mind. I swear to you, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d never touched a mainframe before… Oh, hello”. She stopped when she saw me. “Everyone, this is our new unit assistant; Annabel Leigh”, Hotchner said. “She’s going to be with us for a trial-period; so we can see if it’s a good fit”. Caramel-eyes shot up at me again. “Annabel Lee? Like the poem by Edgar Allan Poe?”, he asked excitedly. “No. Leigh. L-E-I-G-H”, I said. “And I go by Abbie”. “Oh…”, he said, sounding a little disappointed. “A-B. Abbie! I get it”, the cheery looking woman in front of me said. “I’m Penelope Garcia. Technical wonder, and everyone’s fairy-godmother”. “Nice to meet you”, I said. “I like your dress”. Penelope beamed at me, before going over to pick up a remote from the table. “Leigh is here to make the work-flow easier for all of us”, Hotchner said. “She’ll contact precincts ahead of our arrival, so work-stations can be set up for us before we get there; answer phone calls when we’re in the middle of interviews; and generally, try to create an environment that makes it easier for us to focus on the task at hand” “So, she’s here to clean up our messes and makesure we remember to pack our toothbrushes in our go-bags?”, the bald agent asked; a slight smirk on his face. Penelope slapped his shoulder, and he let out a chuckle. “Garcia, UA Leigh will need a tablet, to do her work. Can you get one set up for her?”, Hotchner said. “Not before you leave. Nebraska’s expecting you at noon”, Garcia replied. “Then we better get on with it”, Hotchner said. “Bring us up to speed on the case. We can do the rest of the introductions en route. Leigh, will pen and paper work for you for now?”. “Sure”, I said.

I went to sit down on a chair by the wall, not feeling like I had any place at the table. I pulled at my collar a little, to get it to stop choking me uncomfortably. Garcia went over to a flatscreen, and pressed the remote. The picture of a beautiful-looking young woman popped up. “Carly Gale, 23. She was found floating and very much dead in a reservoir near Barnwell, Nebraska. At first, she was presumed drowned, but no water was found in her lungs”. Another image popped up, of an indeed very dead Carly Dale on a coroner’s slab. Her cheeks seemed sunken, and her cheekbones strangely swollen, and severely bruised. “Something’s up with her face. That’s not the water’s doing”, the brunette said. “True. And the reason for that is why the BAU has been called in. Carly had implants in her cheeks, when she was found. They appear to be home made”. I swallowed thickly. If I wanted this job, I needed to be able to stomach pictures like the ones on the screen right now. “That’s a very distinct MO”, the bald agent said. “They’re sure it’s not black-market surgery gone wrong?”. “The victim’s finances would allow her to use the best surgeons in the state”, Garcia said. “She would have had no reason to go to some back-door doctor”, the older agent said. “They’re searching the lake as we speak, to make sure there aren’t any more victims”, Garcia said. “I put all the information we have so far, on your tablets”. “Alright. Wheel’s up in thirty”, Hotchner said.

The agents all got to their feet. Garcia went over to the one who’d teased me, and they squeezed each other’s hands tenderly, before he moved towards the door. “Derek Morgan”, he smiled at me. “Sorry about that thing before. I was just messing with you. Good to meet you”. “You too”, I said, as he rushed by. “Alex Blake”, the brunette said as she passed me. “Catch up on the plane?”. “O-ok”, I said. The blonde stopped in front of me, and shook my hand. “We’re always on the go here. You better get used to it”, she smiled. “Jennifer Jareau… JJ”. “Abbie”, I said. The older agent tapped her shoulder, and she moved so he could take over shaking my hand. JJ rushed after the two first agents. “David Rossi. Welcome to the team”, he said. “That’s where I know you from. Your picture on the cover of your book”, I smiled. He raised a correcting index-finger at me. “Books plural”, he said. “I’ll have to get to reading, then”, I said.

After Rossi had left the room, with a determined looking Hotchner at his heels, the slim agent came up to me. Though he was stood only two feet from me, he gave me an awkward wave, instead of shaking my hand. I waved back at him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable; and he made a twitching blink, before breaking out in a smile. “My name is Doctor Spencer Reid”, he said; looking nothing like a doctor. “Your parents gave you an interesting first name”, I chuckled. “I’ve only ever heard of one person named Doctor, and that was on tv”. His eyes lit up again. “Y-you watch Doctor Who?”, he asked. “It’s my go to, when I’m in need of a pick-me-up”, I smiled. It was that, and The Wizard of Oz. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen any of the older seasons, though”. “I’ll have your tablet ready for when you come back”, Garcia said, having come over to join us. “She can have mine. I don’t use it”, Reid said. “You don’t use anything I give you. Spence is our resident troglodyte”, Garcia said. She handed him a folder. “Here are your printed copies of the case-file, including pictures. Please don’t ever make me look at those again”. “I use that cologne you got me for my birthday”, Reid muttered. “That’s… Never mind”, Garcia sighed, and looked at me. “Reid’s tablet is set up for him, but when you come back, I’ll get it transferred to you. And I’ll set up a work-phone for you too”. “Thanks”, I smiled. “Use his email for now”, she added. “Will do”.

“Reid! Come on, pretty boy”, Morgan called from down in the bull-pen. “Right. We should go”, Reid said. We rushed after the others, and I managed to snatch up my bag, and enter the elevator with the others, before the doors closed.

---

It took me a few moments to come to terms with the fact that I was seated in a leather-seat, on a jet-plane with a team of actual FBI-agents, on my way to help them solve a case, five states over from my home.

While we were flying to Nebraska, the team discussed the case. Most of their terms and theories went completely over my head, but whenever I caught something that might seem relevant to me, I’d write it down. It was for sure more confusing than sitting behind the counter of a police-precinct, but I was determined to do a good job. Agent Hotchner had given me a chance, and considering the fact that I’d pretty much ruled myself out of ever working in any kind of law enforcement agency again, I was thankful beyond belief.

Garcia was kind enough to send me an email with a list of what the team usually needed for their set-up; along with the message that she’d already contacted the local precinct, and had those things prepared for me. I sent her back a picture of a fairy, with a warm thank you. After digging myself deeper into my seat towards the front of the plane, so that I wouldn’t have to look at the terrible coroner-pictures on the agents’ tablets, I went through the list. Garcia truly was a fairy-godmother, because she’d even booked hotel-rooms for everyone on the team – including myself – just in case the case took longer than the expected twenty-four. I hadn’t even thought about that myself.

Halfway through the flight, JJ came over to sit across from me. “It’s a lot, isn’t it…?”, she smiled. “It is… Learning as I go”, I said. “I was the communications liaison for the team, before I transferred to the Pentagon”, she said. “I also got the team set up at the local precincts, if we weren’t working from a field office. Let me know if you need any help”. “Thank you. You’ve all been really nice. I know you didn’t expect to get a newbie assistant-tagalong on this case”, I said. “But, I’m at your service… How do you like your coffee, by the way?”. “You don’t have to make us coffee”, JJ chuckled. “I’m supposed to make your jobs easier. In my book, that means making sure the caffeine is flowing”, I replied. She laughed heartily. “Most police-stations only have that half-burnt, lukewarm slop”. “Trust me. I know. I used to be the one making it, at my old job”, I chuckled. “It’s hard to be a full-blown barista, when the machine is older than your great-grandmother”. “True enough”, JJ said. “Well, if you do have time to go out for something else… soy latté. Extra foam”. “You got it”, I smiled. “Cappuccino, double shot!”, I heard Blake call out. She turned to look at us from her seat, and winked at me.

The screen above my head blinked on, and Garcia’s bright voice rang through, I got out of my seat, so that I could see her, and so that it didn’t feel like everyone was staring at me, while they were looking at her. I leaned against the wall by the small kitchenette. “We’ve got another victim”, Garcia said. “From the reservoir?”, Hotch asked. “No. Found in the woods, twenty miles away, by a couple of hikers. Victim is female, but she hasn’t been identified yet”. “Carly Gale was Caucasian, while the new victim is Asian”, JJ said, looking at the picture Garcia made appear. I swallowed bile, at the sight of it. The victim’s fave looked completely distorted, swelled and severely bruised.

“So the UnSub is indiscriminate in his choice of vics”, Morgan said. “Victims of opportunity?”. “What about the implants?”, Rossi asked. “Lips, chin and butt-implants”, Garcia replied. “Brazilian lift?”, Blake asked. Reid frowned at her. “What? When I turned forty, I considered it”. “No, that would mean using her own body-fat. I’ve had those thoughts myself”, Garcia said. “No need, baby-girl”, Morgan said. “Aww, that’s sweet”, Garcia cooed. “What, you think mine needs one?”, Blake asked. She and Morgan shot each other playful smiles. “Anyway, the butt implants seem to be silicone as well”, Garcia said. “The ME is just getting to work on… removing them, to make sure”. “Garcia, get us a list of disgraced plastic-surgeons in a hundred-mile radius, or even med-school dropouts; who might have done residency in a plastic-surgery clinic”, Hotchner said. “That’s specific”, she replied. “Garcia out!”. The screen went black.

“You think we’re looking at an actual MD?”, JJ asked. “We have to start somewhere”, Hotchner replied. “When we land, Rossi and I will go to the reservoir; Blake and Morgan, you take the forest. JJ and Reid, I want you two to go to the ME’s office. See what he has so far”. Reid sat looking down at the pictures of Carly Gale, Garcia had given him. “Reid?”, Morgan said. “Spence…”, JJ exclaimed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You with us?”. “I don’t think he’s any kind of doctor. At least not a good one. This is all wrong”, he said. “See how on the original picture of Carly, how one of her cheekbones is a quarter of an inch higher than the other?”. “Uhm, no?”, Blake said. He handed her the picture. “Look…”, he enthused. “Ok, yeah, it’s a little higher”, she said. “But that’s normal. No one’s face is completely symmetrical”. “Now look at the coroner’s picture”, Reid said. “Normally a plastic-surgeon would try to correct any so-called faults to their patient’s appearance. He didn’t ”. “Still, go to the ME’s. Get what you can from them”, Hotchner said. “Leigh, get things ready for us at the station”. “Uhm, I don’t have any official credentials to show them”, I said. “I can’t show up and demand they let me in, with just my library-card as an id”. “Fair point”, Hotchner said. “Alright, the ME’s is closer to the station, so JJ and Reid should be the first ones to get there. Go with them, and they’ll explain the situation at the precint when you get there afterwards”. “To the ME’s… with the corpses”, I said. “Yes. Is that a problem?”, Hotchner said. Reid looked up from the pictures at me, an expression of confusion mixed with concern on his face. “You can wait in the front office”, JJ said. “I have a book you can read, while you wait”, Reid said sympathetically. “Might take your mind off the smell”. “It’s gonna smell?”, I croaked.

No one responded, and I sunk back in my seat, trying to calm my beating heart. I was in the big-leagues now.

---

I was sat in an uncomfortable chair, in the front office of the medical examiner; clutching Reid’s copy of Frankenstein. The irony of the choice of book he had made to give me, wasn’t lost on me, and I had opted against scrolling through the dog-eared pages. Reid had been right. It did smell here, but not in the way I’d thought it would, more like chemicals instead of human remains; though I wouldn’t really know how those smelled. Either way, it was disgusting, and brought flashbacks I didn’t want to deal with. A motivational poster – the generic kind, with a picture of a kitten, hanging from a branch – was hung on the wall, and I re-read the words, over and over. Hang in there. Hang in there.

The double doors opened, and Reid and JJ came back out. I caught a short glimpse of two slabs, with sheets draped over them. “Do you think she died during the operation?”, JJ said. “Well, the ME said she bled out; there’s a good chance that happened during his work on her posterior”. “You can say butt, Spencer”, JJ said, before looking at me. “Are you ok?”. “Uh huh. Are we leaving?”, I said, sounding a little more hopeful than I’d planned on. I handed Reid back his book. “Yup. Let’s go”, JJ said.

We went out to the black SUV we’d arrived in. Reid climbed in the back, and spread-out papers from his case-file folder, and JJ held out the keys to me. “You good to drive? You look almost green”, she said. “Absolutely. It was just the smells in there”, I said, and got behind the wheel. “It’s bleach”, Reid said, without looking up from his files. “I know…”, I muttered. He looked up from his papers, and met my eyes in the mirror. JJ got into the front passenger-seat, and buckled up, and without a word, I started the car, and drove us off the lot.

“The implants weren’t made from the medical grade silicone normally used for plastic surgery”, Reid said, looking away from me again. “There’s still a chance this was black market surgery gone wrong. Maybe the wannabe doctor just wanted to get rid of the evidence”, JJ said. “Then he wouldn’t have dropped the second victim so near the beaten path of the forest.”, he replied. “And Carly Dale was found floating near a well populated camping-site. He wanted them to be found”, JJ said. “Besides, too much work went in to creating the implants”, Reid said. “He could have just sprayed the silicone directly into the victims, like most black-market clinics will; but he actually took the time and trouble to mold casings of silicone elastomer, and fill those. This isn’t just an easy payday for him. Annabel, can you look up which businesses in the area sell polysiloxanes?”. “Abbie…”, I said shortly. “Sorry”, he muttered. “I’ll get right on it, when we get to the station”, I said. “We could just have Garcia look it up”, JJ said, breaking the awkward tension. “Not if he got it from local mom and pop shops. I don’t think they put their stock-inventories online”, I said. “Good point”, JJ said.

---

It was still early in the afternoon by the time we pulled up at the police-station, but with the overwhelming day I’d had so far, exhaustion was beginning to win me over. When we got inside, I shot a longing glance at the coffee-maker in the corner of the large room that made out the main area of the station. My experience from my former job told me that whatever was in that carafe was likely revolting, but at that moment, I didn’t much care.

“You with the BAU?”, an officer with a lieutenant stripe on her shoulder asked, having come out from her office. “SSA Jareau. This is Doctor Reid, and our UA…”. JJ halted herself, and gave me a covert look. “Abbie Leigh”. “Welcome. I’m Lt. Loyd”, the lieutenant said. She reached out her hand to shake Reid’s; but he simply waved awkwardly. “I don’t shake hands”, he said. JJ gave me a short look. “Germs…”, she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. The lieutenant cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of giving you a separate room to work from, unless you want the broom closet or the filing-room”. “I’m sure we’ll be fine”, JJ said.

We followed the lieutenant over to a couple of desks that were pushed together, to make a work-station for us. Files and maps were laying ready, and Reid grabbed the largest one; to go hang it up on the bulletin board next to the whiteboard that was set up for us. He began making lines and circles on it with a pen. JJ went to talk to the lieutenant, and as no one had given me a job to do, I decided to begin sorting the stack of files into smaller ones. “I’m sorry if I offended you, by calling you… your given name”, Reid said suddenly. I looked up from the files, and met his eyes. “Uhm, you didn’t…”, I said. “It’s just a long story. And it’s not a big deal, just something stupid”. “And the smell of bleach?”, he said softly. “And even longer one… less stupid”, I added in a mutter. Reid fidgeted with the pen in his hand. “I know we don’t really know each other yet, and I come off as someone who might not handle emotion well; but if you want to talk about it… I know it’s not easy when you’re confronted with triggers of your trauma”. “I don’t have…”, I began, but was unable to complete the lie. “Thank you. I’ll think about it”. Reid nodded shortly.

“Does the team have any preferences when it comes to food? It’ll be dinner-time in a few hours”, I said, desperate to change the subject. He looked taken aback at my question. “One of us usually just picks up takeout”, he said. “Well, that’s my job now… Or at least I think it is”, I said. “Gives you time for your work”. “Right”, he said. “Well, Morgan usually eats a lot of protein, and Rossi won’t eat pasta unless it’s freshly made… but other than that, no one has any dietary preferences”. “How do you know that?”, I asked. “I have an eidetic memory”, he replied. “Seriously?”, I chuckled. “Yes”, he said. “Well, ok”, I said. “And no allergies or intolerances?”. “Nope”. “Liar”, JJ said, having come over to join us. “Spencer can’t handle dairy”. “Yes, I can…”, Reid muttered meekly. JJ rolled her eyes, and shot me a knowing smirk. I smiled warmly at Reid. “I get it. Who doesn’t love cheese?”, I said. His frown twitched into a smile. “And I always keep some antacids and lactase-pills in my bag”. “You’re lactose intolerant?”, Reid asked. “No, but the captain at my old job was”, I said. “And he still wouldn’t lay off the queso”.

I rushed off to get Reid his list of businesses selling silicone, and dinner for everyone.

---

“None of the businesses on An… Leigh’s list, sell the brand of silicone used for the implants”, Reid said, after having looked less than twenty seconds at my handwritten scribblings on the piece of paper I’d handed him. I’d tried to give him back his tablet, where I’d written it down first; but he’d looked visibly upset at the prospect of using it, so I re-wrote it on precinct stationary. I was still waiting to hear back from a couple of stores. “How do you…?”, I began. “There’s fifteen stores on that list, and they all carry multiple brands”. “Twenty-thousand words a minute”, he replied offhandedly. Morgan smilingly shook his head at me. “Don’t ask”, he said. “Think he ordered online?”. “Already checked with Garcia. Same story. We need to broaden our search geographically”, Reid said.

Morgan’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen, and picked up the call; putting it on speaker. “Speak of the she-devil. Tell me something good, baby-girl”. “Not exactly good, my love; but here it is. A twenty-six-year-old dental hygienist was reported missing a couple of towns over, two days ago. Karen Lao. I’m sending her picture now”. I wasn’t exactly surprised Garcia was able to take over our screens, but I still jumped a little, when the notebook-app disappeared from mine; and a picture of a gorgeous woman popped up on all of our tablets. She had stunning features, and bone-structure I was immediately jealous of. Only thing off, was a small scar on her chin, that in my eyes only made her cute as a button on top of her general beauty. “Apparently, she was supposed to go on a cruise to the Bahamas with some of her former sorority-sisters; but she never showed up at the ship”, Garcia continued. “When she didn’t come in for work after she was was supposed to have come home, her boss reported her missing”. “That’s our second victim”, Hotchner said. “Why wasn’t she reported missing sooner? Two weeks is a long time”. “No living immediate family. Her boss is actually listed as next of kin – poor girl…”, Garcia replied. “Why didn’t any of her sorority-sisters report it?”, Blake asked. She stuck her fork into her salad, and slid her tablet over to Reid, who was seated next to her; feasting on a milk-shake. I’d managed to get him to take the lactase before he'd started eating. Without touching the tablet, he looked down at the picture, and frowned to himself.

“Leigh, call up the friends the victim was supposed to travel with”, Hotchner said. “Ask why they didn’t file a missing person’s report. And why isn’t Carly Gale’s family here for an interview yet? She lived in the area, they should have been able to be here by now”. “I-I didn’t know I was supposed to call them in”, I croaked, feeling shame wash over me. “It’s ok. You’re still new at this”, JJ said. “It’s not”, Hotchner said shortly. “If our UnSub has taken another victim already, this has set us back hours from saving them”. His expression was stern and unrelenting. I pushed away my food, unable to stomach another bite. All of the team-members looked uncomfortable with the situation, and looked anywhere but at me. “I’ll get right on it”, I said, biting my lip; and rushed over to the far side of the room with my tablet in hand.

I felt horrible. Not only had I let agent Hotchner down, I’d also possibly endangered people. I held back tears as well as I could, and ground my teeth together to control the oncoming sobs. When we got back to Quantico, I was done. So much for my career in the FBI. I sent a silent apology to a much younger version of myself; cowering with a blanket around her.

A message with a list of phone-numbers blinked onto my screen, with a pink heart at the bottom of the text. I sent Garcia a thank you in response. With the help of list, I called in Mr. and Mrs. Gale, along with Carly’s fiancée, before reaching out to Karen’s sorority sisters. I also left a message on her boss’ phone. As I hung up my last call, I suddenly felt a light tap on my shoulder. Reid was standing in front of me as I turned around. “Annabel, are you ok?”, he asked. “No…”, I said, unable to lie, as his caramel eyes looked at me empathetically. I didn’t correct him on the use of my name. “Hotch can be a bit intimidating, until you get to know him”, he said. “He wasn’t yelling at you, just…”. “Stating the facts”, I said. “Someone could die, because of my incompetence”. “I was going to say; trying to teach you”, he said. “It’s not your fault that someone could get hurt. You didn’t kidnap anyone. Never blame yourself for the actions of someone else”. I swallowed thickly, and nodded. “Thanks…”.

Morgan and Blake were more or less running towards us, as we turned to go back to the others. “We’ve got a live victim. Found walking down the highway; bleeding from her chest”, Blake said. “Breast implants?”, Reid said. “Looks like it. She’s in surgery now, to have them removed. We’re on our way to the hospital”, Morgan said. The two agents rushed off.

“I’m going to get back to tracking down silicone suppliers…”, I muttered. Reid nodded, and I got to work.

---

Carly Gale’s family arrived shortly after. I guided them towards a seating-area in the corner of the station, and offered drinks and condolences for their loss. While they waited for JJ to come over to interview them, I stayed nearby for a moment, in case anyone needed anything; which it turned out they did. Lots of tissues.

“SSA Jareau is on her way. She just needs to finish something up”, I said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”. “My daughter back?”, Mrs. Gale sobbed. Her husband put an arm around her shoulder, while he looked sadly at his would-be son-in-law. “Why would someone do that to Carly? She was so young. About to start a family…”, he said. “I… I promise you”, I said. “The agents and the police are doing everything they can to bring justice to the person who did this”. Carly’s fiancée looked at me with reddened eyes. “We were told Carly had implants in her face, when she was found”, he said. I didn’t know how much I could say, and opted for brevity. “Yes. That’s true. The agent might be able to tell you more, if you just…”. “That’s so ironic…”, the young man said. “She’d been talking about getting fillers in her cheeks before the wedding. I told her she didn’t need them, but she said her face was crooked… To me, she was perfect!”. I tried for a comforting smile, and was happy to see JJ walking towards us. She gave me a knowing nod, and I slipped away; letting her take over.

I went over to pour myself a large mug of coffee. Rossi came over, and held out his own mug, for me to fill. “Sorry. Should have gotten you a refill sooner”, I muttered. “That’s alright. You had other things to do”, he said. He looked over his shoulder at the crying family and JJ. “It’s hard to talk to people who’ve lost loved ones”. “I used to see them all the time, back when I worked downtown”, I said. “But always from behind a counter. It’s a lot different when you’re the one handing them tissues; and I guess even worse, when you have to ask them questions about the person they lost”. I took a deep sip of my mug, as we began moving back towards the table. “It’s part of the deal”, Rossi said. “How long have you been a cop?”. “Oh, I was never a cop. Just a receptionist, more or less”, I said. “But you’re interested in law-enforcement…”, he said. “Even after you got fired from downtown PD, you still decided to stay in a similar line of work, and with the FBI, no less”. I looked at him confusedly. “How did you know…?”. “I’m a profiler”, he smiled. “And your former captain is an old friend of mine”.

I set down my mug on our work-table, and sighed defeatedly. “I want to help keep people safe. I doxed that group of jerks screaming at people just trying to get access to health-care, because no one else would do anything”, I said. I noticed Reid turning his head slightly, to listen in on our conversation. “Don’t get me wrong, those people are backwards thinking zealots; but it’s not illegal to protest for something you believe in”, Rossi said. I felt a frown form on my face. “Too many people get hurt, because the people in the position to do something about it, won’t move a finger in their defense”, I said. “I’m here, because that’s not fair. People have the right to feel safe”. Reid turned around, and looked at me in a way, that made me feel like an exhibition at a science-fair. “So, why not become a cop; or apply to the agent-training program at Quantico?”, Rossi asked. “Like you said, you’re a profiler…”, I muttered. “You don’t like wearing uniforms “, he smirked. I stifled a grin, and pulled theatrically at my blazer. “And you’re wary of authorities. You probably wouldn’t pass the entrance-exam”, Reid said. Rossi and I both looked at him in guffaw. “Sorry. That was rude”.

Hotchner came out from the lieutenant’s office, in the middle of hanging up his phone. “The third victim’s name is Hanna Bates, thirty-one. She’s out of surgery, but still unconscious”, he said. “Morgan and Blake are on the way to her apartment, to see what they can dig up about her”. He turned to look at me. “Leigh, can I talk to you in private for a moment?”. “Sure…”, I squeaked.

We walked a little way off. I swallowed thickly, and met my boss’ eyes warily. “The sorority-friends all said that it wasn’t the first time Karen Lao had cancelled last minute, or been a no-show. Her boss had her working overtime a lot. I also called him, and left a message for him to be in touch. I know you didn’t ask for it, but I figured…”. Hotchner held up a hand to halt me. “I realize I put you in an uncomfortable spot earlier, but difficult situations are a part of this line of work. You need to be able to stomach them. And we really needed to talk to the victim’s next of kin sooner”. His expression had softened. “I also know that I am partly to blame. I told you that everyone learns on the job, but there are some things you just can’t know; for instance, that I expected you to contact witnesses and next-of-kin, and greet them when they arrive… I apologize for that”. “I… ok”, I said. “Apology accepted”. “Good”, he said. “Let’s get back to work”.

We walked back to the work-station. “Call Garcia to get her to mail us everything she can find on Hanna Bates”, Hotchner said to me. “And contact her next of kin. Let them know Rossi and I will come meet with them at the hospital; we’ll see if we can learn more about her personality and habits. And we need to get in touch with Karen Lao’s boss”. “I’ll call him again”, I said. “Good. Get him on the phone this time, whatever it takes. Reid, I want you to go talk to him. Take Leigh with you”, he ordered. “Why me?”, I asked. “JJ is busy with the Gales”, Hotchner said. “And I’m awkward”, Reid said deadpan. “People have a tendency to be more open towards seemingly normal people”.

“Seemingly…?”, I muttered to myself, and walked off to make the calls.

---

Thanks for reading! Remember to comment.

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 5

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 //  Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing/s: Sonny Carisi x Intelligence!Reader

Warning/s: tw rape, murder, assault

Word Count: 1,623

Summary: The Intelligence Unit’s last case with Manhattan SVU had them flying out to New York to track down an abducted boy, and had Dectective Y/L/N and Detective Carisi growing close in the process. Now, a string of rape-murders in Chicago has SVU boarding the next flight out, believing the suspect to be the same man responsible for a set of identical crimes 10 years prior. As the case unfolds, Y/N and Carisi are brought back together, reigniting the spark between them.

As it turned out, it wasn’t too long at all. About six months after you’d closed your New York case, putting a child abductor behind bars where he belonged and reuniting a boy with his family, you received an urgent message from Voight requesting you all come in to the district. 

It was early on a Saturday morning following a few drinks at Molly’s the previous night, but it was so rare for Voight to call you in like this on your day off that you knew it had to be important. 

You were just multi-tasking getting dressed and downing an inordinate amount of caffeine when you got a phone call, ‘Detective Carisi’ flashing up on the screen as you paused, one leg in your trousers.

“Hey you,” you answered, putting the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could continue to get ready, curious about why he was calling. 

“Morning, sorry to call so early, but I figured you’d be awake,” he greeted, sounding like he was walking somewhere, the familiar sounds of traffic filling the background.

“Yeah I am, I’m about to head into work though, Voight’s wants us in for some reason, what’s up?” You informed him, looking around for your keys as you finished the last drops of your coffee.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Your Sergeant didn’t tell you? It’s why I’m calling actually, we’re coming to Chicago.” Now that did take you by surprise, Voight’s message hadn’t said anything about SVU, but you weren’t that surprised, it was Voight.

“Oh yeah? Know anything about the case?” You asked, your slight smile at the thought of seeing Carisi somewhat quashed by the fact that it meant something seriously bad was going on in your backyard. 

“A serial rapist that went dormant a few years back seems to have resurfaced in Chicago-” he explained, getting cut off by the sound of someone calling his name in the background, “Sorry, I’ve got to get to my flight, see you soon?”

��Yeah, let me know when you touch down. Oh, and Carisi?” You heard him pause, “this time you get to see what real pizza is supposed to taste like.”

He laughed on the other end of the line, “uh huh, we’ll see; bye Y/N.”

“Bye,” you hung up, a bit of a smile still on your face as you went about finishing up to leave your apartment. 

You and Carisi had kept in contact since you’d gotten back from New York. Nothing serious or anything, but you’d had a good time together and really seemed to connect on your short visit. The conversation had always felt natural, just chatting into the night for no other reason than just enjoying each other’s company. It was nice, whatever it was, and you were looking forward to seeing him in person again.

Throwing on your shoes and coat you headed out the door, making your way to the 21st. As much as you were looking forward to seeing Carisi, you had a job to do. 

-

You arrived at the 21st at the same time as Antonio, catching up to him on the steps as you entered. “Know what we’re doing here on this glorious Saturday morning?” He asked, gesturing to the brilliant sunshine and cloudless sky. 

Antonio had been planning a weekend with his kids, he’d been talking about it all week, and you felt a pang of guilt for not remembering until now. You might not have had plans, or much of an actual life, but that didn’t mean the rest of the unit, your partner especially, hadn’t had to drop a lot to come in today.

“Only that it’s important, SVU’s on their way,” you filling him in on what Carisi had told you as you waved good morning to a desk Sergeant you didn’t recognise. At least Trudy still got the weekend, you thought to yourself, but then even Hank Voight wouldn’t risk her fury at being asked to come in on a Saturday morning. 

The pointed look Antonio gave you had you rolling your eyes, but he was the only one who knew that you still kept in touch with Carisi, though the rest of them had given you hell the second you’d boarded that plane home from New York.

You buzzed the both of you in upstairs, not the first to arrive but not the last either as Jay, Hailey and Kim milled about the bullpen, helping Voight set up the board with your new case. 

“Need a hand?” Antonio asked after morning greetings were made, examining what was up on the board so far. You joined him after throwing your jacket over the back of your desk chair, picking up with folder Voight had left on your desk. Everyone had one laid out for them, so you flicked through it as the others spoke.

“Nah we’ve pretty much got it all set up, this is a pretty thin case considering, well, everything about it,” Jay answered, following his eyes to where he glanced at the board, a row of 9 young women, nearly identical in their pale skin, blonde hair, and delicate features. 

“Christ,” you muttered, looking from their images on the board to the crime scene photos in the file in your hand. All the women looked like porcelain dolls, their hair and make up immaculate, and all of them were dressed in different ball gowns, their hands laid over their chests with a single rose inclosed. 

“Not the start to the weekend you expected huh?” Kim commented grimly as Voight emerged from his office, two photographs, the rest of the unit filling in up the stairs.

“I think Jessica Connors would agree,” Voight answered, drawing the attention of the room as you greeted the others, sticking up two more photographs next to the other 9, who must have been the New York victims. 

The next two women looked nearly identical to the others, flicking to the back of the file to find their reports as Voight spoke. “She was found late last night, same M.O as the rest,” he told you all, pointing to the second photograph he’d stuck up. “This is Lily Hamilton, found the same way a week ago. The connection between the victims was made last night and a further connection was made with these other 9 women, all matching the M.O to the letter, including aspects not released to the press, and all coming from New York 10 years ago.”

“Special Victims?” Kevin asked, earning a nod from Voight.

“Captain Benson, Detective Carisi and Officer Tamin are already on their way,” he replied, “this is going to be a big case, the press is already picking up on the story, and the Commissioner thought it would be best if we took it given our history of working successfully with New York’s Special Victims Unit.” 

Your mind went instantly to Carisi but you shut him out, now wasn’t the time to think about seeing him ago. This case would have been before he’d joined the unit, but you figured maybe Captain Benson would know more, they might have even working it back in the day. 

“All the women, practically identical, went missing within a 6 month window, with gaps ranging from a couple of days to a couple of months. The only connection NYPD found was their appearance, and he seems to have kept them alive for varying lengths of time before killing them and dressing them up like this. They never found out where, but they weren’t killed in the woods. Signs of sexual assault were obvious, but actual damage to their body was minimal. The cause of death was a concoction of lethal drugs injected into their system, the contents of which were not released to be public but match both our cases and New York’s,” Voight relayed the basics.

“So how are we working this?” Hailey asked, perched up on her desk with her head rest on her chin, staring thoughtfully at the board in front of you all.

“I want Burgess, Ruzek and Antonio on the old New York cases, see if anything was missed or if any potential suspects have surfaced in Chicago recently. Atwater and Rojas will re-examine the first crime scene, I want every stone unturned. Upton and Halstead will interview both of the families, see what they were doing when they went missing, but remember, we only found Jessica last night, so tread carefully.”

You couldn’t help but notice one name not mentioned. “Sergeant-” You began to ask, slightly raising your hand. He turned to you before you could finish.

“Y/L/N, Benson requested you work with her unit for this case, seems you made quite an impression in the way you handled our last case with them, you’ll be heading to the most recent crime scene after you’ve all reviewed the case notes, meet them there when they touch down,” he explained, Antonio suppressing a smirk and others glancing at you curiously. 

You didn’t know what to say, so you nodded to let him know you understood, Benson’s comment about a change of scenery resurfacing in your mind. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but maybe she’d actually been serious. 

“What are you all still doing standing around, let’s get moving,” Voight ordered, snapping all of you into gear as you quickly pushed that from your mind too, heading back to your desk and ignoring the raised brow Antonio gave you.

You had a case to work and a killer to catch, and with Special Victims touching down in a couple of hours, whoever this rapist was, their luck had just run out. 

[griffin-wood]

Top 5 Books? 👀

I have been hoarding this ask for a whiiile now and since I got nothing to read now - lemme ramble about this hehe! Thank youuuu pd! 🥰✨

UNDER THE CUT CAUSE ITS TOO LONG WElp, sorry pd it turns out into a book review sksk 😭

So, this is like low-key vv hard - but, imma cheat the system a little and ramble!

1. Addicted/Calloway Sisters Series (the whole series) (Check TW)

okay this series, I haven't actually finish it yet cause well, I don't wanna say goodbye yet...but holy moly, I love how the growth of the characters in this - ALSO, found family is a HUUUGE thing! And, okay - they all are vv rich lol, but the story did made me emo and just, how they are all a family? And just look out for each other and after everything they been through together? I'm just - in looove! Loren, Lilly, Connor, Rose, Daisy and Ryke - aka the core six for life ✨💕 the quotes in this book are so many but, lemme give one!

fav scene (this is sooo long, god but this scene lives in my mind everyday):

“Nearly every day of our lives you’ve wondered one thing.”

Sex darts into my brain.

And his smile lights up his face, full-well knowing the dirty paths of my mind. “You’ve wondered when your superpowers will kick in.”

His words flush my thoughts, and I focus on his intense, passionate gaze. “Have they?” I ask softly.

“According to your timeline,” he says, “they’ve been present as far as your mind stretches back.” His lips rise. “Lily Calloway…all this time, your superpower has been loving me.” Tears cloud my eyes, and they don’t stop, especially as he adds, “And you’ll be happy to know that I’m not mortal.”

“You aren’t?” I choke.

“No.” He shakes his head, brushing away the wetness beneath my eyes. “Because my superpower is the love that I have for you. It’s out of this world, extraordinary, incomprehensible kind of love. And no one and nothing on this Earth comes close to it.”

2. Ignite Me (3rd book of Shatter Me)

This final book of the first part of the trilogy? WORTH IT. god, Juliette's development was amazing. Also, Warner. Aaron Warner could step me in the face and I shall say thank you. Lmao, but also - Juliette and Kenji's friendship? SOULMATES YALL! And that ending, just... God, I love it! I'm about to start book 5 of the series but, it's definitely worth the try!

fav quote (I was blushing okay sjsks):

“ignite my love, ignite”

3. The Invisible Life of Addie Larue

This book. THIS FREAKING BOOK AHHH. This is the first physical book I bought in sooo long, and one of my pathways to getting back into reading? And just, I adore everything about it. Some people say it could be a hit and miss, but it's definitely worth the try. The writing was exquisite - and Addie Larue; she lived through history and I bawled at the ending????? Yeah, I literally bawled at 2 am for this. There's a lot of good quotes in it but the ones that stuck with me the most is:

“There is defiance in being a dreamer.”

4. Felix Ever After

I love Felix Love. Felix was definitely a relatable character throughout the story - and seeing how Felix was trolled for being trans? God, my heart hurt for him. And learning about Felix's story itself, the story and everything. It can make you feel a lot, and just - learn about love y'know. Sometimes people like the idea of us, than who we are - and that's a huge takeaway in the book. Definitely the ones that I adore. The friendships and just, love in general. Amazing.

fav quote:

“Its easier, I think, to love someone you know won't love you — to chase them, knowing they won't feel the same way — than to love someone who might love you back. To risk loving each other and losing it all”

5. The Silent Waters

this is a book I buddy read with @kelseaaa but, god it hit both of us very very hard. The story itself was.. Unexpected and the love story Maggie and Brooks? God, it's such a beautiful one. Just everything about this book made me emotional and just, I adore everything about it. Vv underrated but god it was emotional.

Fav quote:

“the world keeps on spinning because your heartbeat exists.”

[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 2.

TW: typical case briefing, mentions of missing person, a stalker, significant injury, blood, gore and murder / death. This is another reminder that there is an age-gap of 14 years, slight mention of divorce. Case based on 3x06.

Upon the team's arrival at the local police department, you’re met with a slightly older looking man, who introduces himself as Detective Yarbrough. “Welcome to Texas, you must be SSA Aaron Hotchner” he welcomes, shaking Hotch’s hand as he speaks. 

As you watch the interaction your thoughts linger on Hotch, he was an incredibly attractive man, it would be pointless to deny it, but then again, you shouldn’t be fantasizing about your boss, especially your newly divorced boss, who’s fourteen years older than you. That being said, it didn’t stop you from time to time.

“That would be correct and let me introduce you to my team, these are Agents Rossi, Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Selwyn and Dr Reid” 

A mixture of greetings are offered as the detective leads you all toward a makeshift conference room, “I didn’t realise you had a trainee on your team”. 

You see Hotch’s brow furrow “I’m sorry, a trainee?” his voice laced with either confusion or annoyance, you can’t quite tell.

“Oh, I thought” he gestures to you, “I just assumed she was a trainee, she doesn’t look like FBI”.

Annoyance, his voice was laced with annoyance, or was it anger? Once again you couldn’t tell. You’d come to expect this assumption from most people, you were only twenty-three and probably looked younger due to your fresh-faced appearance, which was highlighted by your immaculate yet soft makeup, you didn’t bother to cover the three faint diagonal scars on right cheek, and you allowed your curly brown hair to frame your face. Before you even had the chance to reply, Hotch had spoken up.

“I’m not sure why you’re concerning yourself with the appearance of my team, especially since you’ve plainly stated that you’re working off assumptions, detective. Agent Selwyn is an exceptional agent. Lets get set up.” 

Along with the rest of the team, you begin to set up the conference room, pinning pictures and case notes to the board, mapping out a timeline of the previous four days and laying out a map of the crime scene. Settling down into a chair to read over the original police report, not realising that it’s just you and Emily, you begin to take notes of anything that could be deemed as important, you’re not ten minutes into working when Emily breaks the silence. “He’s not wrong though Paisley, you don’t look like a typical FBI agent”.

Momentarily, your eyes flick down to your outfit, she’s not wrong, you didn’t look like a typical FBI agent, not with your casual style. Today’s outfit of choice consisted of a forest green camisole top layered over a long sleeved white turtleneck tucked into black mom jeans, along with your trusty pair of black doc martens, which were an everyday essential for you. Another everyday essential of course was your jewelry, a ring with a stone on each finger, each differing from one another in size, shape and colour, along with multiple earrings in each ear, not forgetting the same two necklaces you always wore. Letting out a small laugh, you look over to her, “True, but then again nor do Reid and Garcia” which elicits a laugh from her in return. 

Turning your head back to the file in your hand, the rest of the team make their way back into the conference room, shortly followed by Detective Yarbrough, whose face looks tainted with a mixture of anger and panic “There’s another missing person’s poster. Enid White, her roommate called Dallas PD this morning, she didn’t come home after walking her dog last night.”

This causes Hotch to stand up even straighter than before, but Reid is the first to respond to the panicked detective, “So she is missing then”.

“Well he wallpapered around the area of the apartment for two blocks and Dallas PD is still canvassing to gather any additional information, but nothing has come up so far”.

“Outside, that’s different for this unsub. Do you mind if I keep hold of this poster, Detective?” Hotch says tucking the it away, but not before turning to Morgan and Prentiss telling them to visit the first victim’s home and instructing Dave and Reid to walk the disposal site with Detective Yarbrough, whilst JJ deals with the ever growing queue of media questions.

“We’ll regroup in an hour and in the meantime Selwyn and I will visit Enid’s roommate” Hotch announces. Not long into the car journey, you begin to stare out the window, taking in the scenery outside and you’re eventually drawn out of your dazed state by Hotch clearing his throat “Paisley, are you alright? You seem distracted”

“Huh? Yeah I’m fine, just taking in the scenery, I just think it’s a shame that the only time we see these places is when we’re called on cases, y’know? Oh and Hotch, I never got to thank you for what you said to Detective Yarbrough this morning so thankyou”

“Maybe you should take some time off” he suggests with a hint of a smile ghosting his voice “You don’t need to thank me Paisley, I’d do it for anybody on the team”. Of course the team. You scold yourself for hoping that he’d singled you out and you force yourself to push your thoughts aside as you pull up to the apartment. As the two of you get out of the car, you’re met with a mass of reporters and a local detective, Hotch takes the lead and introduces the two of you.

“Agents Hotchner and Selwyn. Did the press run with the story about the mask?” 

“What mask?”

“A mask was left at Michelle Colucci’s apartment, and we need to keep that detail out of the press or they’ll have a field day.” 

The detective nods and continues “The roommate tells us that Enid walks her dog at the same time each day, taking the same route”

Hotch nods in acknowledgement “Nothing a stalker likes more than a strict routine” you murmur your agreement and take the opportunity to speak up and gesture to the hundreds of posters surrounding the apartment.

“She would have seen this on her walk if it was already up when she went missing. We need to speak with the roommate and find out as much as we can”. You turn to Hotch to continue your train of thought, but you notice he’s already looking at you with a look you can’t quite place and scold yourself for not being able to work it out, some profiler you are Paisley. 

Once the team all gathers back at the station, you all begin to swap information about the case and once you’ve finished recounting the relevant bits of information, Morgan pulls you to one side as people break away into smaller conversations. 

“Well well well if it;’s not our exceptional SSA Paisley Selwyn” he jokes, making reference to Hotch’s previous comment, which earns him a swift jab to the arm and an eye roll from you, along with a sassy remark.

“Didn’t realise you wanted compliments from Hotch, I thought you got enough from Garcia, Hot Stuff?”

“I get plenty from her, you however, could dish out some more, Pretty Girl” he retorts back to you and you both share a laugh. You were close with the entire team, but you and Morgan held a much closer bond, sharing a love of sports and often being assigned as partners in the field. 

Much like earlier on the plane, Hotch draws everybody’s attention back to the case just as Garcia calls through with a new lead “Greetings my loves, I’ve just been running Enid White’s credit cards, turns out one was last used at 9am at a store in Dallas, but unfortunately that’s all I have for now”.

“Thanks Babygirl” Morgan calls out to her and you smile, one of the things that solidified your friendship with Morgan was how appreciative he was toward Garcia as more often than not people overlooked her, making the mistake of thinking she was nothing more than a glorified computer geek.  Once again, Hotch starts to distribute orders, telling JJ to phone the store to gain access to the CCTV footage of the store where Enid’s credit card was last used. Not even thirty seconds later, a local officer walks in with the news that there’s an urgent call on the line to which Detective Yarbrough clicks on to. 

“This is Enid White, I saw the news report that said the police didn’t believe that other woman when she saw the missing person poster”

The detective shakes his head “That was a mistake Enid, we can help you, where are you?”

There’s no response, Hotch leans closer to the phone “Enid this is Aaron Hotchner of the FBI, we believe you and we’re here to help you. Can you tell us where you are?”

“El Royale Motel, Dallas, please come quickly, he’s going to kill me” she begs, you can hear the sheer panic in her voice as Detective Yarbrough assures her that help will be arriving shortly and hangs up soon after. The ride to the motel is tense, and the team quickly clears the room and are met with the sight of yet another white mask and more posters covering the floor.

“She’s gone and it only took us twenty minutes to get here, I can’t believe we lost her” exclaims Detective Yarbrough looking around the scene, he’s visibly frustrated and you know Hotch can see it too, he shares a look with you and Rossi and you decide to voice what you’re thinking.

“We might not have, he kept Michelle for four days and this coupled with the fact that he left the posters on the floor shows that he left in a rush, almost like he knew we were coming.”

Rossi begins to show his agreement with your statement as Morgan and Prentiss emerge from the motel room “This phone was found under the bed, a Carrollton area code was the last number she dialled” Morgan informs you.

Emily nods along and then continues “So this means he could have been listening in and heard everything she said, he wanted to make sure that the police found the mask”

Hotch’s eyebrows pull together as he looks between the team and the crime scene, knowing what this look means you brace yourself for what’s to come as he utters the very words you knew he would. “Detective Yarbrough, we need you to gather your men and give a profile”.

[jbcnks]

BASICS.

Name: Jameson “Jamie” Banks

Gender / Pronouns: Cis male  / he, him

Species: Human

Age: Thirty-four (34)

Occupation: Consulting detective for Blackrock PD

Personality: Determined, fair, enthusiastic, bossy, stubborn, abrasive

HISTORY. tw. racism, death of a family member, grieving, murder, i guess technically cannibalism.

You are born one bright spring morning. Your mother always tells you that when she brought you home, all the flowers had bloomed in her garden, welcoming you into the world. Brian is born two years later, on a fall evening. Your parents leave you with your aunt while your mother gives birth to your little brother -- you don’t actually remember this part, but your parents tell you that you were thrilled to see him. 

Winthrop, Washington is as small as small towns get. People there don’t always treat your family with kindness, and you learn that you are different from a very young age. You are nine when someone smashes the windows to your parents’ restaurant, and when the sheriffs get there, you overhear them telling your parents there’s nothing they can do. When you get back home, you tuck Brian into his bed first before climbing into yours, though neither of you get much sleep that night.

Brian is a much better student than you are. You do okay, but it’s clear from the very beginning that you’re more physically gifted. Baseball is big in Winthrop, and playing for your high school’s team is one way for you to blend in. Everything seems fine, until one day, your brother comes back home with an broken arm and a bruise on his cheek. 

Your initial plans to go to the city for college is put on hold for the next two years, until your brother graduates. It doesn’t feel good to leave him behind despite what your parents tell you, and only when your brother turns eighteen and manages to snatch up a scholarship at UW, you move out to the city with him, jumping into an associate’s degree program for criminal justice. 

There are good and bad parts of Seattle. You’ve never been a big fan of rain or cold weather. You do like a good cup of coffee, and the dating scene isn’t half bad. Once you join the police academy, you think the worst thing about Seattle is the crime rate. Four years later, you’ve fully established yourself as a real police officer in the Seattle Police Department and Brian goes into social work. And you naively tell everyone you meet that the worst thing about Seattle is the rent.

The real worst thing about this city, you learn a few years later, is that it never stops, even for a moment. You can’t stop long enough to grieve, you can’t even stop long enough to breathe. Brian dies when he is only twenty-eight years old. 

How do you tell your parents that your brother’s been murdered? That he’d been walking down the street at night and he was just trying to help someone -- always trying to help -- and that the robber had a gun on him? How do you tell them -- 

-- they said they can’t do anything about it right now. I’m so sorry. No, I’m okay, I’ll -- I’ll be okay. Mom, is dad -- Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Winthrop feels the same when you come back for Brian’s funeral. Quiet, peaceful. You hate it there. You speak at the funeral. You don’t remember a word that you say. 

You don’t fully understand it yourself, but you kiss your parents goodbye and go back to Seattle a week later. It feels like a betrayal at first, putting on your uniform for people who didn’t seem to care much for Brian. But you can almost hear him telling you to keep pushing because now there’s something he has to change. And Brian had always wanted that -- to change this horrible, poisoned world no matter how many times Jameson had told him it was an impossible dream. 

You cry when you become a detective. They think you’re happy, but you’ve never been so fucking sad. 

( Grief comes to you in waves, in dreams. You never let it fester for too long because you know it will swallow you up if you stop running. ) 

The problem with running that fast is that you don’t exactly know when to stop, or how. Your eagerness impresses your captain for awhile, until he realizes that you have a chronic inability to forgo cases that have hit a dead end. You’re like a pitbull, Banks, he tells you, you don’t know how to let go. It makes you laugh because you don’t realize that he’s not complimenting you. So sure, you’re a bit of a thorn on your captain’s side, but they can’t do much about you anyway because you work hard and your clearance rate is off the charts. 

You’re driving to Winthrop to be with your parents for your brother’s birthday when you see something on the side of the road. Thing of legends, of myths, of nightmares and you see the wolf holding someone by their neck. When you stop your car and walk out with a gun in hand, you swear you see the wolf turning into a person before running away into the woods. You chase after them - whatever thing that was - but you’re too slow and eventually, you make your way back to the body, and call for backup. 

You realize you sound like your head isn’t screwed on right, and you recall those are the exact words your captain uses when you first tell him about what you’ve seen, and that they can’t rule this as an accident. You now also realize that you probably should have kept your mouth closed, because the next thing you know, they’ve assigned you to some missing persons case and are sending you to some bumfuck nowhere town called Blackrock.  

As soon as you land in Blackrock, you go straight into the filing cabinet and read through every single case, open and closed. You still hate your captain for sending you to Blackrock, but you’re beginning to realize that there’s much, much more to this town than any of you had thought. 

HEADCANONS.

Jamie has several tattoos, though none of them are visible with clothes on. The most meaningful one is for his brother -- his initials over his heart, fairly small. The rest are here and there, beginning with a regretful stick-and-poke he got from a friend in his 20s. 

His brother Brian was probably the nicest person Jameson knew and he had such a soft spot for all the kids he worked with as a social worker. Brian would tell Jamie quite a bit about many of the kids and their home life that it really did open up his eyes about the system and its frequent failures. 

After Brian’s death, Jameson threw himself into his work and for a little while, didn’t see his parents as much. But now, he tries to call them as much as he can, and always tries to make it back home for the holidays. 

He has a black lab named Kyoto that traveled with him to Blackrock. Kyoto is a lady and when she was a puppy, they’d tried to train her to be a search & rescue dog but she failed her tests and he ended up adopting her. 

He really doesn’t want to be in Blackrock. So he will probably complain about Blackrock here and there.

Technically, he’s only supposed to be working on Addison’s case, but he’s realized that there’s a lot of suspicious shit going on in Blackrock. Addison’s case is still a priority, but he’s definitely also looking into the other open cases, and some closed ones that don’t seem to make sense to him. 

So yes, he does not get much sleep.

Jamie doesn’t really drink and doesn’t smoke at all! If he drinks, he’s either really stressed or on a rare day off. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

First arrest: He hasn’t been in Blackrock long, but he thinks there’s not enough being done around the town.  [ This person ] was the first arrest he’s made since coming to Blackrock. 

Thorn on his side: [ This person ] isn’t necessarily his priority, but they do seem to keep getting into trouble and to make things worse, they seem to do it right in front of him. 

Person of interest: But of course, his main focus is on the missing persons (aka Addision) case, and [ this person ] seems to be involved one way or another. Or perhaps it’s someone who knew Addison, or someone who might have had motivation to hurt her. 

New friend(s): People he’s instantly clicked with, or perhaps he’s become friendly with. He frequents Ugly Mug Cafe, and when there’s a game on, Last Drop Bar. He’s really not that scary -- only when he thinks that you’re hiding something. 

Old friend: Jamie has known [ this person ] when he was younger/when he working in Seattle, and by pure chance, they’ve both ended up in Blackrock. 

One night stand: When he first got to Blackrock, he may have gotten drunk one night out of frustration and took [ this person ] back home. He thinks they’re nice, but the thing is, he’s not actually looking to pursue anything -- mostly because he knows he has to focus on his work. 

Sports buddy: He still likes baseball. Someone please play catch with him and Kyoto or at least watch the game with him when he’s off duty. 

[eirabach]

Glow [1/5]

Emma Swan always gets her man, and not even a little thing like death is going to stop her.

A ‘Just Like Heaven’ AU for @cssns and for my lovely pal @killiancygnus who really wanted an AU of this movie and has been patient beyond all measure whilst I did things like have a baby and a breakdown or three and drowned in a pit of writers’ block.

You’re a good potato, Fran.  I hope you enjoy.

Stunning artwork by the incomparably talented @seastarved who I am beyond blessed to know. You rock my darling.

4k. Rated M. TW: Violence, Death... Ghosts?

AO3

She dreams of the ocean.

The skies are bright blue, and cartoon-fluffy clouds scud overhead as the ship skips over the waves with her at the bow. The wind catches at her hair and she laughs - a wild, bell-like sound she barely recognises - and spreads her arms wide.

Somewhere behind her, someone is calling her name.

Emma!

Emma?

“Emma? Emma!”

She sits bolt upright, the cheap plastic chair creaking alarmingly beneath her weight as she sways backwards. Her half eaten breakfast doughnut rolls sadly across the table and drops to the floor, and she scrubs at the smear of cinnamon frosting it’s left on her cheek.

“Sorry, what,” she mumbles, blinking grit from her eyes. “I was just - ”

“Snoring,” says her boss, lips twitching into a sneer. “So glad you could rejoin us.”

“Sorry,” Emma mutters again, “it won’t - it won’t happen again.”

Zelena lifts one perfectly manicured eyebrow over the file she’s holding out, Emma cringing inwardly as she realises that every person around the rickety old boardroom table is watching her with expressions that range from amused, to pitying, to - in Jefferson’s case - alarmingly hungry.

“Rough night?” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin. “We could make it… rougher, if you like?”

Emma squeezes her hands into fists and forces her expression into a tight smile.

“Not in any way you’d enjoy, Jefferson. I might, though.”

Ruby scoffs into her hand, covering it up with a cough, and the two of them exchange a swift look. Ruby’s still in last night’s make-up too, but hers is still practically pristine, her lips still devil red as she quirks them briefly at Emma.

Emma’s carefully applied mascara, on the other hand, is smeared under her eyes and down her cheeks from hours spent waiting in the rain, her lipstick long since bled away.

It really had been a rough night.

Her mark had been a particularly nasty piece of work, skipping bail and leaving not only one well-meaning and heavily pregnant girlfriend to foot the bill, but two, and Emma had been warned in advance that he had form for getting nasty when things weren’t going his way.

He also, it seemed, had form for standing up dates. In the rain.

And possibly Varsity Level Track and Field skills.

She could imagine better starts to the day than dealing with Zelena and Jefferson after six hours of extensive wet-weather cross-country running and twenty minutes sleep. She squirms in her seat, her shoulder aching still from where he’d attempted to wrench it from it’s socket before she’d finally managed to get the drop on him, and meets Zelena’s gaze with a glare of her own.

“I got the mark,didn’t I?” she says. “I just didn’t get much sleep.”

“I hope you enjoyed your little cat nap, then,” says Zelena, sliding the file over to Emma. “Because here’s the next one.”

Emma’s brow furrows as she looks at the golden embossed motif on the front of the file, the heavy cardstock, the six figure reward for bringing this guy in.

Somebody must have been a really, really naughty boy.

“The cops increased their budget lately?”

“Not for the police,” Zelena says smugly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “This is on behalf of a private client.”

“Hey.” Emma drops the file on the table and shakes her head sharply. “We do bailsbonds, not PI work.”

Zelena hums, her eyes going wide. “Is that what it says on my door? Well I never.”

“You don’t have a door,” Emma mutters, but Zelena is leaning over the table now, her eyes sharp, and Emma is forcibly reminded that although she’s good at her job - great, even - Zelena is still very much the boss.

“And you don’t have a choice,” she hisses. “Unless you think I should give the mark to someone else?”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees both Ruby and Jefferson sit up a little straighter, and her eyes drift back down to the file.

She doesn’t know who Mr Gold is, and she has no idea what he wants with the dark-haired man in the grainy CCTV photo - this Killian Jones - but she knows how much money is left for the month. She knows Henry went to school this morning in jeans a half inch too short.

And it’s six figures. Six.

“No,” she says, closing the file and resting her hands on top of it. “I’ve got this.”

--

The office - such as it is - isn’t the sort of place Emma likes to spend much of her time, even at the best of times which, frankly, this sort of isn’t. Ruby’s nice, outgoing enough to spring the honey traps Emma wouldn’t dare and a personable sort of person to have around if you didn’t mind the constant sound of gum smacking, but even she isn’t a generous enough soul to congratulate Emma on being handed a case that might make her rich. And Jefferson had looked ready to murder her before she’d slipped past the splintered remains of what had once been Zelena’s door and settled herself into the only comfy chair in the place - an elderly padded desk chair reserved for clients that always smells faintly of despair.

Zelena could afford to replace it, of course. Emma thinks she just rather likes the scent.

“All right,” she says, crossing her legs and trying not to wince as her knees protest. “Spill.”

Zelena taps her nails on her desk and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“Afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she says with suspiciously wide eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“You tell me,” Emma snaps back, the file toht between her fingers. “Since when do we take on private clients - since when do private clients want to hire us?” She gestures to the door, it’s smashed glass panel and missing edges a testament to the sort of review Oz Bail Bonds has received in the past. “Something’s up.”

For a moment Zelena’s sneer drops, her fingers still, the confidence she wears like her knock-off suit flickering briefly out of existence.

“That’s none of your business,” she says, eyes narrowing. “Just do your job, Swan.”

“I will,” Emma snaps, “but not if - I have Henry to worry about you know.”

Zelena rolls her eyes in the particularly dismissive manner she reserves for the rare occasions her staff dare to remind her that they have lives outside of the office walls.

“Best make sure you don’t fail, then.” She gesturs to the door, her contribution clearly finished. “Although,” she says, “since you’re here…” She reaches into her desk drawer and removes one of the thin, buff coloured files preferred by Portland PD. Clipped to the front is a picture of a red-faced, piggy-eyed man, with slicked back black hair and a smile even a mother would cringe at. “Jefferson didn’t quite bring home the bacon on this one, so to speak. Would you mind?”

Zelena smiles her reptilian smile and Emma thinks of her bed, the three day old take out festering in the fridge. She thinks of Henry’s face as he waits for her to collect him from school only to see Mary Margaret turn up again.

“Would it matter if I did?”

Zelena’s smile almost reaches her eyes.

“Not in the least.”

—

It hadn’t always been like this of course.

It’s sort of surreal this half-life of hers, lived in the shadows of other people’s mistakes. She works mainly when the streets are dark and empty, sleeping the daylight away as best she can in an old recliner swiped from a skip, her son’s third-hand xbox blaring brightly away just beyond the edge of her consciousness. She’s tired, always, and never quite as well off as she ought to be for the hours she puts in - the stain of Zelena’s fingerprints over every pay cheque - but on balance, it’s alright.

It used to be far, far worse.

At least she was sleeping her car voluntarily nowadays. Not like those early days before, cold and desperate, she’d thrown herself on the mercy of the only friend she could remember having, her worst best mistake wailing in her arms and her prison issue clothes hanging off too thin shoulders.

And Mary Margaret had let her in.

And let her in. And let her in.

Until their brief High School friendship had developed into something almost like family, almost just right.

She’s getting morbid, it’s getting late. The two things might be connected.

It’s been a depressingly long time since she’d backed the bug into the alleyway outside of the mark’s preferred drinking den, and she’d done nothing ever since but squint into the dark - nothing except fire off a quick text to Mary Margaret begging off school pick up and hoping she’d take mercy.

Again.

It’s a theme, of sorts.

(And If she hadn’t answered Mary Margaret’s follow up call, well. She can’t afford to get distracted on a job.

She can’t afford for Mary Margaret to finally say no.)

From somewhere under the pile of cheeseburger wrappers in her passenger footwell she hears the buzz of her phone and winces.

She sort of should have, maybe, called Mary Margaret back.

No time for that now though. At the end of the alleyway she sees the shadow of a man leaving the bar, the tell-tale lurching gait of the heavy drinker giving her time to slip out of the bug, gun in hand, before he’s able to disappear into the shadows.

This is always the riskiest part - the choice. Does she shout, ensuring the guy currently emptying his guts against a dumpster is the one she’s after but possibly setting herself up for another late night cross country session? Or does she lurk in the dark like some sort of comic book vigilante, creeping along with her back to the damp alleyway walls and hope that she’s able to get the drop on him?

(Her knees hurt. Decision made.)

She inches towards the dark figure, wrinkling her nose up as he retches into the gutter, the street lights casting a yellow halo around his unruly hair. He’s mumbling to himself as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, some sort of half conversation with the demons in his own head, and Emma slides her gun back into her belt. She’s not going to need it.

Somehow, she gets the impression that if she breathes too hard at this one he’ll drop like a leaf.

“Hey,” she says softly, stepping into the glow of the light, her hands open at her sides. “I think you ought to come with me”

He pauses his mumbling, his shoulders heaving slightly from the effort of being sick, and she sees the way his right hand tightens on the edge of the dumpster.

There’s a crack - thunder that isn’t  - a sharp, wet, blooming pain in her stomach. Screeching rubber and her own pulse harsh in her ears as she stumbles forward, grabbing at the edge of the drunk’s jacket as she falls.

She gasps. Henry’s name garbled in blood. Her phone’s in her car. She needs to tell this guy… he needs to tell Henry… she needs…

Help.

He turns, a flash of blue against white, and everything goes dark.

---

“I don’t know what you expected,” Regina mutters, armed folded across her chest. “Anything other than twenty five to life and I’ve have thought you’d jump at it.”

Killian Jones peers past her with narrowed eyes, his nose wrinkling slightly as the smell of the drains drifts on the wind from the battered building before them. Somewhere, a dog howls.

“You may have missed the point of my turning evidence,” he mutters. “I was trying to avoid a life in a four by six cell in the company of a man who tattoos his own eyeballs.” He nods up at the building. “Not pay $700 a month for the privilege.”  

“$900,” Regina says, shrugging her shoulders as his jaw drops. “What? You have terrible references.”

“You’re my reference!”

“Were you always this sulky, or is this a consequence of your new leaf?” she says, curling her lips and her fingers around the words. “Not quite working out how you’d planned?”

Killian scowls and rocks back on his heels.

“Bit rich coming from you, love. Tell me, how many of your dirty little secrets has your mother hushed up?”

It’s Regina’s turn to mutter now, her perfectly groomed brows pulled low.

“Not half as many as I have of hers, as well you know.”

He does know.

Men like him don’t survive being, well, men like him, without being well aware of the seedier aspects of life - of the lies and the bribes and the bullets that it takes to keep money flowing where it oughtn’t and your blood still in your veins. Mostly, at least.

Which is probably why this is such a fucking horrible idea. Regina clearly thinks it’s a fucking horrible idea, anyway.

“This is a horrible idea,” she says in that obnoxious way she’s had since childhood of dragging up the slightest weakness and exposing it to the world. It’s what makes her a good lawyer. It’s what makes her better at pretending than he is. “Do you honestly believe this is going to work out? You turn on Gold and what - he just lets you live out your days in Portland peaceably?”

“I don’t think he’s going to let me do anything,” Killian mumbles, and for a moment he gets a flash of wide, frightened eyes and the rich, thick pulse of blood. “I don’t require permission. Just a place to live. So if you don’t mind?”

Regina checks her watch, tapping her nail against the glass face and sighing loudly.

“I suppose there’s time to get over to the dockside before the offices close - there’s an apartment there about a bar that will be right up your street.”

“No.”

“Sorry?”

“Not the docks.”

For the first time in her life, probably, Regina just stares at him, her mouth open. Speechless.

“I’m done with that.”

“You’re done with what?”

Killian shakes his head and scuffs the toe of his boots through the sidewalk dust.

“It’s supposed to be a fresh start,” he mumbles.

Regina stares at him, her lips pursed.

“You really have changed, haven’t you?”

“No need to sound so shocked. If you can do it -“

“All right, all right.” Regina tosses her head back to try and cover for the furtive glance she throws over her shoulder. “Ixnay on the… history. Okay?”

He smiles, a sly, almost furtive sort of thing.

“Bit rich coming from you, no?”

Regina’s lips curl back over her teeth and his smile stretches into a full blown smirk.

“No wonder Gold wants you dead,” she mutters. “I want you dead. If you don’t find an apartment soon you’ll be dead, so if you could just -“

There’s a sudden gust of wind that blows Regina’s hair over her face, dark strands sticking to her lipstick and stopping her in her tracks. Killian takes the opportunity to spin on his heel and start walking away, but something catches beneath his boot.

Crumpled pink copier paper, the words that pale blue grey smudge that comes from being the last of a long print run on an overworked machine.

Apartment to Let.

He picks it up, pinching it between two fingers and waving it in Regina’s face like a child who found ten bucks under the bleachers.

“Someone’s looking out for me,” he says. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Regina snatches the flyer from him, examining it with a crease between her brows.

“Unlikely.”

“And yet.”

She sighs, reaching for her phone.

“It’s too cheap you know. I bet it’s got rats. Crawling with them. Or cursed.”

Killian bounces slightly on his toes. It’s bitterly cold in the sharp wind and he’s been standing in the open longer than he’d like.

The walls have eyes and the walls have ears, but at least they block out the wind.

“Well then,” he says, pushing his fists deeper into his pocket. “Sounds perfect.”

—-

It’s uncanny, really. An apartment held in time, plates on the drainer, a golden hair on a rumpled pillow. The curtains are all half drawn, and in the low light the shadows seem to reach out into the room and pluck at the ground beneath their feet.

Cursed.

“Creepy.” Regina’s mouth twists into a sneer as she runs a finger over the TV, the standby light glowing weakly through the layer of dust. “It’s hardly a showhome, is it.”

Killian hums noncommittally, and drops down onto the battered old leather sofa, winging his legs onto the arm and tucking his wrists behind his head.

“Suits me though, don’t you think?”

“Dark, creepy, and cheap. Close enough,” mutters Regina, wiping her hand down the front of her coat. “Apparently it’s some sort of Estate situation. The family just want someone in to pay the bills and keep the pipes running while they sort out the particulars. They won’t be checking in. Distressing, apparently.”

She speaks with the slightly sour expression of someone for whom the grief of others is a foreign and somewhat disturbing concept, as though Killian’s would-be landlords might descend from the ceiling weeping and wailing at any moment and smear cheap mascara on her cashmere scarf.

Empathy was never her strong point.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks him again now, her brows pinched tightly as she takes a final look around.

For now, Killian just hums again and digs his heels into the leather.

“This is the one,” he says. “This is the one.”

—

It takes four hours for Regina to organise bonds and fake a few references. Five for him to collect his single suitcase from the safe house. Six until he’s so drunk he can’t stand.

He sprawls against the sofa, cheek pressed against the soft woollen blanket, and watches the flickering reflection television in his empty bottle.

Even distorted by drink and the curve of the glass she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Her laugh echoes through the room and it makes him want to scream. He doesn’t, of course. He drinks instead. It’s what he does now.

That’s what Regina had told him, that first night in the safe house when his blood had been high and his nerves strung to breaking point. She’d perched primly on the edge of a government issue grey velour armchair and snapped open her briefcase to reveal a decent bottle of rum and two cut glass tumblers.

“More drinking, less thinking,” she’d said as he’d paced the floor, his head throbbing and his heart shattered. “You’ve the rest of your life to regret, Jones. It’s what you do now. Trust me.”

As much as he’d never give her the satisfaction of admitting it, she’d been right.

He’d never thought, before. Not beyond the next deal, next meal, the next moment in a life always lived precariously and purposefully close to the edge. He’d only had himself to care about, and he’d done precious little of that.

And then he’d met her and everything should have changed, and - hadn’t.

In his most sober moments the guilt rises, sour and sickening at the back of his throat, and the memory of Milah’s laugh warps and cracks until it becomes a wild accusation, echoing until it’s nothing but the mad cackle of the man who’d killed her.

So he drinks, and on the screen Milah spins, her white dress flaring around her as she falls laughing into the arms of a man who shares his face.

(He drinks, and there’s no one there to see him cry.)

---

Emma doesn’t remember drinking, doesn’t remember anything really after leaving work, but somebody somewhere must have slipped her something stronger than Mary Margaret’s Labor Day punch.

Her vision isn’t quite right - everything blurring white at the edges and drifting in and out of focus. Her perspective is off, things seem to be both right at hand and at the other side of the room simultaneously and maybe it’s a migraine but it’s like nothing she’s ever experienced before.

That, or she’s gone crazy.

It’s the only explanation for why she hasn’t called half the precinct on the bum sleeping on her couch.

He makes eye contact with her in the reflection of her tv and she opens her mouth to -

And light is creeping through the closed blinds and her couch is empty and how is it morning already?

Emma rubs at her temples and shakes her head sharply. A dream. It was just a dream. A dream she should probably be having in bed.

Except obviously she can’t. Because there’s a man in her bed. A dream man.

Not like that of course because sure he’s pretty but he’s also broken in to her house and - she pats frantically at her waist - where the hell is her gun?!

He stirs and Emma takes an involuntary step back, eyes darting frantically about as she searches for the baseball bat she knows Henry left lying around and -

Oh God. Oh God, Henry.

The man opens his eyes and their blue on white, a burning, searing -

Henry.

—-

Killian wakes face down on the blanket, the ribbon tickling his nose, to find the dvd menu screen playing the first five bars of Milah’s favourite cheesy love song on an infinite loop and almost guaranteeing that his new neighbors won’t be feeling amenable to lending him any coffee for the hangover he can feel brewing behind his eyes.

He peels himself off the sofa and reaches rather shakily for the remote. It’s been a while since he’s drunk quite this heavily - the cops who watched the safe house didn’t look too kindly on his worst excesses - so he takes a moment to regain his equilibrium, staring at his haggard reflection in the now blank screen and pressing his fingers into the hollows beneath his eyes.

At first he thinks it’s that pressure the does it, blinks twice but nothing changes.

There’s a woman.

She’s blonde, her hair falling in waves around her face, and wide eyed as she stands behind Killian’s own reflection. He can see her white knuckled grip on the sofa either side of his shoulders, and the moment shock turns to rage, her face contorting in fury.

He whips his head around, platitudes slow to come to rum sodden lips, and -

She’s gone.

[elizagraceoliver]

sunday mo(u)rning || self-para

WHO → Eliza Oliver

WHEN → Sunday, February 19th, 2017

WHERE → Oliver residence, Copeland residence, Lakewood PD Headquarters

NOTES → Eliza wakes up to discover some terrible news. Strong mentions of Seth Copeland (death mention tw)

Buzzing. It felt like Eliza’s phone had been buzzing off and on all morning, but it was only 4am so she knew that couldn’t be true. The first time she had awoken to the sound she had been so out of it that she had immediately fallen back asleep. It was by the third time that she clearly heard the noise that she knew something had to be up. A simple text message wouldn’t have that many notifications, and she was pretty sure the noise had continued while she had been asleep. Was it a glitch of her phone or was something seriously up?

Glancing at the screen, it suddenly hit her just how many missed calls she had. And one text message that basically told her all she needed to know about what the calls had been about. ‘Rumor about Seth being killed at the police station going around. Confirmed?’ the message, sent to her by an acquaintance from school, asked. And in that moment Eliza had never been more wide awake. ‘No,’ she insisted out loud, throwing back her blankets and sheets as she turned on her bedside lamp. No, Seth wouldn’t do that. He had been saying terrifying things about tracking down the killer for revenge, but that had over a month ago. He wouldn’t…

So she called him. And he didn’t pick up. At 4am that was understandable, but not at all helpful in that moment. Shooting off a quick text to her best friend (because he was her best friend, even if they were still working on getting onto good terms with each other again), Eliza did the next logical step she could think of as she got up from her bed. Pacing, she called his house phone. And then his mom. And then his dad. And when no one picked up anywhere she began to get insanely worried. His parents had jobs that required them to be up and at ‘em at a moment’s notice. If someone was calling them in the middle of the night, they’d probably pick up. Eliza knew the night had been eventful since they’d apparently found Tyler’s body, but that was not a big enough event to warrant no response, right?

Eliza couldn’t deal with not having an answer in that moment. She couldn’t deal with even the slightest possibility of having lost her best friend. So she did the only thing she could think of. Grabbing her keys before texting her parents, Eliza rushed to her car, basically on autopilot. She didn’t care that she was still in her pajamas or that it was winter and she’d probably be cold when she stepped outside. She just needed to have confirmation that Seth was okay. And that could only be found in two places - the Copeland residence or the police station.

She tried the home first, finding no one there to respond to her knocking (and later banging). At 4 am. Not a good sign. But Eliza still refused to believe the worst. Speeding over to the police station, it was as she pulled up to the town square that she noticed all of the activity. “Nonononono-” the girl repeated as she stopped her car along the side of the road, rushing out of it and running past several officers (and one or two journalists) until she was inside. “Seth?!” Eliza called out frantically as she looked from officer to officer, getting only sad looks in return. “Have you seen-” she began to ask the nearest officer before she was cut off by another one passing by. “You can’t be here,” they informed her as they carefully got her to move backwards, not easing the girl’s concerns in the slightest. “I’m just looking for Seth. Copeland. Seth Copeland. Is he here? Are his parents around?” Eliza barely managed to get out. She was majorly freaking out by that point.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say. You need to go home, though.” That was the officer’s only response before they ushered Eliza out of the building and into the cold morning air. Where she was promptly met by a semi-familiar face. “Eliza!” the person said as a greeting, getting her attention. They were a... reporter, right? What were they...? Oh. No. No. “Off the record, you were Seth Copeland’s best friend, right?” She couldn’t deal with things. She couldn’t deal with the past tense being used. Especially when she knew for a fact that it wasn’t being used because they’d hit a rough patch in their friendship. No. Reporters were asking her about Seth using past tense. There was really only one reason for that.

And Eliza refused to process it. Fight or flight kicking in, Eliza dashed away before she could answer the reporter, running straight into the back alley of the station as she pulled out her phone to call Seth once again. “Seth,” she started into his voicemail. “Seth, please. Please pick up. I just-I need you to pick up the phone. It’s Eliza. I just-please call me back as soon as you get this,” the girl insisted as she walked forward, not even looking at exactly where she was going until she stumbled across a large group of officers. And caution tape.

“Oh my god.” It was true. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but all of the signs were pointing in that direction and now? She was clearly at the scene of a crime. Looking around quickly, panicking, Eliza’s eyes were immediately drawn upwards when a camera flashed. On the roof. Why would anyone be on the roof? Eyes wide, it was then that Eliza was finally noticed. And her panicking soon turned to tears.

“Hey, hey, hey-” one of the officers began as they approached her, clearly unsure of what to do. “Where is he? Is he okay? Where’s Seth?” Eliza demanded to know, the tears seemingly unstoppable at that point. She just needed to know. She needed things to be confirmed or denied. Every moment that she went on having hope or dreading things was another moment of heartbreak for later and she just needed someone to give her some goddamn answers. “Can you just... please tell me?” she asked quietly once it became clear that she probably wouldn’t get any answers out of the officer. “He’s my best friend. I just need to know.” She was desperate.

“We’re about to hold a press conference if you’d like more details, but he... uh. He didn’t make it. That’s all I can tell you right now. I’m... very sorry for your loss,” the officer said then, clearly saying as much as they could. But it wasn’t enough. He didn’t make it? Clearly things had happened at the police station. It was the safest place in town! But he had been on the roof. Alone. He had been alone, she just knew it. He shouldn’t have been alone.

The girl was being ushered out of the alley at that point, clearly not allowed to be anywhere nearby. And she wasn’t even bothering to try and hold it together as she moved back towards her cars, getting several weird looks in the meantime. A sobbing girl walking down the streets of town in her pajamas at 4am? Clearly strange. But not as strange as a Detective’s son being killed at the safest place in town, so no one bothered to really acknowledge her as she slowly moved back to where she’d left her car, fully knowing that she wasn’t about to leave.

He was never going to call her back. No more science experiments, no more Twilight marathons, no more awkward family dinners where Seth’s parents would try to convince him to go into their professions when he was secretly pretty set on being a math teacher. No Stanford. No prom. No graduation. Suddenly Eliza couldn’t even imagine her own future. She hadn’t known it, but Seth had been so ingrained in her life that thinking of her life without him in it was impossible. And she didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, because it still felt like it wasn’t true. There was no way that Seth’s story ended there. That just wasn’t possible.

Still sobbing, Eliza crawled back into her car then, bringing her knees to her chest in the driver’s seat as she closed the door behind her. Grabbing her phone, she dialed her other most recent contact, not really knowing who she could speak to right then. Waiting for the phone to stop ringing and a voice to come onto the other side of the call, Eliza only had a half-second of relief at hearing the clearly groggy voice before she snapped back to reality. “Mom-” she began, sobbing. “Mom, I can’t-” she tried again, immediately cut off by her mother. “Eliza, where are you? What are you-” Eliza didn’t allow her to finish. “It’s Seth. He’s... Mom, I can’t go anywhere. I can’t move. I can’t. He was at the police station. He was supposed to be okay. But he’s not. He-I-please come and get me. I can’t-” Eliza got out between sobs, feeling like she was about to vomit. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely speak. And she sure as hell didn’t want to be thinking in that moment. She wanted to disappear or to rewind so that the past twelve hours hadn’t happened. To go to an alternative universe where Seth was happy and healthy and they were prepping to tell his parents that he was going to go to Stanford.

But they lived in Murderville. Where happy endings apparently didn’t exist. “I’m at the police station. Please come and get me,” Eliza finally managed to say with some clarity as she tried to catch her breath, hanging up the phone before a distant murmuring caught her attention. Rolling down her window, Eliza’s ears were suddenly met with an unfortunate confirmation of everything she’d been wanting to avoid acknowledging. The press conference. From a distance, but understandable enough. Seth was gone. The killer was at large. There was an official town curfew. And life as they knew it was over. Fuck.

It was then that Eliza’s phone buzzed again, a message flashing across her screen that she knew she would entirely ignore. It was the acquaintance from earlier - the one who had given her the heads up in the first place. ‘Just saw press conference. Sorry for ur loss. He was nice.’ That sent her phone flying into her back seat, only to be saved from being thrown out the window because she knew she at least needed to be accessible to her mom. They hadn’t even known him. Not really. And while she’d appreciated the heads up that morning, Eliza was not about to respond to anyone reaching out right then for comment or comfort. She wasn’t able to give any of those things. She was just sitting there, the uncontrollable sobbing cycling through sporadic periods of terrible moments where she was unable to catch her breath until her mother arrived and somehow got her home. Eliza wasn’t really sure of what was happening. One moment she was in her car, the next she was in her bed at home. And try as she might to just convince herself that everything that had just happened had simply been an awful nightmare, Elizabeth Oliver knew the truth. Everything had just changed. And she didn’t know how to deal with it.

[change-the-world-someday]

Don’t You Go

@ogmilkis asks:

hey i love your writing b (your last one(all of them really) was *chefs kiss*)💕 would you be willing to do 10 from the John Mulaney promt list?? no specifics i just wanna see what you do with it 😂

A/N: You're very kind about my work, thank you :). Keep sending these requests in, guys, they really help my imagination run.

Prompt: 10. “I am very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under.” 

BAU x GN!Teen!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Your parents are linked with four murders around town. However, things aren’t as rosey as they seem in your house...

⚠️TW⚠️ Child abuse mentioned, General Criminal Minds things, Murder mentioned

Masterlist

—•—

You shift in the uncomfortable seat, your wrists aching from the handcuffs. You play with your hands, fiddling with the ring on your right hand, twirling it and shifting it up and down your middle finger.

You weren't planning on being caught. Hell, you weren't planning on stealing in the first place, but life has a way of twisting things and somehow pulling the worst from every situation. You just needed something to eat and drink.

The door opens and your head snaps up and two people walk in. There's a younger, pale woman with blonde hair and an older man who's more tan with grey, swept-back hair. They take a seat opposite you and the man opens a file.

"So, Y/N L/N, the only child of Sandy and Darren L/N. Do you mind telling us why you were stealing from the store?"

You sit back and sigh. You don't say a word. The woman who asked the question huffs, making the older man place a hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, let's try something else," he starts. "JJ, do you mind leaving us for a few minutes?"

The blonde, JJ, nods and stands, leaving to presumably stand behind the one-way glass you’ve been staring at intently since you were forced into the interrogation room.

"My name's Dave Rossi. Now, why did your parents hide you from us? I mean, surely you know your parents are under investigation..."

Your attention is grabbed by this, and though you try not to show it, Rossi picks up on the subtle shift in body language. "Wait, you don't know?"

You speak up. "N-No. I b-barely see them."

Rossi raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you were in the store, trying to steal some food from the top shelf?" He bites back a smirk as he remembers how you were caught—you were trying to reach the top shelf and fell into it, crashing to the ground and your backpack opening, spilling out stolen food.

"Look, I'm very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under," you scoff out, still playing with your jewellery. Rossi leans forward a little, trying to close the gap between you.

"Don't your parents give you money for food?" Rossi asks. You shrug.

"They spend it...elsewhere," you reply and try to stop fidgeting. "I don't see them, and they don't tell me anything."

Rossi nods and pulls something out of his pocket; a key. "They must hurt." You nod and lean forward, letting Rossi unlock the cuffs. You smile a little, muttering a quiet 'thank you' before you rub your wrists, soothing them. That feels better.

"Are they ever around?" Dave asks. His tone of voice has shifted from slightly harsh to softer, almost fatherly. You shake your head and Rossi sighs. He leans back.

"Is there anywhere you can stay while we investigate your parents?" You shake your head again. "Okay. We can keep you here until the shopkeeper decides if she wants to press charges. We can make sure you're fed, too."

Rossi gets up and walks out, leaving you behind. He bumps into his team in the other room, who was watching through the one-way mirror.

"What are we going to do?" He asks Hotch. The unit chief sighs.

"The shopkeeper doesn't want to press charges. Y/N’s known for stealing small amounts of food from shops around town. They tend to just ignore it since they know what their parents are like. I say we keep them here, make sure they’re comfortable at least, and then we can see what Garcia's pulled up on the parents." Hotch gives the rundown and the team nod.

Suddenly, his phone rings. He picks up. "Garcia? What have you got?"

He puts her on speaker. "Sir, it turns out Y/N’s parents are related to the distribution of heroin around the country and guess what? Three of our four victims were involved in it too," she explains quickly, keyboard clacking in the background.

"And what about the fourth, baby girl?" Morgan asks.

"She knew the mother."

"It did seem that the fourth victim was a more personal attack. She was stabbed fifteen times more than the rest," Spencer pipes up. Hotch nods.

"Okay, thanks, Garcia," Hotch thanks and hangs up, turning back to his team.

"Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go to the house with a warrant and search top to bottom. Check Y/N’s room, too. JJ, release a statement to the press that we want to find these two. Dave, you're with me. We'll search the town and go over the crime scenes, see if there's anything the police missed. Reid, I want you to stay with Y/N. You're the youngest and they'll probably be less standoffish with you. Try and ask them some questions about their parents and the fourth victim. JJ, join him after."

Everyone goes their separate ways and Reid goes back into the interrogation room. You look up and relax a little, seeing it isn't the local PD.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Spencer," the young man introduces himself. You nod.

"Hi," you mumble.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? We can get you pretty much anything," Spencer asks. You think for a minute and nod.

"C-Can I have some...ramen, please?" You ask shyly. Spencer gives a bright smile and nods, quickly texting JJ to pick something up.

"Can I ask you some questions please?" The doctor asks. "You don't have to answer any if you don't want to, but it could help us."

You think before nodding, messing with your ring again. "C-Can you..." You trail off.

"Can I?" Spencer asks.

"Do you have...something I can mess with, p-please? The ring's hurting my finger." Spencer nods and digs into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and handing them over.

"They okay?" You nod. "Okay. Do you know Caitlyn?"

Silence. You’ve stopped messing with the keys. You nod. "How?"

"She...She's my friend. She told me..." You pause. "She told me she'd help me get away."

Spencer nods. "Get away from where?"

"My...my parents," you finish, messing with Spencer's keys again.

"Did your parents ever...come home with blood on them?"

You look down and nod. "When did that start?"

"Erm..." you think, "a-about a month ago. I wasn't allowed t-to ask." Your hands start to shake. "They...they..."

"Hey, Y/N? You're okay. Everything's okay," Spencer starts to reassure you. "They can't get you. You're okay."

You let out a shuddering breath and nod. Suddenly, the door opens and you jump out of his skin. It's the blonde woman from before, and she's holding a cup of ramen, steaming, with a plastic fork sticking up in it.

"Spencer? Hotch wants to talk to you," she says. The young agent nods and leaves, letting JJ take his seat. She hands you the ramen and you give a grateful nod, slurping it.

"S-Sorry," you mutter. JJ gives a soft smile and shakes her head.

"It's alright. I don't mind," she replies. You nod and continue eating, only stopping to take a breath now and then. In five minutes, the food's gone.

"W-Where is everyone?" You ask after a little while. JJ looks up from her phone, pausing the video you’re watching together.

"Well, Spencer's with Hotch, and the other one you've met, Rossi, is talking with the police to see if we can get you a bed set up in here. It would mean you don't have to go to the cells and you don't have to sleep in that chair," she explains.

"Hotch?"

"He's our boss. His name's Aaron, but Hotch is his nickname. Do you have a nickname?"

You shake your head. "N-Not really. My parents call me names, but n-not a nickname."

"How about N/N?" JJ asks. You think about it for a moment, before a small smile breaks out on your face.

"I-I like that," you mutter. "Yeah."

"N/N suits you, kid," a voice says from the door. You look up to see Rossi. He's holding a folding camp bed in his arms. Behind him is a sterner-looking man with a blanket and pillow. "We've got you a bed. None of us want you to go to your parents' house, and CPS can't come until morning."

You nod and lean back, playing with something in your hands.

"What you got there?" The other man asks.

"K-Keys," you reply. His eyes narrow.

"They're mine," someone says; Spencer. "I gave them to them to play with."

"S-Sorry. You c-can have them b-back. I'm s-sorry," you stammer out. Spencer shakes his head and walks over.

"It's okay. I don't need them at the moment," he reassures you. You nod.

Suddenly, radios flare up and almost everyone bolts out the room, leaving behind you and Rossi. Your eyes widen.

"W-What g-going on? D-Did I-"

"No kiddo, you haven't done anything wrong," Dave cuts in as he makes up the bed. "We've just had a hit on your parents..."

—•—

Part two anyone? Let me know if you’d like to see it :). Also, let me know if you want to be on my taglist. Just drop an ask :)

TAGLIST:

@ogmilkis @spideygirl2003 @ssebstann@herecomesthewriterwitch @garcias-batcave

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 7

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 //  Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing/s: Sonny Carisi x Intelligence!Reader

Warning/s: tw rape, murder, assault

Word Count: 1,636

Summary: The Intelligence Unit’s last case with Manhattan SVU had them flying out to New York to track down an abducted boy, and had Dectective Y/L/N and Detective Carisi growing close in the process. Now, a string of rape-murders in Chicago has SVU boarding the next flight out, believing the suspect to be the same man responsible for a set of identical crimes 10 years prior. As the case unfolds, Y/N and Carisi are brought back together, reigniting the spark between them.

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm​ // @inlovewith3​ //

It didn’t take you and Carisi long to track down your suspect, your partner Antonio calling you back shortly after you drove away from the crime scene. The bentley was parked outside of the house it was registered, uniforms were on scene but there had been no one in or out of the house since they arrived, so you both headed over as quickly as you could. 

“Maybe we can finally put this thing to rest,” Carisi said optimistically, watching the way you tapped your finger absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

“Maybe...” you replied, shaking your head as you turned off onto a very nice road; the cars looked like they cost more than your apartment, let alone the houses. 

“What? You think it’s too neat?” Carisi guessed correctly, “I get that, really I do, but sometimes we get lucky.” You knew he was thinking the same as you, but you’d come to realise he was very much a glass half full kind of guy.

“Not this lucky,” you told him, pulling up behind the squad car parked down the end of the road, eyes landing on the vehicle from the security footage. “Not catch a serial killer with next to a dozen murders under his belt after a decade in less than 24 hours kind of lucky. We’re good, we’re not that good.” 

With a pointed look you switched off the engine and climbed out, Carisi following suit. He knew you were right, but for the sake of these women and Captain Benson, you got why he hoped you weren’t - you didn’t want to be either. 

“It’s that one, saw movement in the window but no one’s been in or out since we arrived, car was here already, matches your BOLO,” the officer first on scene told you, rolling down her window as you walked past. You nodded your thanks, still staring at the house. 

“You want back up?” Her partner asked, leaning over in his seat slightly.

“Nah, we’re good, hang tight in case we need you,” Carisi answered when you didn’t, too much of this case not adding up. Something was staring you right in the face, but you just couldn’t see it yet.

Carisi put a light hand on your arm, bringing you back to reality as he gestured with his head towards the house - it was time to move. 

You weren’t even all the way to the front door before it opened, your hand instinctively reaching for your gun before it quickly dropped, the person in the door not even a little who you were expecting as you and Carisi shared a confused look.

A kid stood in the door, probably not even 18, pale, face wet with tears and visibly shaking. You took a careful step forward, “are you okay?” You asked softly, noting how quickly his eyes were darting back and forth. 

Carisi noticed it first, pausing a little in his tracks as you saw what he was looking at - the tracksuit, the expensive trainers... the blood.

This was your suposed suspect?

“I- I- didn’t- I panicked- I-” he stammered, burying his head in his hands as he sobbed, “I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carisi consoled, reaching the boy and putting a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t we go inside? You can tell us what happened?”

He looked up and nodded, leading you both inside. You signaled the unis to stand down before following them in, highly doubting they’d be needed.

“So, Bill, can I call you Billy?” You checked, surveying the house with an investigative eye. Billy nodded, finding his way into the living room and taking a seat, you and Carisi following suit on the sofa opposite.

“You the only one home?” Carisi asked, looking around. It clearly wasn’t Billy’s house, definitely his parents, as was the car, both way too expensive to be a teenager’s alone. Billy shook his head, not seeming to want to speak.

He was scared. Of what, or who, you didn’t know, but you were going to find out. “Billy,” you said, making him look up at you from his hands, “what happened?” You asked sympathetically, the weight of whatever he knew clearly threatening to break him.

“I was out for a run, my friend showed me this new route so I thought I’d give it a try, I nearly didn’t see her at first but- I mean she didn’t even look real- she was like some kind of doll I didn’t-” his breath caught in his throat, Carisi passing him a tissue from the coffee table as he tried to compose himself, “- I went to check if she was I person, and then I realised she was dead, oh god she was dead and I got scared and I swear I was going to tell someone, I swear, but then I heard someone and there was this guy- so I ran, I just ran, got in my car and-”

“Wow wow, slow down Billy, breath,” Carisi soothed, both of you perking up at the mention of another man, “what guy? Tell us more about the guy.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get a really good look, didn’t want to stick around you know? He came out from the trees behind the body and I didn’t want to be next- Oh right er... he was white, shorter maybe, wearing this white running gear-”

You exhaled sharply, clenching your jaw. You’d been so caught up... Why hadn’t it crossed your mind before now? 

“Was that... helpful?” Billy asked, you and Carisi sharing a knowing look as you rose from where you were sitting, unable to afford to waste anymore time than you already had. 

“Incredibly Billy, you did good. We’re going to need to bring you down to the station, alright?” Carisi clarified, satisfied you’d gotten everything you needed for the moment. There was definitely more work to be done, but you finally felt like you were getting closer. 

“But I didn’t-” He started, agitation increasing as he straightened up in his seat.

“We know that, we do, but we’re going to need to confirm everything properly before we let you go, get you to make an official statement,” you explained, voice getting softer as you gave his shoulder a reasurring pat, “we believe you, I promise.”

He nodded, resigning himself. Carisi began to explain the process to him but you were already turning on your heels and heading out of the door, your phone in your hand as you dialed Voight.

“We have a problem,” you told him as soon as he picked up, explaining what Billy had just told you, along with your conversation with Tate. Voight listened intently, waiting until you were finished to talk.

“Do we believe the kid?” He asked you, trusting you enough to defer to your judgement.

You looked back as Carisi led the kid outside, waving to the uniforms to bring him to the squad car and take him to the 21st, his parents were meeting him there, probably with the best lawyer money could buy if the house was any indication, but you didn’t think it’d make a difference.

“We do,” you told him, watching as Carisi made his way back to you from the car, “I know how it sounds, and finger pointing isn’t what we like to go on, but he’s a kid Sarge,” 

You put the phone on speaker, “Y/N’s right, he wouldn’t even have been ten when the New York murders happened.”

“Copycat?” Voight doublechecked, wanting to cover all bases.

“Can’t be, he wouldn’t have known all the facts, and even if we say at a stretch that he wasn’t working alone... we’d still be missing a mastermind,” you told him, Carisi nodding along to every word.

“Okay,” Voight said thoughtfully, “do we have an alibi for the first murder in Chicago?”

You looked to Carisi, “not yet, he’s hysterical, we’ve sent him back to you at the 21st and his parents are being contacted.”

“Okay, I’ll put Atwater and Rojas on it, they’re focusing on Lily’s case,” he told you, “I’ll get back to you when we know more, but for now I’m putting you two on Tate, I’ll fill Benson in while you do, and ask Hailey and Jay to see if either of the families know both potential suspects.”

“Copy that, thanks,” you signed off, putting your phone away with a sigh.

“Everyone missed it,” Carisi tried as you stalked off towards the car, clearly beating yourself up.

“I shouldn’t have done,” you grumbled, digging out the information you’d gotten from the officer on scene about Tate’s address. He was going to say more but you were walking with too much purpose. 

“Y/N,” Carisi grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks as you grabbed the handle of your door. You looked back at him, meeting his eyes.

Then he was kissing you, quickly and urgently, the force and surprise pushing you back into the car as he took your breath away.

And then he was pulling away, stepping back as you remembered how to breath, lips tingling and cheeks warm. “I just needed to do that, now we should get back to work,” he told you, heading back to his side of the car with one last lingering look, leaving you still more than a little disoriented. 

“Er yea, yeah we should go that,” you answered, more than a few seconds after he’d said it, turning back to see him smiling from across the car as you opened the door and climbed in. 

You’d be thinking about that for the rest of the day, but you tried your best to push it to one side for now as you composed yourself: “Let’s go have a another chat with Mr. Tate.”

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 6

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 //  Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing/s: Sonny Carisi x Intelligence!Reader

Warning/s: tw rape, murder, assault

Word Count: 1,795

Summary: The Intelligence Unit’s last case with Manhattan SVU had them flying out to New York to track down an abducted boy, and had Dectective Y/L/N and Detective Carisi growing close in the process. Now, a string of rape-murders in Chicago has SVU boarding the next flight out, believing the suspect to be the same man responsible for a set of identical crimes 10 years prior. As the case unfolds, Y/N and Carisi are brought back together, reigniting the spark between them.

You arrived at the previous night’s crime scene a few minutes before Special Victims, slipping on gloves and treating carefully as CSI went over everything they’d found, or didn’t find more accurately, with you. You were knelt down next to where they’d recovered the body, a grim look plastered on your face as you took in every detail of the victim, she almost didn’t look real. 

“Detective Y/L/N,” you heard, standing up and turning you attention towards the woman ducking under the crime scene tape and making her way towards you.

“Captain Benson, welcome back to Chicago,” you greeted, meeting her in the middle and shaking her hand, “sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”

“Oh, believe me, it never is,” she informed you, eyes drifting from you to the body of Jessica Connors with a mixture of sorrow and determination that made you admire her even more than you already did. You still didn’t know how they did these kinds of cases everyday.

Sonny and Kat came through after their Captain. “Hey Y/N, I hear we’re borrowing you from Intelligence for this case,” Kat said.

“You don’t mind that I asked Voight for you to join us do you?” Benson asked, your eyes unconsciously sliding to Sonny as she did. He hadn’t said anything yet, but a small smile was forming on his lips as he looked at you.

“Of course not, anything I can do to help,” you replied.

“Glad to have you then,” Sonny voiced with a grin, ignoring the pointed look Kat gave the both of you.

“You up to speed on the new victims?” You asked, noticing the way Benson was looking at Jessica’s body, CSI just finishing up at the scene.

“Yeah we are,” she told you, her tone and the familiarity in her eyes suggesting that she actually had worked the first case in New York. She noticed you staring and shook the thoughts from her head.

“We’ll catch him this time,” you said, meeting her gaze.

“Will will,” she nodded, looking around at the scene with a Captain’s eye, “Kat and I will talk to CSI, match up any details, see if we can pick up any leads, you and Carisi talk to any witnesses, the officers first on scene, and the man who found the body,” she ordered, turning to go talk to CSI with Kat when she had your confirmation.

“Hey,” Carisi said with a smile when you were both alone.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, “how was the flight?”

“Not too bad, reading up on this case certainly passed the time,” he said, hesitating before adding in a quieter voice: “I was also... looking forward to seeing you again.”

You felt your cheeks go a little red, remembering yourself as you cleared your throat. “We should, um, get on with our orders,” you managed, flustered by the look in his eyes. 

He smirked but agreed, gesturing for you to lead the way to where a man of about 35-40 was stood with two uniforms. He was a bit on the shorter side, dark hair and bright white running gear on, not the most practical for a run in the woods, as made apparently by the mud stains. The long scar across his face was distinctive, but you tried not to stare as you made your approach.

“Mr Tate?” Carisi asked, checking his notes briefly to make sure as the man nodded, the unis leaving you to talk to the him. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“You mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” You asked, pulling out your notebook and a pen.

“Of course detectives, anything to help,” he told you both, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve already told the officers that arrived on scene everything I saw.

“We know, but we just want to make sure all our bases are covered,” Carisi clarified.

“Ask away,” Tate spread out his arms, ready for you to begin. Carisi looked to you, signaling you to begin.

“Do you always run this route?” You asked, looking around at the well worn and clearly marked path; the killer wanted the body to be found. 

“Yeah, it’s quite a popular trail,” he confirmed, rubbing at a bit of mud on the sleeve of his jumper.

“You see anyone else?” Carisi asked. It was a pretty wide path, and it didn’t diverge much, the killer would have had to use this trail to move Jessica’s body.

“Just another jogger,” he told you with a shrug, something that probably wasn’t very uncommon, even later in the evening.

“But they didn’t see the body?” You probed further, finding it strange. Jessica wasn’t exactly hidden, she’d practically been on full display of the path, anyone would have seen her from where you were.

“I don’t know... I guess not, they were running past me, so I’d be surprised if they didn’t but...” He answered, you and Carisi sharing an identical look as you put a circle around this other jogger in your notes.

“Remember what he was wearing?” Carisi asked for some clarification as Tate scratched his head, thinking.

“Er, black tracksuit, baseball cap, oh and glasses too, like sun glasses, I thought that was strange given how dark it was,” he recalled, your suspicion growing further with each detail.

“White... black...?” Carisi continued, making sure you didn’t miss any detail about your new suspect.

“White, definitely, had a rucksack on too,” Tate said, face scrunched up in thought.

“You were seen him running here before?” You mused, knowing killers sometimes prefered places that were familiar.

“I don’t think so,” he answered somewhat apologetically, “expensive shoes like those... I’d have noticed. Does that help?”

You and Carisi nodded to each other before you took a card out of your pocket, “it does, thank you, get in touch if you think of anything else.” 

He took the card, looking over it before slipping it into his pocket, “will do.” He turned to leave, glancing back at the crime scene one last time, Carisi gesturing for the unis to make sure he got back okay.

“Security cameras?” Carisi suggested, reading your mind as your eyes scanned the surrounding area carefully. There wasn’t any this far into the trail, you weren’t that lucky.

“We should check the entrace and exit, if there are only the two ways onto this route then they had to have gone back to one of the car parks, we’ll check the cameras there,” you told him, pocketing your notes and heading back to Benson and Kat.

“You got something?” She asked as you approached.

“Maybe, we’re going to go see what we can find on the nearest security cameras,” Carisi told her, filling her in on everything the witness had just revealed. 

“The park ranger can help, he’s with a couple of officers,” she said, a distant and guardedly hopeful look in her eyes. This was as close as anyone had gotten.

You both went off with the park ranger, being led back up the trail to the car park and the rangers station. It was a quiet morning, not surprising given the amount of cop cars and crime scene tape. You’d certainly find a different route if you saw it.

He led you into the station, his partner already having the tape set up to play. “This your guy?” He asked, hitting play as you and Carisi leaned forward, watching intently.

It was dark, but the time stamp matched up as a dark figure emerged from the direction you’d just walked, his jogging slowing to a walk as he approached an equally dark car. The description matched the one Tate had just given you.

“Can you zoom in on that?” You asked, pointing to the number plate on the car. The ranger nodded, pausing the footage and focusing in on the plate. “Got it,” you nodded, Carisi already calling in for a BOLO on the car, a bentley, a long with as good of a description of the driver as he could in the dim light.

“Thanks guys,” Carisi told them as you exited the station, stepping back into the car park as you made your way towards the stop where the bentley had been parked. 

Carisi was about to say something to you when your phone rang, digging it out to see Hailey calling. “Hey, how’s it going with Jessica’s family? We think we’ve caught a lead here,” you relayed to her.

“Yeah we heard the BOLO over the radio, got something that might help you with that too,” she told you, a questioning look from Carisi as you put it on speaker for him to hear.

“Oh yeah? What did the family know?” You asked, your aching for them and what they were going through.

“The parents didn’t know much, but when the little sister let us out she mentioned that Jess had been planning to go on a date the last time she’d seen her, about a week a go now,” Hailey explained, the cogs in your mind whirling.

“About the same time we found Lily Hamilton’s body?” You checked, thinking that maybe the killer had swapped one woman out for another.

“You got it,” Hailey confirmed grimly, “and get this, the sister said that Jess had been super excited, saying she’d found her prince charming.” She emphasised the last words, the images of the fanciful ball gowns all the women had been dressed in fresh in your mind. 

You heard Jay calling Hailey from somewhere further away, “okay, thanks, we’ll meet you back at the district,” you said, saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

“Prince charming?” Carisi echoed, clearing piecing it together the same as you.

“Sounds like it fits, let’s check if any of the other girls had dates,” you suggested, taking out your car keys.

“I think I read something about that in a couple of the old New York files,” he agreed, following you to your car as he typed away on his phone, most likely telling Benson the plan.

“Looks like we’ve got some work to do,” you told him with a little bit of hope, “guess you’re going to be stuck we me for a bit.” 

Carisi grinned, “I can’t say that I mind.” You smiled as you reached your car, more than glad for the company.

Still, something didn’t sit right with you. Not that you didn’t like easy cases, but this... it was too neat, too quick. 9 women dead in New York without so much as a trace of evidence and this lead just falls in your lap?

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what you were missing, but if it helped stop other women from meeting the same fate, you were going to find out.