#tagging morgan because she's in an answer

[street-smarts00]

in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied 

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you. 

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind. 

“Do you know how old she is?” 

“No, how old is she?” 

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi. 

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid. 

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added. 

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview. 

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim. 

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned. 

“Three years,” Penelope answered 

“What? Did she join right after college?” 

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.” 

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work. 

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered. 

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.” 

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.” 

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting. 

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk. 

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right. 

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about. 

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius. 

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.  

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time. 

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him. 

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted. 

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?” 

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.” 

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious. 

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile. 

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you. 

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help. 

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried. 

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself. 

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself. 

Well, until your last case. 

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man. 

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took. 

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go. 

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk. 

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.” 

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked. 

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word. 

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes. 

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.” 

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?” 

“I promise.” 

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call. 

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.” 

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked. 

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call. 

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice. 

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.  

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.  

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself. 

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety. 

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.” 

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. ��Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes. 

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down. 

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin. 

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor. 

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked. 

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?” 

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.” 

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone. 

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this. 

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now. 

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored. 

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly. 

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus. 

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care. 

He just needed to get to you. 

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor. 

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up. 

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs. 

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name. 

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd. 

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm. 

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted. 

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.” 

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face. 

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to. 

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place. 

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him. 

He was wrong. 

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for. 

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you. 

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you. 

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.” 

“Hi,” he smiled back.  

“How are you feeling?” 

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor. 

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.” 

“Fun,” you said sarcastically. 

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them? 

There is no casual way. 

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out. 

He wasn’t aware you heard it. 

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.” 

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response. 

“If I crossed the line-“ 

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice. 

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”  

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face. 

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain. 

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him. 

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit. 

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected. 

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble. 

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume. 

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!” 

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you. 

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours. 

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled. 

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.” 

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart. 

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started. 

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.” 

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.” 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go. 

The silence was deafening, plaguing him. 

“Please … say something,” he begged. 

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone. 

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.” 

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious. 

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.” 

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles. 

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room. 

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into. 

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks. 

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered. 

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise. 

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand. 

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left. 

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath. 

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?” 

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.” 

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. 

“You’re an amazing profiler.” 

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled. 

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone. 

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.” 

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[emilys-bangs]

kisses, kisses, kisses | e.p

Tags: established relationship, pure fluff, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames

Summary: Your daughter doesn't believe Emily kisses her goodbye before work. Emily finds a way to convince her.

Word count: 1.3k

Emily is sitting at her desk, frowning at her computer when the sound of her phone ringing pulls her out of her misery. She grabs it, the scrunch between her brows loosening when she finds your name at the top of the screen, a picture of you and Eloise smiling up at her and causing her to smile in turn as she accepts the call.

“Hi honey—”

“Mommy!” 

Emily brightens, instinctively lowering the volume on her phone. “Hi Eloise,” she laughs, her eyes dropping to the time on her laptop. 9:43. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“No.” Her daughter says.

“No?” Emily’s brows furrow. Her heart sinks, her brain already working in overtime to find a way to fix whatever it is that needs fixing. “Why not, chérie? Did you have a bad—”

“Mommy didn’t kiss me goodbye.” Eloise interrupts again, the sulk audible in her voice. Emily can almost imagine her pouted lips, the downward slope of her lashes. In the background, she hears your quiet laugh.

The tightness in her chest eases, and she takes in a quick, relived breath. “I kissed you goodbye, honey, you just didn’t feel it ’cause you were asleep.” Emily placates, her frown overtaken by a soft smile.

“If I didn’t feel it, means you didn’t do it.” Eloise says stubbornly. She’s every inch her mother, even at four and a half.

“Bug, Mommy always kisses you goodbye. I kissed you this morning, cross my heart.” She promises to the silence on the other end of the phone. Eloise stays quiet, her disbelief palpable even from a distance. Emily gently nudges further. “Did you know that if I don’t kiss you goodbye, I have a bad day?”

“But…but didn’t feel it.” She whines. Her voice is dejected, and Emily almost sees the shine to her sad puppy dog eyes.

“It’s because you were tired, honey,” Emily hears you soothe from the other end, your voice distant and soft. “Mommy was being careful not to wake you up.”

“Yeah,” Emily confirms. “Sergio can vouch for me, Eloise.” She says, ignoring the dumbfounded look Morgan throws her way.

“Wha’s that mean?” Eloise grumbles.

Emily chews on her lip to stifle a laugh. It gets trapped in her chest; by the time she gets it under control the silence has stretched on too long, and you answer in her stead. 

“It means he can tell you he saw Mommy giving you a kiss.”

Eloise huffs frustratedly. “Sergio can’t talk,” she mumbles.

“I can,” you say, a cheerful tone to your voice as you try to convince your daughter. “I personally saw Mommy kiss you goodbye. She kissed both your little cheeks,”—a giggle sounds through the phone, likely as you pinch said little cheeks—“and your cute forehead.”

“That’s true, Eloise. And you know we don’t lie, right?” Emily says, jiggling her mouse in a zigzag to stop her computer screen from darkening to black. It’s 9:58 now, and she furtively tosses a glance to Hotch’s office window.

The blinds are closed. Good news for her, right?

A low sigh reaches her through the phone. Emily also hears some secretive whispering, the creak of Eloise’s bedsprings and the soft call of Sergio’s attention-seeking meow. Then, “Can I have a kiss now, Mommy?”

The hopefulness in her voice breaks Emily’s heart. She winces, briefly closing her eyes and wishing she was back home with the two of you, instead of in the cold confines of the bullpen.

Nevertheless, she opens her eyes before the silence stretches on, ignoring her teammates as she gives her daughter a kiss through the phone and promises her a real one when she gets home.

___

“Sure you’re going to the BAU, not the club?” You tease as you watch Emily layer on her lipstick. She rolls her eyes and continues to trace it on her lips, careful but firm.

“I’ll wipe some of it off,” she says, capping the lipstick when she’s satisfied. 

“Just don’t kiss me with that clown mouth,” you grin as you follow her out of your bedroom and into Eloise’s, the sound of her heels muffled on the carpeted floor.

“I’m only kissing one person right now,” she whispers, not sparing you a glance as she carefully crouches down next to Eloise’s bed, “and it’s not you.” Emily smiles as she brushes away some of Eloise’s bed head away from her forehead, the bangs she’d insisted on getting to match with hers hanging above her eyes. She gently exposes the soft skin of her daughter’s forehead and leans over to kiss it.

Eloise doesn’t stir, even when Emily’s hair falls against her shoulder. She carries on sleeping, her stuffed teddy clutched in her arm as Emily presses another small kiss to her cheek. The faint imprint of her lips is left behind on Eloise’s skin, physical evidence of Emily’s love. She can’t help herself but lean over to kiss the other cheek too, quietly breathing in her daughter for precious few seconds before she stands up.

The sight of Eloise’s small face covered in kisses makes her crack a grin. “Don’t think she can accuse me of anything now, do you?” She asks quietly as she turns to you. Your arms are crossed over your chest, lips pressed together to hide the smile that wants to escape.

You shake your head, pulling her in by her belt loops and steadying her with an arm around her waist when she stumbles.

Emily’s eyes gleam. “Thought you didn’t want to kiss me,” she whispers, a skip in her pulse when your eyes drop to her lips, “with—what did you call it? My clown mouth.”

“Never believe anything I say at 8 in the morning.” You say just as quietly, giving her a peck before you drag her out of Eloise’s bedroom.

___

This time, when her phone rings around the same time as yesterday, Emily anticipates the caller on the other end of the line.

“Hi Mommy!” Eloise chirps when she accepts the call.

“Hi, baby.” The smile is already there across her lips, matching dimples on mother and daughter cheeks that they don’t try to hold back.

“Saw your kisses,” she giggles.

“Did you like them? I told you I never leave without kissing you goodbye.”

“So y’not gonna have a bad day today.” 

Emily smiles. “I won’t,” she says, and it sounds like a vow. “Now you’ve seen them, you gotta wipe them off before you go to preschool, alright?”

“Nope!” Eloise says. “I’ll keep ’em.”

“Eloise—”

“Well, that didn’t go as expected,” your voice comes through, amused and clear in Emily’s ear.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwing shut. “Please wipe them off.” She pleads.

“I’ll try. She is your daughter, after all, and we know she didn’t get her stubbornness from me.”

“I’m going with Mommy’s kisses!” Eloise chirps.

“She’s going with Mommy’s kisses,” you repeat solemnly.

“She’s not,” Emily says, but even as she protests, her heart slowly starts to grow warm at the thought of her daughter wanting to keep the proof of her love on her skin. Wanting to keep her with her, in any small way she can. “Promise me, babe.” 

Finally, she gets both you and Eloise to promise to wipe the lipstick off—in exchange for more kisses after work. Emily’s shoulders are light as she hangs up the phone, her wide smile growing wider when a message notification pings and she opens up her messages to find a picture of Eloise, happily posing with an impressive bed head, rumpled pajamas, and pink kisses dotting her face.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 3k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest. AO3

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[notlongtolove]

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.  then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o’keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. 

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.” 

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely. 

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau. 

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down. 

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further. 

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache. 

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips. 

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though ​��his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.” 

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter. 

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything. 

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.” 

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware. 

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his. 

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” ​​It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits. 

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better. 

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer. 

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession. 

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off. 

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.” 

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all. 

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—” 

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway.  “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused. 

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.4 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 3 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - you don’t need help with your biology anymore, you need help understanding the chemistry that seems to be growing between you and spencer.

warnings - jealousy, dickhead guy, unwanted flirting, awkward spencer, mentions of getting run over and pouring rain, studying.

genre - college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer, fluff, angst if you squint, jealousy trope

a/n - i hope you all enjoy this part. comment or put in a req to be added to the convenience taglist, if you’ve already asked and i haven’t mentioned you please message orso i can make sure you’re on my list for the next part! love you all 🫶

sat in a plush office chair, in a cool room, in a comfortable dress shirt, surrounded by the people he trusted most, spencer couldn’t seem to live in the moment.

now that’s not something you would suggest to the man when he’s sat in front of multiple gruesome photos and case files, usually he would be 100% focused, no bullshit, no wandering thoughts.

but suddenly he felt light, airy, like these cases were just another day and he would be confident either way. it wasn’t completely untrue, but it was odd. everyone else seemed to notice.

“spencer, are you okay?” aaron hotchner startled the man with his stern and concerned voice, everyone looking up at spencer as a natural reaction. spencer looked around the table, noticing a growing grin between garcia and morgan.

hotch continued, “if you need to sit this one out, by all means.”

spencer shook his head and adjusted his posture, picking up a profile to skim over. there was a small giggle from garcia that brought the attention of aaron.

“what’s going on?”

“reid’s distracted because of a certain someone…” morgan replied, biting the end of his ballpoint pen. garcia slapped his shoulder.

“don’t tease him, meanies. keep going, hotch.”

they were right. he was distracted and felt far away most of the time. he wanted to go somewhere comfortable, like a convenience store with a pretty employee to talk to.

ricky, a handsome guy a few years older than you, was annoying logan with questions he could’ve answered himself. he tagged along with logan to your weekend study session at a small cafe not far from the college. the tall man was mostly agreeable, except for his apparent obsession with straight black coffee. he had had two cups of it already.

“so, y/n. what do you study? wait don’t tell me. nursing, because you seem to be healing my broken heart. psychology, because you’re making me crazy? or is it music, because your voice is like a song?” he leaned forward from across the table, disregarding the punch in the shoulder from logan. you only glared and returned to your expensive textbooks, leaving your drink to turn cold in its abandonment.

“don’t try anything, ricky. she’s basically taken.” she warned with a smirk. you lifted your gaze and rolled your eyes,

“you’re nonsensical. you’ve had too much coffee,” you stop filling out a questionnaire, “he’s not even that… he’s… ugh, i don’t know.” you place your pen down and stretch in the stiff wooden chair.

ricky laughs, clapping his hands together, “okay so you totally have a crush on a guy.”

“i do not.”

“i guess i’ll back off with my advances, unlessss, you truly don’t have a crush on your lover boy?”

“i do not- but still please back off, you’re gross.”

logan and ricky shared a glance and went back to their work silently. like they knew something you didn’t. your brain had turned stuffy, you need to get some air, you needed to get away from the truth.

garcia and morgan appeared so suddenly spencer thought turbulence had pushed them into their seats in front of him. his gaze snapped from the airplane wing to their two giddy faces and immediately knew what this conversation was going to be about. it only made him a little bit uncomfortable, these types of conversations. girls, flirting, being happy around someone he doesn’t work with, it was all unfamiliar. it seemed he chose the best people to talk about it to though; garcia had given him a little too much information about his crush from her unwanted snooping, and in the process morgan was also given all of this information.

“yes, okay, i told derek all about your girl but i couldn’t help it! he’s very persuasive!” garcia pouted. spencer thinned his lips and nodded, expecting a surge of conversation but he was only met with silence. morgan and garcia shared a glance.

“look, spencer. we’re only doing this to distract ourselves from the case we just closed, and to help you. if you don’t want help, if you think this… thing, will die out, then tell us. but, if you do want some adviceee…” morgan spoke smoothly, quiet enough to avoid attention from anyone else.

when spencer stayed silent, thinking about how he could never use you as a distraction, morgan whispered, “if nothings happening, you gotta light the match.”

you were standing on an uneven step ladder when the doorbell rang with 10 minutes to closing. you rolled your eyes, thinking you’d have to stay even later because of this customer. but your demise quickly turned to calmness, a little bit of panic, when spencer appeared in the entry way.

you nearly fell off the ladder, dropping the pile of juice boxes in your hands onto the floor. you cursed under your breath, watching from above as spencer picked them up for you.

“thank you.”

there was no need for formalities anymore, it was like you had known each other forever. spencer was silent again, it was becoming his thing.

you clear your throat, “i changed my medication.”

he glanced at you, brown eyes observing your tired expression. he came here unconsciously. he had already had some take out, he didn’t need any coffee, and his fruit bowl was stocked to the brim. spencer walked to this convenience store, the result of the action being evident through the pain in his feet.

the phone in your back pocket caught spencer’s attention, before he promptly looked elsewhere to avoid looking like a creep.

“good, im glad.”

are we really back to this? was one awkward conversation all we needed to go back to strangers?

you stepped down, “no more bruises.”

spencer placed his fingers delicately on his healed cheek, holding back a smile that you actually remembered that.

he asked, “who’s texting you so much?” without much thought. he didn’t think about how it sounded, like he was protective or worried, or what it implied. he didn’t even have your number, why should he be so upset?

“oh it’s just logan and ricky.” you replied simply, folding up the ladder and glancing at the clock placed above the register desk, “are you getting anything?”

because it didn’t seem weird if he came here for you instead of his groceries.

“like your brother, ricky?”

there was a small match burning in his stomach at the sound of those names. he felt like taking your phone and snooping until he reached the end, until his fingers hurt. spencer felt like asking intrusive questions, before he bit his lips to stop himself.

you made notice of his hands fiddling in his pant pockets, rolling your eyes. that made his tongue slip.

“how many guys do you know?”

you looked at him with surprise, walking over to the register, “you think i’m a whore?”

spencer’s heart skipped a beat, “no not at all, i just- i didn’t word that right.”

you shook your head and laughed quietly, starting to count the change sat on your swivel chair. something was off. the street was empty. “did you walk here, spencer?”

spencer’s breath hitched. oh god, were the only words circling in his brain. when you used his name, it was different. this was weird, he needed to get out of there.

you looked so effortless. he looked so anxious.

“yeah. i did.”

you nod, “okay, you can help me lock up then.” you pass him a set of keys for the window covers, and add, “you can walk me home, to make up for the other day.”

spencer nods with a small smile and begins locking up.

you lead the way out of the store and around the corner to a set of traffic lights. the streets are silent and misty, but neither of you felt the need to jay walk in an attempt to speed up this process of awkward walking.

spencer watches you from his advantage point. at how you bite the inside on your lips, how you look at the concrete pathway.

“what’s wrong?” you don’t react, instead push the pedestrian button and sigh.

“it’s monday, spencer. you were going to ‘retry’, ‘be better’? i’m not 100% sure what you meant by that, but you said that right after you told me you were going to ask me out so.”

spencer gulps and nods, hands going back to their safe space in his pockets. “yeah, i said that. but i’m going to have to delay that again. this isn’t really,” he motioned towards the weeds, litter, and flickering street lights with his eyes, and you nod with a smirk.

“romantic?”

“romantic.”

you smile at each other, and for a second he’s utterly entranced before a wave of wind and tires pass him. before a soft hand is hard on his upper arm. his eyes trailed the car, heart beating nearly as hard as it does when he looks at you.

“jesus, are you okay?” you asked worried, and when he nods with a simple stare accompanying it, you look away.

light a match.

you hand leaves him quicker than it got there.

in front of your apartment building, you notice logan’s window alight behind white curtains, and turn to face spencer.

“thank you for walking me home. i would invite you in but it’s 1:20am and i don’t really… know you.”

spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly, looking at you expectantly. your faces turns cold, slightly sorrowful.

“spencer, i don’t know you. i know things about you but i don’t actually know you.” you yawn, wiping a hand over your eyes, “maybe i’m just tired and overworked and…” logan’s voice echoes through your head as you look over the tall, tired and handsome man in front of you, “if you’re not going to ask me out first i’m going to ask you out. so, make a decision.”

it felt wrong being so stubborn and solid with him, but with school and family stress you truly didn’t need any unknown feelings to topple on as well.

spencer was taken aback. he didn’t know one couple where the girl asked out the guy, he didn’t know someone could like him that badly. he didn’t know what to say.

“goodnight, spencer. i’ll see you.”

you turned and pushed on the pull door, before pulling on it. heart thumping in your ears, you slowly held a hand over your mouth, impressed with yourself.

but you lied, you weren’t going to ask him out. you have no idea how to ask someone out.

the convenience store wasn’t so lonely tonight.

logan was arguing with ricky over his choice in deodorant almost louder than the terrible radio music playing throughout the store.

the beating of rain was creating a calming background to this chaos, as well as keeping customers away. all but one, of course.

spencer had an excuse, he was supposed to bring food for the team tomorrow, and this was the closest store. totally. but as he stood under the cover of the stores overhead steel, he felt another match being burnt in the bottom of his stomach.

a tall and toned man with bright blonde hair was leaning over your register and talking to you, making you smile and laugh. your arms were crossed, you were leaned away and you avoided eye contact, but spencer didn’t see any of these signs as the waves of jealousy drowned him.

spencer looked out onto the street. he had no right to feel that way, this was his own fault. he felt even weirder and out of place than he usually felt.

the doorbell rang and your fake smile turned real. logan watched from the toilet spray section and smirked when she recognised the purple-sweater adorned man. ricky stopped his flirting and turned to meet spencer’s eyes, they sized each other up. the blonde man smiled and looked back at your much happier face, “so this is lover boy?”

you smacked his arm hard, receiving a squeal in return. “what? no. ricky this is spencer, spencer this is ricky.”

spencer gulped and ignored the stranger and you. he went for the fruits section. ricky glanced at your confused face, “i might be a threat.”

“in your dreams.” you rolled your eyes and pushed his elbow off your desk. logan approached the counter with a basket full and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. you noticed ricky’s change in expression when looking at her and held back a smile.

“you didn’t get anything for me?” he asked, voice teasing. logan took out a block of mint chocolate and threw it at him, which he caught perfectly with a smirk on his face.

“what’s wrong with lover boy?”

you glare at her, deciding avoiding that nickname was out of the picture. your shoulders slump as you begin scanning her items while making sure spencer wasn’t in earshot. “i mentioned you two, and then he went weird.”

“i mean, if i liked a girl and she told me about two guys- sorry, two people with guy names- i’d be pretty jealous,” ricky inputted.

“is that all? some jealousy got to his head?” logan pressed.

you seriously doubted he would be jealous over that, he seemed smarter than that. he was smarter than that.

logan paid and left, literally dragging ricky behind her, as he waved and winked at you through the windows.

the store was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the thunderstorm brewing outside. it felt uncanny and uncomfortable. you needed someone’s cologne to wade through or something.

turning while shaking your head, you grabbed out some posters taller than you and turned to have the life scared out of you.

“jesus! i thought i told you to walk louder.”

his groceries were perfectly in line to be scanned, a small smile appearing before promptly vanishing. spencer avoided your eyes, a beating all he could hear.

“he’s your…”

you sighed, disappointed spencer even thought that dumb blonde was someone to you, “acquaintance.” you finished his sentence. “i’ve known him for two days and he a flirtatious dick. everyone named ricky is a dick.”

he pulls out his slim wallet to hand you a $20 bill, fingers skimming each other. one glance.

spencer nods and nearly leaves before you stop him, “can you help me?”

spencer is on the top of the ladder outside, barely staying dry underneath the steel overhead cover with the top corners of a food poster in his hands. you tip toe to give him a piece of double sided tape. the laminated photos wave in the wind, spencer sticks his tongue out in concentration and you smile at the innocent act. leaning against the wall, quickly glancing inside to make sure nobody wanted to check out, you begin talking.

“thank you for doing this, i totally would’ve fallen and died if it weren’t for you. what can i do to repay you?”

spencer thought for a moment, looking down at you, “nothing. you don’t have to do anything. just keep talking.”

so you did, because you didn’t know if you’d see him again after tonight.

PART 5

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker @c-losur3 @v1ckycheesue @ackermans-angel @scarlettssub @fictionlurker @lovelyygirl8 @momooooca @random-kimmy @leabunny @cultish-corner @doigettokeepyou @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @hinataboke @wenttohogwarts @yaboohah @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @drewsandsebastianswife @hoeshissworld @flow33didontsmoke @bookworm124 @violetvsworld

[stervrucht]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🧠 🪱

Thank you for the tag @just-my-latest-hyperfixation 🧡

Today I’m thinking about this ridiculous story of a friend of mine, who, after she thought she’d been ghosted, proceeded to hold a cremation by burning the guy’s picture, only to receive a text right after.

“Where are we going, Eddie?”

Dustin’s tone is starting to grate on his nerves and Eddie needs to take a deep breath to calm his voice before responding. 

“I told you, a small detour.”

“Through the woods? What about the guitar lessons?”

“Yes, through the woods," Eddie snaps. 

He doesn’t even have to look to his side to know Dustin is pouting. Despite that, the little guy still follows him, ducking underneath the brush as they make their way to Skull Rock. 

He didn’t tell Dustin—doesn’t think there’s an adequate way to explain that this was what he did whenever he was dealing with a serious bout of heartbreak. That—because Steve Harrington hadn’t been answering his phone and clearly dumped Eddie without the courage to say so to his face—Eddie now needed to initiate the Cremation Stage. 

Yeah, you heard that right.

It first happened three years ago, after Stacy Morgan landed on him during a game of spin-the-bottle and cried after kissing him. That one kinda stung. 

After a bit of dumb back and forth, he and Gareth decided to cut her picture from the yearbook and held a stupid little funeral—speeches and all. After they were done and said their goodbyes, they burned the picture. It made him feel better. So much so, that it became a dumb little habit.

One he hadn’t executed that often, really.

Which is why it sucks so much he is off to Skull Rock, the place he first kissed Steve Harrington against the expectations of everyone ever, to burn his stupid picture.

When they finally reach Skull Rock, Eddie digs through his pockets and pulls out his Zippo and Steve’s picture. Dustin leans over his shoulder, knees digging into the back of Eddie’s arm as he leans over to watch.

“Why do you have a picture of Steve?”

“Because.” Eddie strikes the Zippo, trying to make it catch flame, but the old thing is protesting.

“Because why?”

The stupid thing still won’t catch. Eddie strikes his thumb over the wheel with a little more aggression—pulls his lips into a thin line, frustration pulling at his gut. “Because I need to burn it.”

“Why?”

Eddie throws his hands. “Because I have to okay! Because—”

Because Steve’s finally realized Eddie was a mistake. And Eddie knew the day would come. He was just pushing his head in the sand like a fucking ostrich, hoping he could enjoy what little time Steve was willing to give him. He just hoped Steve would have had the guts to actually say so to his face.

He can’t tell Dustin any of that though. 

Finally, the Zippo produces flame and Eddie holds the corner of Steve’s yearbook picture near it. It takes a few seconds, but soon enough the picture engulfs into flames and Eddie has to drop it between the twigs and dried leaves. He allows it to burn for a few seconds until the leaves around it start to smolder. He quickly kills the flame with his shoes and once he removes his feet, only ash is left of what was once an image of Senior Steve.

Eddie pulls himself into a standing position and slips the Zippo back into his pocket.

“All done.”

“Dude, that was so weird.”

“No, it wasn’t. And don’t tell Steve about this.” 

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him but probably senses it’s best to not push it.

“Can we go play guitar now?”

“Yeah, man, whatever. Let’s go.”

A little while later, Eddie sits in Dustin’s bedroom, his guitar in his lap as he shows Dustin some chords to Metallica. The little dude learns fast, last week's chords already dexterously mastered. A little more and he’ll be playing his first full song. Now, just to get a feeling for it, he makes Dustin play the same five chords as base while Eddie plays the more complex parts of the song. 

He’s actually starting to get into it when the doorbell to the Henderson residence rings.

“Really, now?” Dustin lets out a frustrated sigh and puts his guitar down on his bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie hums and continues picking at the snares. Mumbles along to the song until he hears Dustin return to the room.

“Oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie looks up. That didn’t sound like Dustin. That sounded like—

“Steve.” Eddie is staring at Steve standing in Dustin’s doorframe. Can’t do anything else than stare because an hour ago, he cremated Steve. 

And now he’s here.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve lets out a little laugh. And it’s not the ‘oh shit I ran into my ex’ kind. It’s the genuine kind. The fond kind.

Dustin pushes himself past Steve into his bedroom. “I told you, I’d give it back to you on Monday,” he complains.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching with amusement as Dustin digs through his closet.

“W—where have you been?” Eddie hardly dares to ask. He tries to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Ugh, my parents man. They took me on some campus visits to fancy universities. Didn’t give me any warning either. It sucked balls.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not great. How have you been holding up with this asshat the past few days.” Steve looks back to where Dustin is now clearing the lower levels of his closet. 

“I heard that!” he calls back. 

“I…I’ve been doing just dandy.” Eddie shoots Steve a little smile, and yes, that’s definitely fondness in Steve’s face. God, he’s such an idiot.

A total overreaction. 

When Dustin rears his head from the closet, proudly holding a cassette tape, Eddie thinks he needs to make sure Dustin takes this little Skull Rock detour to the grave. 

---

No pressure tags for @sleepy-steve @spectrum-spectre @runninriot @wheneverfeasible @eddiethebrave

[fluentmoviequoter]

Strong Enough

0.8k+ fluffy words of Karadec getting fed up and proving you wrong. (it's not a prank blurb but it is a from a trend so I'm tagging it the same!)

The Major Crimes unit is silent. It’s disturbing and unsettling, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for someone to make a noise.

“Is Soto back?” Oz whispers.

Daphne shakes her head no, then taps her mouse to check if the computers are back up. “We’re still dark,” she replies softly. “So… what’s the worst date you’ve been on recently?”

You don’t have to see Karadec to know he’s rolling his eyes. Still, you smile at the distraction and move closer to Oz and Daphne’s back-to-back desks.

“I haven’t been on one in a while,” Oz says. “But a few months back, she asked me to get her an Uber to her backup date.”

“Oh, no,” Daphne exclaims with a laugh.

“That’s awful,” you agree. “She didn’t have to tell you where she was going.”

“No, she really felt like she needed to,” he explains. “What about you, Daph?”

“Went on a second date with a guy and he asked what kind of wine I wanted and then ordered something completely different.”

“Don’t tell me he pulled the I’m paying and I’m sure you’ll like it,” you ask, pinching your brows sympathetically.

“Better. He told me that my palette wasn’t refined and offered to help with that.”

“Gross,” you and Oz respond simultaneously.

“I went on a date last week, and he offered me his jacket,” you offer.

“That’s sweet,” Oz argues.

“It didn’t fit, so he asked if I was working to lose any weight so I could wear his clothes if things got serious.”

Daphne’s jaw drops as her brows rise, and Oz shakes his head.

“Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy whose clothes I could wear. Let alone one who could lift me or anything. I’m not sure they exist in my circle.”

Karadec scoffs, and you turn in your seat to look at him.

“What?” you inquire.

“Nothing, just working,” he answers, opening a file.

“Sure. What’s the worst date you’ve been on?”

“Nothing as bad as this moment.”

“Someone’s grumpy,” you stage-whisper over your shoulder to Daphne.

“You work with cops, there’s fifteen gyms within a mile radius,” Karadec explains, “so you must be choosing the wrong men.”

“Okay, one, the cops I actually work with day-to-day are mostly desk jockeys. No offense, Oz.”

“None taken,” he interjects.

“And two, Karadec, I’m not going to go hang out beside a gym to get some testosterone-fueled meathead just because he can pick me up. I’m saying realistically, naturally, in everyday life, I don’t know anyone who could just romantically manhandle me for the sake of it.”

“Romantically manhandle?” Morgan repeats, incredulous, as she enters the bullpen. “What am I interrupting?”

“Detective over here thinks there are no men in Los Angeles who could lift her onto their shoulder,” Karadec explains flatly.

“Ooh, like the video?” Morgan inquires, pulling a chair to your side. “Ava has shown me a few, they’re cute. Not so much when the scrawny-armed boys don’t succeed, but still.”

“We’re not going to get any work done today, are we?” Karadec inquires.

“Not with Soto busy and the system down,” Daphne reminds him. “So, try to let loose for a few minutes, would you?”

“You really don’t know anyone who could do it?” Morgan asks.

“Nope,” you answer. “Not for lack of trying, contrary to what Karadec will tell you.”

“Tell her about the jacket guy,” Oz encourages.

Karadec stands and gestures for you to do the same.

“Fine, we’ll change the subject,” you sigh.

“Stand up,” he demands.

Morgan moves her seat back as you stand, and Karadec steps closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, bends slightly, and then your feet are off the floor. You clutch his wrist at your side as he effortlessly lifts you onto his shoulder. From the elevated position, you look down at him with wide eyes.

Carefully, Karadec lowers you back to the floor and removes his hand from your side. He raises his hands to his sides and asks, “Happy now?”

Before you can answer him, Lieutenant Soto returns.

“Are workplace crushes frowned upon?” you ask her.

“Shut up,” Karadec grumbles as he returns to his desk and retrieves hand sanitizer from his drawer.

“What did I miss?” Soto asks, looking between you and Karadec.

“Oh, we can’t explain what just happened,” Oz muses.

“Luckily, I filmed it,” Daphne announces, raising her phone.

“You did not,” Karadec snaps, spinning to face her.

“She did!” Morgan answers, smiling brightly, as she watches the screen over Daphne’s shoulder. “And right… there is the moment she falls in love.”

Karadec shakes his head, and you murmur, “I was kidding. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

He tips his head to the left, then nods and reboots his computer. “Of course not,” he replies, though it’s the least convincing you’ve ever heard him sound.

[hotchs-big-hands]

What did you call me?

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|4.9k words

Aaron Hotchner x plus size fem!reader

NSFW Minors dni please

Warning(s): some angst, yearning, details about graphic crime scenes, strip clubs/sex clubs.

When Dom/sub couples begin to show up murdered mid-coital, the BAU team is brought in to solve the case. But as more couples are found and the unsub remains undetected, it becomes an undercover mission. The posing Dom/sub couple in question? Your intimidating, attractive boss and you.

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Hey everyone, welcome to my first fanfic! I used to write and post stuff back in 2018ish but it was a different fandom. I've not written and posted anything tho since then so I'm a bit nervous! But idk I just got back into cm recently and I saw Hotch and my brain was like oh yeah 👁️👁️ (I used to be a Spencer girlie) and I've mostly written stuff for myself but I decided imma start doing stuff on here too! I hope you enjoy and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future writings 🥰 side note, I'm a fat gal so I will probably centre most of my stuff around plus size readers cuz there's not enough of it for plus size Hotch girlies 😔 but technically anyone can read and enjoy it! This was getting extremely long so I'm splitting it into three parts so here's the first one! Anyway, enjoy 💅

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The feeling of something blunt lightly bounced against your forehead, making you blink a few times and rub the area with your hand.

"Hey... Who did that?" You grumbled, eyes darting from one face of your coworkers to the next. Three of them all pointed towards the culprit and as your eyes drifted back to him you were met with a cheeky grin on the charming, dark-skinned man's face.

"You were spaced out, sugar." Derek Morgan said. "Got a lot on your mind?"

"Got a lot of him on her mind, more like." A voice cut in smugly, flustering you in an instant, your heart beginning to race. Your eyes flicked to Prentiss, the pristine raven haired woman was smirking at you, her eyes glinting. You squeaked and shifted in your office chair nervously.

"No, Em! Just... couldn't sleep last night."

The weak explanation didn't help, it only widened the smirk on Prentiss' face as she leaned forward.

"Oh? Do tell us more."

"There's nothing to say!" You abruptly turned to the casefile that lay open on your slightly messy desk and tried to ignore the movement at the corner of your eye; Emily was shuffling her chair over to you, no doubt still with that annoying smirk on her face.

"Oh it sure sounds like there is though."

Before you had the chance to defend yourself an all too familiar voice demanded everyone's attention and subsequently caused a shiver to trickle down your spine. Your hands gripped onto your chair.

"My team; in the conference room now. We have a case." Your unit chief spoke. All heads turned to the direction of a slightly elevated walkway where a sharply dressed man stood for a mere moment, locking eyes with yours, before he began walking briskly towards the mentioned conference room.

Fuck. Hotch was wearing your favourite suit and tie today and a few stray wisps of his short, dark hair stubbornly lay over his forehead, no matter how often he must have tried to push them up off his face. Everyday was harder than the previous working with that man. The moment you'd attended your interview months ago, sitting in front of the brooding man, you knew you were fucked. Yes, you had been eager to join the famed BAU unit and were grateful for the opportunity that arose but you'd be lying if another reason you eagerly answered all the questions prompted to you in that interview wasn't because you were instantly attracted to Aaron Hotchner. However, that was almost a year ago now and you were struggling with your growing attraction to the man the more you were around him. Your coworkers and friends certainly were no help, given they'd soon caught onto your crush.

A hand waved in front of your face and you blinked.

"Time to go, lovergirl." Prentiss teased and you sighed, quickly joining the others as they made their way to the case briefing. You needed to focus.

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Landing in Chicago a few hours later, the team were thrust into a gnarly investigation involving couples being murdered in their hotel rooms mid-coital. The crime scene photos were hard to look at, to say the least. Setting up a base of operations in the police department didn't take too long and currently you were in the midst of interviewing family members of the deceased along with Hotch at his insistence. It wasn't often that you took part in these interviews, even less often did Hotch ever team you up with him. Quite frankly, it made you feel a little nervous, but there was no way you'd question his decision. And certainly, you did not miss the subtle smug look Emily gave you as you trailed after the man you thought about way too much.

Sitting beside him in the SUV, just the two of you alone made your head feel a little bit floaty as you tried your best to remain as stoic as possible, reminding yourself of the details of the case so far and of the little bits of information from the families you'd spoken to. Even with the effort there was no preventing the permeating scent of his cologne and a hint of his own natural musk from scrambling your brain. He smelled good, too good, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel from the quick glances you dared peek developed a heat to coil within the depths of your lower abdomen.

"Are you alright?" His voice brought you out of your thoughts. You felt flushed.

"H-huh?" You felt dumbstruck, all because of him. He exhaled through his nose sharply, clearly dissatisfied with your response.

"You're distracted."

Oh. Of course he could pick up on it. You shifted in your seat, subtly rubbing your plump thighs together.

"I'm okay, I guess I've not had enough to drink today though. I'll get some water when we head back to the station." Not a lie, technically. You'd forgotten your bottle of water you normally had ready to fill up to take on cases. Hotch hummed, the sound deep and making you clench between your thighs.

"I did notice you didn't have your water like you usually do. I should have said something." He said. Wait, he noticed? You didn't think he picked up on things about you, he didn't often appear to pay attention to you besides on a strictly professional level. But as you turned your head to him in surprise his brows were furrowed in frustration, as though annoyed with himself for not saying anything.

"Oh no, it's fine. I've been a bit of a scatterbrain as of late." You admitted sheepishly, a little smile on your lips. Hotch glanced at you, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back to your eyes, making your breath hitch.

"Anything I can do to help?"

You bit your lip, your mind flooded with a whole array of thoughts that you knew you shouldn't be having about your boss. He didn't know he was the reason you were so distracted, desperate to feel his lips on yours, on your body and his hands on your skin, his fingers inside you. Fuck. You needed to get it together, for goodness' sake. You quickly glanced back towards the road.

"Ah, no. I'm okay, sir. I'll sort myself out." You murmured, missing the way his knuckles whitened under the pressure of his grip on the wheel.

"Don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything."

You tried not to think of what you wanted him to do to you, instead humming in response.

"Thank you, sir."

You needed to get out of this damn car as soon as possible.

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Immediately upon returning to the station you rushed off to find a vending machine so you could grab a bottle of water. As soon as you had your hands on the cold, plastic bottle you were gulping down the cool liquid, not realising just how flushed you felt.

"Whoa, slow down there, (L/n)!" You heard JJ's voice from behind you and you turned, pulling the bottle from your mouth wide-eyed. The blonde woman looked slightly alarmed. "Are you okay?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. I just forgot to bring water so I kinda got a bit dehydrated I think." You explain quickly. JJ frowned a little.

"You'd better be careful next time. And don't drink too quickly, you could accidentally choke."

You smiled sheepishly under her scolding and screwed the lid back on.

"Sorry, I'll drink slower."

JJ led you back to the office where you found the familiar sight of Spencer pouring over a map of the area. Pieces of string had been wrapped around pins indicating the last locations victims were seen and the scenes of their murders, no clear pattern in sight as there sometimes was. On one of the tables lay several empty paper coffee cups, a few rings of spilled coffee staining the surface top. He was speaking quietly to another member of the team, David Rossi, and Hotch; of whom stood beside the young Doctor with his arms folded across his chest, inevitably tightening the suit over his physique. You forced yourself to focus on the map.

Not long after your arrival you heard two sets of footsteps trudge into the room.

"No employees or frequent customers that are of note. We have nothing." Derek huffed as he made his way over to one of the chairs and slumped down into it. Emily joined you and JJ, her face appeared neutral but you could tell there was a hint of annoyance behind it. You heaved a deep sigh and felt eyes on you which made you instinctively seek out who it was, only to be startled when your eyes met deep brown ones, almost black in the artificial lighting. Hotch didn't look away, instead holding your gaze until you quickly turned away, feeling embarrassed.

"There has to be something that connects them all." Rossi said. Your eyes drifted across the map, narrowing a little. There had to be a mutual place that all these couples had been to in the final week leading up to their deaths. Somewhere that couples who enjoy sexual relations more than the average couple would go. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and quickly scrolled through your contacts until you found the one you were looking for. As you pressed dial you put the call on loudspeaker it merely rang once before there was an answer.

"Hello, you've reached the hotline for the simply fantabulous Penelope Garcia; how may I assist you?" A bubbly voice filtered through. All eyes were on the phone as you placed it on the table in front of you.

"Hiya, babe, I have a request for you. We're trying to find a link between the couples but so far nothing has cropped up. But I have a theory," you spoke, feeling a little awkward at what you were about to say. "Uhm, do you think you could try search for any strip clubs or even straight up sex clubs in the area? Easily accessible or possibly a more hidden club?"

You could feel his eyes on you again but you tried hard to stare at the phone. Garcia gasped from the other end of the line, but the sound of nails on a keyboard reassured you she was already on the case. Beside you, you felt Emily poke you and you lightly shoved her with your wide hip.

"Oh wow, I did not think I would be looking at this sort of thing today. But lucky you, I have a whole list of places! I-" there was clicking, followed by another gasp. "Oh my! That is certainly a homepage! You have no idea about the things I'm seeing right now, well, I mean I'll be sending these to you anyway but gosh! I'm going to do a thorough clean of my history once this case-"

"-Garcia, focus." Hotch said firmly and you heard a quick apology from the other end of the line. He moved to lean over the table, propping himself up with his hands as he took charge of the phone call. "We need security footage from these locations. Whatever you can give us, we'll take it."

More clacking of nails, you tried not to stare at your boss as he leered over your phone, forcing yourself to look away from his straining suit, the dangling tie, his large hands. Horrifically, you instead met eyes with the oldest of the group, Rossi, who had clearly caught you ogling Hotch from the glint in his experienced eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Shit. You could only hope no one else had witnessed your blatancy. Thankfully, Garcia's voice came through again.

"I'm sending over whatever footage I can find as well as the addresses to the establishments now."

You reached across the table, hyper aware of how close you were to Hotch as you took hold of your phone. He studied you carefully when you hurried backwards, swallowing thickly. You cleared your throat.

"Thanks, babe, you're a star." You said.

"Well of course, I'm your star." Garcia responded cheerily and the line went dead. Hotch straightened up and pulled his suit back into place, turning to address everyone.

"We need to review the footage and find out which location all the victims visited at some point within the last few weeks, then we can make a plan of action." He was stern as he spoke, hands in his pockets and his shoulders squared. There was a mutual noise of agreement from everyone and you all split into smaller groups around the monitors in the room. Hotch disappeared off to find the chief of police and you couldn't help but let your eyes follow him as he rushed out of the room, eyes transfixed on the tight fabric of his dress pants.

"Girl, you aren't even hiding it." You heard Derek say and you huffed, walking over to Spencer and sitting down next to him. He offered you an awkward smile and shuffled his chair to the side so you could get closer to the computer he was working on.

"Shut up, Derek." You muttered and he chuckled.

"I'm just saying, you should probably talk to him."

Your eyes widened in horror.

"Excuse me?"

Spencer cleared his throat.

"I agree, It's a bit obvious that he's interested in you too." He said softly and you huffed, shuffling your chair closer to the table and leaning towards the computer screen.

"Stop saying ridiculous things like that, both of you. We have work to do anyway."

Derek stepped back with his hands raised in surrender before retreating back to the computer he was situated at whilst Spencer simply watched you carefully, frowning a little.

It was dangerous for you to even dare think of such things. There were so many reasons why you couldn't let your mind go there. If not for the ethical reason due to his and your job statuses, then maybe because he was much older than you with a son. But also you'd seen photos of his ex-wife and ex-girlfriend and you certainly didn't look like his type. Not slender, not sleek like they were. You didn't think he was a shallow man but you'd also dealt with disappointment after disappointment with how others had treated you based on your appearance. You had to keep yourself safe, so your attraction for your boss would remain nothing more than a secret from him. You sighed softly as the young man beside you clicked on the first video footage from one of the private sex clubs. There was no more time to waste.

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The following few hours were downright miserable, viewing video, after video of footage from various clubs until you felt as though your eyes and your brain would melt out of your head. Finally, however, Emily made a noise of alarm, mouth full of cheap coffee, and alerted everyone to her computer. Swallowing the burning, bitter liquid, she retracted the footage a little and replayed it.

"Look, It's the Smiths! The first couple to be murdered. They came in to this very exclusive private sex club at the end of last month." She said hurriedly. In the slightly fuzzy camera quality indeed the couple waltzed into the lobby of the facility and approached the reception desk.

"Fast forward the feed." You heard Hotch say, causing goosebumps to bristle across your skin. You knew he had returned at some point but didn't expect him to stand right beside you. Someone made a call to Garcia and she confirmed with her database that it was indeed the couple. Further analysis of the footage from days afterwards showed that every single of the other couples had also been to this sex club too shortly before they were murdered. And yet they had no indication still of who was the murderer.

The day was drawing in at this point but as a final task before anyone would return to the hotel, Hotch sent out Morgan and Prentiss to the club to ask some questions, something that you couldn't help but chuckle at. The raven haired woman narrowed her eyes slightly at you.

"Laugh all you want but I'd be careful if I were you." She warned but you simply smirked.

"Don't have too much fun now, you two." You said cheerily, Morgan raised a brow at you and then the two were off begrudgingly. You felt JJ sidle up beside you.

"You know she will get you back." She murmured and you shrugged.

"She doesn't scare me."

"She scares me a little." Spencer said aloud, causing the two of you to turn your heads in his direction. He flushed, ducking his head slightly. "I- uh, well you know how she is."

"I wouldn't think you were intimidated by her, Spence, I mean you're the one who won the prank war with Morgan." JJ said, chuckling. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"I wouldn't cross Emily, though."

You hummed and pushed up out of your chair.

"Well anyway, either of you want a hot drink?" You offered. JJ smiled.

"Oh no, thank you." As Spencer opened his mouth to respond she lifted a finger up at him. "Ah- you definitely don't need anymore coffee at this time of day."

A quiet giggle passed your lips and you turned to head to the kitchenette of the station.

"I'm not getting involved."

Walking out of the office you crossed the police department, avoiding any officers who still remained within the building, and came to a pause in the entryway of the kitchen, dipping away from the doorway out of sight. The two oldest members of the team were in a deep conversation, Hotch with his back to the door and Rossi facing the direction you were in. They spoke quietly, you knew you shouldn't listen in and yet you couldn't help it.

"Stop being absurd. What makes you think I'd even consider doing that?" Hotch hissed, his voice barely audible from where you were.

"Come on, Aaron, you can't keep this going forever. You know that." Rossi countered. There were more words said but were too quiet for you to decipher. That was until Hotch spoke a little louder again, sounding more frustrated.

"I am not currently wishing to be involved with anyone like that, Dave. I just can't."

In an instant you felt your heart in your throat, your eyes stinging.

Oh.

You felt stupid. Of course he wasn't interested in dating anyone. Even despite closely guarding your feelings for Hotch to be nothing further than a personal crush that he would never find out about it still hurt knowing you never had a chance to begin with.

Walking a few steps away from the kitchen, you made a point of entering the kitchen area, feigning surprise as your eyes landed on the two men in the room. Clearly, your entrance startled them, particularly him, who looked a little guilty before the slight expression glossed over with stern stoicism. Hotch glanced away, turning to Rossi.

"I'll see you at the hotel." He muttered and then he was brushing past you, his hand grazing your arm slightly and his scent consuming your senses. And then he was gone, all that remained was the slight coolness of his absence. You swallowed thickly but tried to mask your emotions from the seasoned agent still remaining.

"Coffee? There's some left still, maybe enough for one last cup." Rossi said softly. You smiled slightly as you approached him but shook your head.

"Ah no, thank you. I'm going to have tea. It's way too late for coffee, don't you think?"

The man hummed, watching you carefully. You suspected he had seen you earlier, that you'd heard the conversation but you didn't feel like talking about it.

"I hope you know that if you ever need someone to lend an ear that I'm always willing to listen."

Your hands faltered slightly during sorting out putting a tea bag in a clean mug. Your eyes flicked to the side at Rossi briefly.

"I know that."

"I know you heard what you think you heard but-"

"-Let's not- We aren't talking about this." You cut him off shakily, stopping yourself before you poured the hot water into the mug. "There's nothing to say about it."

You turned away from the kitchen counter to lean against it, rubbing your tired eyes with your palms. Rossi sighed quietly.

"You didn't catch the whole conversation." He tried after a moment. You scoffed.

"It wasn't for me to hear. I only did so by accident. I'm not going to read into it because the only people who were meant to hear what was discussed was you and-" Your throat felt tighter still, an unseen coil constricting you, just as the man you longed for constricted your heart and soul. You didn't say his name, couldn't. Mercifully, the man before you understood.

"I know."

You nodded. The mug of tea wasn't appealing anymore; the quiet promise of solitude in a hotel room called to you more than all else.

"I.... I think I need to call it a night. I don't feel well."

Rossi placed a hand on your upper arm and squeezed lightly.

"I'll inform the others and grab your stuff then I'll drive you to the hotel we're staying in," he fished out the keys to one of the SUVs and handed them to you, the metal clinking together. "Go, wait in the car for me." He said. The corners of your mouth tilted upwards in appreciation and you hurried out, eager to have even a moment to yourself.

The moment you pushed the doors of the building open and stepped outside you exhaled, grimacing slightly at the still, warm air of the night. You'd hoped it would have cooled down more, now that the sun had long since settled behind the horizon, but you felt stifled, the heat doing nothing to soothe the tightness in your throat and chest. Breathing shakily, you unlocked the car and climbed into the passenger seat, laying your head back against the head rest.

There was no reason for you to feel so upset about this. It wasn't as though you intended on ever approaching your boss about your ever growing feelings for him, you wouldn't dare do that. And yet you felt almost physically sick from heartbreak and the worst part was he didn't even know the pain you were in. Hell, you didn't even know where he was right now after he rushed out of the kitchen.

You knew the moment Rossi obviously had retrieved your belongings judging the way your phone had begun to vibrate from text notifications, no doubt from your coworkers. You'd answer them when you made it to the hotel, you decided. A few minutes later you spotted the older man exit the station and approach the car you were in, your bag and coat in hand. The sight made you smile even the tiniest bit, something that he noticed. You felt the car jolt a little as he opened the trunk so he could put your belongings down and jolt again when he slammed it lightly. A second later he was climbing in on the driver's side where you held out the car keys to him.

"Thanks." He took the keys and inserted them into the ignition, the engine roaring to life and you slipped your seatbelt on. Rossi glanced at you. "Let's get you to the hotel. Best thing about this is if there aren't enough rooms for one each you can have first pick on if you want the single or not." He said as you pulled out the station parking lot. You scoffed.

"Oh you know I'm absolutely taking the single this time." You retorted. In any other scenario you would have risked sharing a room, risk being paired with him. Now the thought made you want to cry. Your little smile faded and you turned your head to the window, resting on the cool glass. Sensing you were finished talking, Rossi didn't say anything else for the remainder of the drive.

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A little groan escaped your lips when you collapsed backwards on the single bed in your hotel room, exhaustion overrunning your very being from the long day. For a moment you simply lay there silently, staring at the dulled white ceiling whilst your mind raced. You knew this wasn't ideal, you couldn't let yourself be distracted from the case.

Huffing, you remembered that you needed to respond to messages to let the others know you would be alright by the morning. After pulling your phone out of your pocket, the screen lit up and your eyes flicked across the notifications on the lock screen. Lots of messages from your worried coworkers. You unlocked the phone and set about answering them one-by-one. JJ and Emily offered to stop by your hotel room to check in on you, not knowing you'd been feeling unwell up until this point, but you reassured them you would be okay.

Just as you finished your nightly routine and pulled the covers back, there was a knock on your door. Your brows furrowed slightly. Who would be knocking at this time? Sighing, you approached the door and leaned close to the peephole, expecting to see one of the ladies or maybe even Rossi.

Standing tensely with his shoulders squared was Aaron Hotchner. A quiet gasp escaped you and you jolted backwards from the door. What the fuck was he doing here?! With shaky hands, you pulled the door open and slightly covered yourself with it, hyper aware of your clothing situation. Hotch perked up and stared down at you.

"Rossi informed me that you weren't feeling well and had to retire early." He murmured gently, his face stern. You swallowed and silently invited him into your room by stepping back, pulling the door with you. He cautiously walked into your hotel room and you closed the door behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself in a feeble attempt to cover your body up. Why, oh why did you have to wear shorts that barely covered your ass and an old tee that wasn't as baggy anymore from being washed one too many times?

You cleared your throat and avoided looking in Hotch's direction.

"He's right. But I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow though."

You offered a little smile, eyes flicking to his face and realised he was staring. Except he wasn't staring at your face, no, his eyes were focused lower down at your chest. Christ. You quickly looked away again before he realised you'd caught him out and he hummed, the sound making you clench.

"What's wrong?"

Oh no. You couldn't answer that. Your eyes met his and you opened your mouth, hesitating with no response to give.

"I.... Just felt sick, that's all. I'll be okay though."

You never were good at hiding how you were really feeling, the deepening frown on the man's face before you merely evident of this.

"Are you certain? You can tell me anything, you know that." He said softly as he stepped closer to you. You nodded and tried smiling again at him.

"I know, sir. I promise I'm alright though." You tightened your arms around yourself until your flesh dipped under the pressure of your fingertips. Hotch's eyes trailed over you from head to toe, clearly unsatisfied with your reluctance to tell him the truth, but didn't push the matter further. You inhaled as he stepped closer still, his scent once more overwhelming you. His fingers flexed at his side as though he was conflicted and you wished he would reach out and touch you. Eventually, he sighed quietly and retreated a step.

"Alright. But I will be keeping an eye on you now."

Not good. You nodded though, then yawned and your cheeks flushed with warmth. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at Hotch's mouth.

"You should get some rest." He said. You chuckled.

"Yeah, you as well though. I know what you're like."

He raised a brow at you.

"Really now?"

Your eyes widened and you stuttered.

"W-well I'm just saying, you do leave the office last, you're up earlier than everyone else too-" you cut yourself off, not wanting to dig your hole any deeper. You dared a quick glance his way and he was still slightly smirking.

"Get some rest, your boss is going to be up early again tomorrow to call everyone in."

A little chuckle escaped you and you followed Hotch to the door, grabbing the door as he opened it and hiding behind it again as you watched him make his way out into the corridor. He turned back to you and gazed down at you again.

"Good night, (L/n)." He murmured. Your eyes met and you gripped onto the door.

"Good night, sir."

He shifted, as though debating something in his head, then he turned and stalked down the corridor. You didn't close your door until he disappeared from sight. When you returned to your bed you collapsed down onto it whilst your mind raced. That night your dreams were filled with forbidden touches and kisses from the man you loved.

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And that's part one for now pls lemme know what you think and if anyone wants to be tagged in future works! Thank you for reading 💖💖

[hunnylagoon]

The Killing Moon

PT2 The Colour Wars

Ellie Williams x Reader

It’s the perfect night for mystery and horror. The night itself is filled with monsters.

Premise: Summer camp feels a little different. Could it be newfound feelings for your friend or creatures beyond the imagination stalking you? Either way, it’s time to win the Colour Wars.

Warnings: Raunchy humour / mentions of cryptids / creepy?

PART ONE: Camp Spirit

Hope everything is alright with you because I'm so stressed that I may be spiralling into insanity at any moment. I understand that I'm an adult now but I too need someone to scream my frustration to until my lungs burn and I'm light-headed. "Hey, I'm having like super bad cramps and my flow is super heavy so I can't play this game."

I look at the girl in front of me, she's around fourteen if I had to guess and has two blonde French braids. We were in the middle of the first game of colour wars -the treasure hunt- and this girl was sporting a blue shirt, I didn't know her face nor was she on my team and I hadn't even noticed that she had been tagging along with my group for ten minutes. "Who are you?"

"Laila."

"Why are you here?" I ask but Laila only answers me with a shrug and a sneer "Never mind, I'm not your counsellor and I don't care, go to the nurses."

"Can I go to the nurses too?" Olive peeps up behind me "I think I have a scrape on my knee.":

"Don't we all?" I look back at her "We gotta win this game, we're so close," We were, mostly because every time the blue team gathered treasure I would send out feral kids to ambush them and bring it back to me "We're gonna have all the treasure we can carry." The objective was simple; The directors hid treasure (Cheap jewelry, hats, clothes from the old theatre program, etc.) across campgrounds and we had to source it out, whichever team came back to the sports field with more treasure won.

"We've been out here for hours," Morgan groaned, you'd think that these girls had been sent to war with the way they complained.

"It's only been forty-six minutes."

Olive took a seat on a rock, Leah doing the same, it didn't take long for each girl to have firmly planted themselves on the ground and refuse to get up. Valentina grabbed a stick and began to scratch drawings into the muddy ground.

"C'mon guys, there's like fifteen minutes left, and I know for a fact that there is still treasure to be found." I know how ridiculous I must've looked at that moment, I had been wearing a purple 'royal cape' that was pilling onto my T-shirt and a cheap dollar store crown that kept slipping off my head.

"I'm so bored," Chloe drew out.

"Because you're being boring!" I exasperate. Never had I ever had a cabin that was so apathetic and unenthusiastic, they were a stark contrast to last year when everyone had sunshine running through their veins and mud smeared across their faces; those pitch black summer nights live in my bones.

"This isn't fun, can we play something else?" 

"No," I take a deep breath out, composing myself "You are at summer camp to be outdoors, you're developing important social, cognitive and emotional skills."

I'm met with blank stares from each and every girl sitting below me "I don't know what that means," Leslie said.

"It means we're going through puberty," Kim tells her.

"No," My eyes go wide "No, it means that you're figuring out who you are."

"Am I gonna get my period soon?" Valentina drops the stick from her tiny hands. 

"Maybe- I don't know," I thew my hands out. 

"What's a period?"

"It's where you bleed until you don't have any blood left and then you die," Kim says this so matter-of-factly like she has a degree in healthcare and has been teaching the health unit in PE for a decade.

"WHAT?" Chloe jumps up from her spot on the ground, looking around to see if she's already bleeding out.

"We're gonna die and you didn't tell us?" Leslie looks even more terrified than she did on the night of the camp legend.

Every girl was beginning to panic, fear was clear across their small faces. It's moments like these where I wish I was alone, maybe solo camping or back in my bedroom from high school, somewhere where only the moon knows how I rot and the sun knows how I yearn.

"Guys, calm down, a period isn't a bad thing and it won't hurt you," This was my attempt to soothe the ten-year-old girls who were contemplating how they would spend their last days on earth. The plastic crown slips off my head and I reach down to grab it and readjust it.

"Then why is it called a period if it doesn't end your life?" Kim asks, crossing her arms.

"I don't know but it doesn't end your life-

"Can we just go back to the soccer field until this game is over?" Tamar chimes in, looking like she rather be staring at cardboard boxes. 

"Fine!" I finally gave in, gathering all of the treasure that once sat at my feet into my arms. The amount of treasure was almost overflowing, I had stolen a bunch from some kids in Dean's cabin who were too scared to argue with me. 

"Am I going to die?" Leslie scurries up beside me and I look down at her, behind the thick lenses of her classes, she is holding back tears.

"Not for a very long time," I can hardly bend my neck to look at her with the amount of shit I'm hauling, the girls being little to no help with this. The girls trail behind me and I have to turn my entire body to look at them "If anyone runs off this time, I'm feeding them to the snatchers."

Suddenly they want to listen. The woods aren't scary in the day, just at night when they begin to whisper. As of now, I know the quickest way to every part of camp despite the identical trees so thick that you can hardly see the sky when you're beneath them. 

Leslie holds onto the bottom of my red Colour Wars T-shirt since my hands are full, Valentina holds onto Leslie's hand and all of a sudden I've become a mother hen with little chicks following me around. 

"If magic isn't real then why were people so scared of witches," Valentina asks me while she kicks a rock across matted fallen leaves and dirt. 

"Maybe magic is real," I say "To burn a witch is to admit magic exists."

"How do I become a witch?" Chloe appears out of what seems to be thin air on my other side, I can't see her since my pile of goodies is up to my chin and I'm afraid that if I move all of it will come tumbling down.

"Practice magic," That was my guess, I didn't know squat about witchcraft.

"How do I do that?"

"A real witch will figure it out herself," I say. When you've worked with kids for five years, you get to a certain point where you run out of creative answers. During my first year working here, I was sixteen and a CIT, terribly afraid to mess up because I hadn't lived yet. With each passing year that I've come back, I get more and more comfortable, returning to familiar faces and the smell of petrichor.

Chloe nods excessively like I've just said something extremely profound, I can see the gears turning in her head like she's already thinking of spells to cast. 

It takes a little less than five minutes until we're out of the woods, we emerge by the crafts cabin, the soccer field is in clear sight. The soccer field is built over a little mound, slightly elevated from the ground and on top I can see two piles of knick knacks and a pretty big sum of campers and counsellors alike waiting on the top. 

From the looks of it Tommy and Joel have already begun to count their respective teams mound of treasure, Tommy being on the amazing red team and Joel representing the awful/disgusting/foul/boring/untalented blue team. That might've been a stretch but there were no friends in the Colour Wars.

In what seems to be the blink of an eye a hoard of kids runs past me and my girls, nearly knocking me off my feet. I didn't even process that some boys with too much energy had stolen plyed my well earned (stolen) treasure from my arms leaving me with nothing but my cape and crown until Liza, a girl from the Grizzly cabin snatched the cape right off my back and none other than Ellie herself grabbing the crown off my head.

They were booking it to the soccer field "Go get our shit back!" I yelled ushering my girls to go after the kids who were at least three years older than them. Only two of them actually listened; despite how hard they were trying, Leslie and Chloe's stumpy legs couldn't take them very far, leaving me to be the only one in pursuit.

I summoned back all of my memory from playing rugby in highschool and jumped on Ellie's back, I didn't take her down but she stumbled. I was so desperate to not turn up empty handed. By the time I made contact with her, she had already thrown the crown ahead for Liza to catch. They ran up the soccer field, dumping the double stolen treasure into their hula hoop. Even visually they were in the lead now, thanks to my expert piracy skills and theirs too, I guess.

"I hate you," I slid off Ellie's back, my sneakers hitting the dusty ground. "My girls earned that fair and square."

She looks me up and down, bathing in my anger like some kind of prize "I know you stole it."

"How?"

"Because I know you."

"Oh yeah?" I cross my arms, taking a step closer to my friend "Do you know how I'm gonna kick your ass later?"

She grins "I look forward to it." Ellie leaves me with this while she walks up to the soccer field to revel with her team in their newfound victory.

"What does 'kick your ass' mean?" Olive padded up behind me along with the rest of the girls, except for Leslie who was bent over, one hand on her knee to support her while she clung to her inhaler for dear life. "Are you gonna beat Ellie up?"

"I think she means 'kiss her ass'." Kim said, turning her head to look at Olive "Like they're gonna have sex later."

"What's sex?" Chloe furrowed her eyebrows.

"Kim you need to stop talking," I tell them, hands on my hips, nothing but frustration etched into the forefront of my brain. I glance back at Ellie as Maria rings the bell to signal that the game was over. Softly, with hands gentle as rain, I will wrap my hands around her neck and strangle her.

"Listen up!" I announced to the eight girls in my cabin. To absolutely no surprise, blue won the treasure hunt, now we were setting up for a water balloon fight in the allotted section of woods that Joel taped off in bright pink flagging tape. "I physically and mentally cannot handle another loss, I will be very disappointed in each and every one of you if we don't win-

"That's not true," Daniel cuts me off "The point of today is to have fun, winning doesn't matter, just do your best." The both of us are standing tall on a rock while the campers sit around and stare up at the two of us like we had been mighty gods preparing to throw wine and bread at their little feet.

I eye Daniel from the side and look back to everyone "None of your hard work is going to matter unless you win so do you want to be a whiney loser like Daniel or be cool like me and win the colour wars?"

Everyone fell quiet for a moment as if a curse of silence fell upon us until Kim not-so-sublty yelled "Daniel's a pussy!" I was beyond the point where I cared about the girls cussing, the only thing on my mind was showing my very dear friend, Ellie how awful her team is and rub my win in her beautiful face.

"That's what I like to hear!" I smile "Now let's go win this!"

My girls erupt in cheers and Daniel almost shamefully steps off the rock. I had finally made a breakthrough with my cabin after slightly snapping at them after Maria announced that the red team lost. Maybe the treasure hunt wasn't my thing, but water balloon wars? I had won that every single year, even when I was still a camper. 

The objective was easy, be the last team with players, once you get hit you're out. Friendly fire is strictly against the rules as well as headshots, they had to be hit in the torso, once you get wet, you're out and have to leave the allotted zone to watch. 

We played in a patch of forest that was less dense than the rest, making it easier to run around. 

"Three!" Maria shouted, "Two!" She's standing in the middle of the zone, so everyone can hear her though no one can see her since the two teams are on opposite ends to make it fair. "One!" She blows her whistle and kids are already dunking their hands into buckets of icy-cold water balloons and setting off to the enemy end.

The CITs were responsible for keeping a consistent flow of water balloons and buckets spread evenly in the zone, I remember when I was a CIT and had to miss out on capture the flag to pick up every bit of balloon that at splattered across the ground. 

I had a balloon in each hand, making my way around the perimeter discreetly. I lock eyes with a younger boy in a blue shirt, he immediately turns to run, not fast enough though "Come back here ankle biter!" I yell, decking a water balloon at him, it hits him right in his back.

There was a boy in Sawyers's cabin, one of the wild ones with animal teeth that ran off of energy drinks and the huff of Sharpies. He tried to throw a balloon at me but it missed me by a landslide, his second attempt wasn't much better.

I however nailed him in the chest "You're out buddy!" I smiled, and he met this by giving me the middle finger. "Whatever carrot top, tell Sawyer I send word!"

I was way too good at this game. Every year I thought I could take on the other team single-handedly and every year I'm proven right when I'm the last one standing. After a prompt reminder from Joel that this was supposed to be fun for the campers and I was treating it like World War Three, I had to cool down a little bit.

We played this game straight after lunch so everyone was either hopped up with energy or sluggish from eating too much, alternatively, there was Ashlynn. She was wandering around, a black bleach-stained hoodie thrown over the top of the shirt for whatever team she was on.

Ashlynn had a can of Diet Coke in hand, where did she get it? I'm not too sure, my guess is that she stashed them under her bunk. "Hey," She sits on a log beneath the tree I was hiding behind. "You're way better at this than you should be, you know you're playing against children, right?"

"I didn't come here to fuck around," There weren't a whole lot of people left in the game, I just took out Abby and the only counsellor left on the blue team was Ellie, maybe Ashlynn but she didn't pose a threat in any way shape or form. 

"Do you have any nic on you?" She looked up at me, taking a sip from her diet coke, her shaggy bleached hair was one more dye away from being fried.

"No?" I furrow my eyebrows "I don't usually bring nicotine to a summer camp full of children."

Ashlynn almost looks like she's hungover but then again she usually seems that way "I brought a couple joints and I'm like ninety percent sure two got stolen."

My eyes widen "You brought joints? Ash, you're getting fired if Maria finds out."

She shrugs "I don't mind, I either smoke weed here or I smoke weed in my backyard." 

"Okay but if it actually got stolen then it's probably some little shit that has it, they're gonna say that you gave it to them and that's a whole case."

"It's legalized though."

"Yeah, not for children." I was taken away from the game until I saw the smallest bit of a blue shirt beneath Ashlynn's sweater, I didn't hesitate to drop a balloon on her. She doesn't seem to mind and from this reaction, I'm beginning to think she's the one who smoked those missing joints. 

I come out from behind the tree empty-handed and plant a kiss on her forehead as an apology for getting soaking wet "Love you, Ash, hope you find your weed." I tell her before jogging off. Ashlynn doesn't get up to join everyone else outside of the boundary, she just stays on the log and drinks her diet coke.

Dina is still in the game on my team as well as a few campers, I hear her voice yelling at children somewhere off in the distance. Sadly, the girls in my cabin were picked off almost immediately, I swear I will avenge their little souls.

"You're soaking Conner, get out of here," Dina scolded a kid on the blue team "You gotta play by the rules, so beat it shrimp."

"Nuh-uh," He said. Lord knows I hated this kid, last summer when I went to the bathroom during dinner Conner stole my food and denied it even though he was the only one in the mess hall with two plates, he then kicked me in the shins and waddled away.

"You gotta go, baby hippo," I tell him, his round cheeks are bright red from running and he's short-breathed. He shakes his head and with a final stern look from both Dina and I, he leaves. "Nice, who's left?"

"One camper on our team and just Ellie over there," She tells me "Like best case scenario, just go over there and seduce Ellie."

I raise an eyebrow "Nah, I'm winning with brute strength and incredible strategy."

"I'm guessing that going for the little kids first is your definition of incredible strategy?"

"Yup," I say, walking to a bucket to grab another balloon "Get ready, this could go south."

"God forbid we tragically lose our lives in a water balloon war," Sarcasm drips from her tone even though she grabs another balloon.

"I know, that would be awful," I say with full seriousness.

Dina is struck with a water balloon out of nowhere "Shit," She mutters, looking at her now dripping shirt. I don't think I've ever reacted so quickly to anything in my life, I throw a balloon at Ellie and it barely hits her, but it still does.

"Look, you're wet," I smile, brighter than I had this whole summer "You're wet, you lost!" I'm almost jumping around, I'm so unreasonably happy at such a stupid thing. "I won!" I yell trying to capture the attention of the CITs so my win could go on record. 

"Fuck yeah!" Dina gives me a high five then looks at Ellie "You lost!"

"You lost," I say in a sing-song voice "Red team wins," I grab Dina's hand and raise to the sky like she's just won a wrestling match "We win, you're all wet!"

"You're wet too, D," Ellie says.

"Yeah, but you lost!" Dina wraps me in a hug around my torso, pinning my arms down and shaking me back and forth.

"Ew, get off," I can't help myself from laughing "But seriously I won, put that on record."

"Wow they have their worst player guarding the flag," I say, we were nearing dinner now and everyone was getting tired out, not me though, I had a war to win. Capture the Flag was the last game and that game is my shit, I know I said that about every other game but I really mean it this time. 

"I always forget that you're way too into this," Ellie says, she's unmoving in front of the blue team flag, pole stuck into the ground. 

"Ellie, you need to let me win," I say "Or I will do unspeakable things to you."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" She teases.

"Whichever you want," I almost surprised myself by saying this but it just slipped from my mouth like wax off the wings of Icarus. Behind me, I feel a harsh slap on my back and swiftly turn around to see a pudgy kid with a huge smile on his face. 

"You have to go to jail," Conner says and if he wasn't a child who stood at 4'3 I probably would've hit him.

"Yeah, I know, Conner," I glance at Ellie who is biting back a laugh and gives an obnoxious little wave as Conner drags me by the hand towards the jail. He waddles along, clinging to two of my fingers, his hands are greasy and slippery, whatever reason, I'm not sure I want to know.

He takes me to a rope circle laid out on the ground, there's already a handful of people on my team in it. Conner drops me off there, sticking his tongue out before scurrying away as fast as he could (Which wasn't very fast). There's one blue team guard, I recognized him from Jesse's cabin. 

I'm far too bitter for someone playing a harmless camp game, I hold a grudge easier than I hold someone's hand. "Why are you here?" A boy from Miles cabin asks.

"Because I got tagged, Emmet," I say, agitated. "Why are you here? Because you can't outrun an eight-year-old?"

His smile drops "Yeah," He looks down at his shoes, kicking some dirt. 

"How are we supposed to get out and win this?" Another boy asks.

"Jesus," I mutter "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen and you've never played Capture the Flag?"

He nods his head "I mostly play COD and Fortnite."

"Oh my god," I run my hands down my face, fighting the urge to gag "Someone from our team who isn't tagged has to tag us, they can only tag one person at a time and we get a free walk back to our side if we're tagged, to win the game you need to capture the other teams flag- you know what, I feel like this is pretty self-explanatory."

"So who's going to tag us?"

"Probably no one because a kid with Fortnite skills isn't really worth saving" I answer and he falls quiet. Harsh? yes. Necessary? No, but I was annoyed.

"Hey, Crawford," A voice says, she's standing a few yards back with one of her friends giggling.

"Oh, hey," The guy guarding us, coughs, deepening his voice "What's up."

"I can't believe you're actually playing this game," The girl sniggers.

"Nah, I'm just waiting for Lucas," He lies.

"Find him later, come hang out," She smiles at him.

Crawford looks from us to her, and with little to no hesitation, he goes with the girls. Once I see their figures retreat beyond the trees, I look around to see if there are any more people on the blue team around before stepping out of the rope circle.

"I thought you said we had to get tagged by someone else before we could leave," The boy says, looking around nervously as if he was buying pot in an alley.

"Are you a narc?" I ask.

"No?"

"Then we're good to go," I say, ushering my team out of the circle. The sun has just begun to set, casting an orange hue over everything and making it look like it had been touched by Midas. While the rest of my team runs back to our side where they are safe from being tagged, I have something else on my mind, Ellie Williams. 

I began to retrace my steps back to where Ellie waited with the flag and where I'm sure a bunch of overeager kids were patrolling to protect the priceless flag from the claws of the evil red team.  Ellie was never into these games until I was, the second I had the urge to win something, she was compelled to beat me.

Someone hadn't been looking where they were sprinting when they crashed into me at full speed, they would've knocked me down if they weren't the same height as an Oompa Loompa. She let out an 'Oof' while she fell to the ground "Chloe?"

"Hi," She looks up at me, and quickly the posse rolls around. All of the girls in my cabin, even Tamar and Morgan were actively participating.

Leslie ran up to me and hugged me around my legs "Hi, girls," I said with furrowed eyebrows. The past two weeks I had struggled to even get them to collectively go to breakfast without putting up a fight because they didn't want to. "How's the game going?"

"We know where the flag is!" Valentina peeps up, she has mud smeared under her eyes like war paint. 

"Yeah, but Ellie's there and I'm scared of her," Leah mentions.

"Well, we're all together now so we can strategize," A smile cracks onto my face.

"We should put a scorpion in her hair," Kim has a wild grin on her tanned face, her honey-blonde hair is tangled into a rat nest, with a couple of leaves in there.

"No, good idea though, we'll save that one for later," I point at Kim "I was thinking that I could distract Ellie while half of you keep the other guards away and the other half grabs the flag and makes a break for it."

Kim nods enthusiastically, Tamar doesn't seem thrilled by the idea but she doesn't object to it so I take her silence as a win. This is the exact moment I put on my invisible captain hat, giving each of my girls a specific role with the promise I would sneak them candy on Saturday if they pulled this off. 

With each passing minute, the sky got darker and darker, I wanted to finish this game until Joel and Tommy made the counsellors walk around with headlamps on to keep an eye on everyone. "Hi, El."

"What do you want?" She's been standing in the same spot for a little over an hour, her vexation was shining through in her tone. 

"To be done with this game," I say, prepping myself for the little heist "This is really dragging on and- I saw Crawford run off with some girls from your cabin."

"Who the hell is Crawford?" She furrows her eyebrows.

"One of Jesse's boys, I know it's an unfortunate name."

"Who did he leave with?"

"Uh," I rack my brain for their names "Cindy and the rude one."

She nods, immediately knowing who I was talking about from my vague description "So, when are you gonna run past me and steal the flag?"

"What?" I acted like her question was incredulous "Why would you think that's what I'm trying to do?" I'm so bad at acting, I'm behaving like one of those wasted middle-aged men who get pulled over on the freeway and pretend that they're stone-cold sober by making a bunch of hand gestures while they talk.

"You're awful at acting," She says, crossing her arms, I watch the veins tense in her forearm below her tattoo sleeve.

"Fuck," I muttered "Fine, I give up," I plop myself on the ground, my spine against the trunk of a tree, I look up at Ellie "Okay, I'm officially over these games."

She raises an eyebrow and I can tell that she doesn't believe me. "First of all, you're sitting in mud. Second of all, eleven years of bloodshed and you're giving up out of nowhere?"

"It's not out of nowhere, I'm just getting older," I say the second half a little quieter "I'm in college I need to stop acting immature."

We both fall silent, she doesn't know what to say to this. Ellie usually wasn't the best at comforting me in whichever situation, I remember back when I was fourteen and a wreck because my first dog died and all she could do was give me a hug and ask if I wanted water. 

"You’re not immature," Ellie says, unsure of what to do.

"Alrighty," I press my lips together in a thin line, equally diffident. "I'm just bored of this, it's gotten kind of repetitive."

"Then what do you wanna do?" She asks, in this light she's dimly illuminated by the setting sun. She looks like a sculpture carved from honey.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll do whatever you want," I smile.

"Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Is it working?"

"Not entirely," She says, behind her, there's a snap and just before she turns around I call her attention back to me. I saw Valentina, Chloe, and Olive emerging from behind trees, just seconds away from victory.

"Okay," I chuckle "Help me up?"

Ellie regards me for a second before taking my hand stretched wide. The second her hand clasps in mine I pull her down with all of my might and believe me when I say this is no easy feat, Ellie was sturdy. Luckily I caught her off guard and managed to pin her beneath me, I straddle over her torso, gesturing for the girls to run.

"Go!" I whisper-shout so others on the blue team can't hear me. Ellie grabs me by the waist and uses momentum to flip me over, now I'm the one with my back in the mud and she sits overtop of me. 

She had been so close that our lips brushed, and I had felt my heart stop, I almost didn't want to move just to see what would happen next but in utter panic, I reached next to me, a handful of mud and smeared it down Ellie's face. "You're so gross," She squeezes her eyes shut, leans back and begins to scoop mud off her face, I use this as my opportunity to wriggle out from beneath her.

It takes me a minute to get off my knees and onto my feet, by this point, almost the entirety of my legs are covered in mud, leaves, sticks, and probably bugs. I try to take off but my sneakers betray me and I fall face-first into the mud.

Of course, Ellie sees this and she's laughing so hard she needs to support herself, one forearm against a tree while her other is clutching her stomach. I scoop up more mud, almost squirming in distaste from the sensation of it caked beneath my nails but I still throw it at Ellie with perfect accuracy. 

She tenses up when I do this. Once again I struggle to my feet but this time I am victorious, I stay frozen in place for a moment to be sure I won't face plant again. When I'm sure that I won't fall, I bend down to throw another mud pie at Ellie for good measure than I'm off to see if my girls completed the mission.

When I finally got back to my side I saw my team already celebrating "Woohoo!" I yell and the crowd immediately falls quiet, regarding my current state. I probably look like a creature who's just crawled out of a stagnant swamp. 

"Why does she look like that?" Ashlynn whispers to Bowie who doesn't respond and from his red eyes alone, I know the reason why.

"C'mon girls," I smile "Bring it in!" I open my arms for my cabin to come in for a hug but they just back away from me with wrinkled noses. 

Tommy looks at me "Why are you dirty?" I knew he was getting sassy when he propped his hands on his hips "What happened in the ten-minute gap since I last saw you that has made you so filthy?" It wasn't malice in his voice but genuine curiosity, Tommy was a fun-loving guy for the most part.

I shrugged "I wouldn't know, mate, you tell me." His eyebrows furrowed as his confusion delved even deeper. He looked into my soul from across the clearing. Eventually, Ellie makes her way to join me, she's a little better off than I am though she's still grimy.

"Oh, great, you too," Tommy says, gesturing to his niece. 

Joel lets out a deep sigh "You two better shower before dinner."

I let the hot water run over my body, dripping down and consuming me whole. Ellie and I are the only ones in the showers, we're separated by nothing more than a divider though the steam is so heavy I wouldn't have been able to see her regardless. 

Since we were sent to grab a change of clothes and clean off Ellie had been almost silent, she wasn't even teasing me back or making a punchline when I had thrown out an obvious setup. 

After thoroughly washing the grime off of my body I turned the shower off, walking over the laminated bench where Ellie and I had out put our clothing only to find them missing. For a minute I thought I was crazy and had misplaced them but after awkwardly pattering around the shower house, I realised they were gone.

"Hey, Ellie," I say on the other side of her shower stall "Someone stole our clothes."

"You're hilarious," She deadpanned, not an ounce of amusement in her tone.

"Yeah, I know but I'm not joking."

I hear the water turn off in her stall, she pokes her head out and looks at the bench "Where did you put them?"

"I didn't put them anywhere," I say, in an attempt to sound convincing. "Someone took our shit," All that was left behind we're Ellie's Converse, knocked onto the ground and my carabiner with keys, a flashlight, and my shark keychain. 

"Fuck," Ellie mutters and looks around for a moment before her eyes land on me and she quickly averts her gaze, "Can you turn around?"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too." I tell her though I do turn around "What's the plan here?"

"I'm looking."

"I already did, dumbass."

"Thoroughly." She adds.

I stare at empty shower stalls and white tile walls while Ellie checks every single spot that I already have. I can hear only her and the plop of dribbles of water splattering against the cold ground. The steam is still heavy and easy on my sharp lungs.

"I can't find them," Ellie says at last. "But I did find some clothes that look like they could've belonged to Adam Sandler.”

"Yeah, no shit," I turn around and see her standing there completely nude, she moves quickly out of my eye line and into a stall "You've changed in front of me a million times, what's different now?" I say, nonchalantly, walking past her.

"Maybe I don't want you to see me buck naked."

"I think I just heard something," I stop in my tracks.

 "not really the time-

"Why do you always think I'm fucking with you?" I ask, furrowed eyebrows.

"Because-

"Shh," I hush her trying to listen for the sound. I walked toward the entrance of the shower house there was a large wall in front of the door so no one could open the door to peek in, they had to go around the wall and properly enter, the same way most locker rooms were set up. I'm about ten yards away from the entrance when I see a figure poke their head out, just a quarter of its face, I can see their amber eye. They spot me in almost a split second and jet out in a blur, I hear the door open and crashing shut, their feet scrambling away. Just like that, I felt my blood run cold. 

"Fuck!" I yell, scuttling back towards the stalls "Ellie, there's fucking someone in here!" My heart is beating faster than I think it ever has before and I almost feel sick with the thought that someone was in here the entire time Ellie and I had been vulnerable and unaware. 

"What?" She steps out of the stall and looks around before she sees me. I'm on the floor, my knees to my chest and eyes wide. "You saw someone?"

"Yes!" I say throwing a hand out to gesture to the divider "They were hiding behind there and fucking watching us!"

"Shit," She says, walking towards the wall and looking behind it, she freezes too. Ellie turns towards me and the doubt on her face is gone "We need to find some clothes and get out of here."

"What?" I say "Did you see something?"

Ellie begins to open every single locker, tossing articles of clothing that people left behind on the ground. She wasn't exaggerating earlier when she said she found clothes that could've belonged to Adam Sandler. No wonder they were left behind.

"What was it?" I press again.

"Just some mud tracks, they were probably ours," She dismisses. "Now get dressed."

This doesn't ease me in the slightest, I'm so on edge that I haven't made a joke about Ellie and I casually being naked in front of each other. How ridiculous the pair of us looked didn't aid me in calming down; Ellie was wearing a black T-shirt about three sizes too large that read 'Ask me about my IBS' with a caricature of a man-eating cheese beneath it, this was paired with blue basketball shorts that had two white stripes running down the side. "How's your IBS?" I tease.

"It's a constant battle." At least she had her shoes, I had to wear flip-flops that hardly fit, so small I almost thought they belonged to a Barbie. While Ellie was moderately comfortable, I was not, I had to wear skinny jeans that were crudely cut into Bermuda shorts, matched with none other than an American flag tank top, how patriotic. 

"I'm almost thinking it would be better to go out in nothing," I say, looking at myself in the mirror. I glance over at Ellie, I know she's trying to play it off but I can tell she's shaken.  "You look so stupid."

"Damn," She says "I was just trying to show my support for those with IBS," Ellie jokes, trying to ease the tension.

The both of us are procrastinating on leaving the perceived safety of the shower house. I feel dread emanating from the woods, we will no longer be surrounded by four walls and engulfed by bright light. As we walk towards the entrance I reach for Ellie's hand, intertwining our fingers. "So we're going straight to the mess hall?"

"Yup," She says, giving my hand a little squeeze, it's her way of saying 'I got you'. I wonder if she can sense the panic pulsing through me or distress pumping in my veins. At the door I saw the tracks Ellie was staring at, they hadn't been ours. We walked in with muddy sneakers, these were barefoot prints, and whoever they belonged to had walked in many circles. I'm sick to my stomach once again, fighting the natural urge to vomit until I cry and my parents come to comfort me.

I click my flashlight on, but nothing lays ahead but forest and a beaten path. We stepped out into the darkness, it wasn't a far walk to the mess hall where everyone was gathered but that didn't stop my heart from racing like a rabbit moments away from getting snagged by a terrifying beast. 

My heartbeat slowed the further we walked, so far we hadn't been kidnapped by a pervert. I take a deep breath, trying to push overtly dark thoughts to the back of my mind, next to me Ellie is calm as a marble statue bathed beneath moonlight.

Each breeze makes me shudder despite the humid weather. Suddenly, regarding my current situation, the summer camp doesn't feel like home anymore. It feels like those abandoned houses up the road that my parents had carefully trained me to stay away from. The rustle of leaves is reminiscent of the laugh that belonged to creepy men who used to watch children at the park who didn't belong to them. 

I'm no longer met with the fresh scent of pine but something ancient, something rotted like it's been sitting in the back of the fridge for a decade. It reeks of shit to the point where I'm gagging on nothing like little hands of wind pushing on the back of my throat. 

My hand grows sweaty clasped to Ellie's though she shows no indication of being bothered by this. I hear a rustle somewhere around, whether it's in the trees or the bushes I'm unsure, instinctivly, I freeze. I look around, the gleam from my flashlight gliding across the flora, searching for something that likely isn't there.

"It's okay," Ellie says, her voice tender as a lullaby  "We're fine," She pulls gently on my hand to keep us going but I'm stuck in place. My flashlight is frozen on the body of a rabbit, Its white fur soaked through with red. I break my hand free from Ellie's grip and clasp it over my dry lips to choke down a cry. The entire skin of the rabbit's torso had been torn off on one side from the spine to the stomach, you could see its brown organs, the still beating heart, and everything that made it function was pooling out of it. If it hadn't been for its little head, beady eyes full of fear and perked-up ears, I wouldn't have known it was a rabbit at all. Whatever mauled it did a messy job that it hadn't quite finished like a dull axe to the back of the head. 

Behind the trees, I hear slurping, something wet and hungry. It wretches on what I assume to either be its newest feast or its saliva. It devours every last breath it has, the breathing is shallow and gruff like it's eating so fast it's choking on its meal, though it takes the time to slurp and swallow the remnants of whatever it's chowing down on. I see a pair of golden eyes glint behind a shrub in the cast of my light.

I reach for Ellie's hand again and run like I've never run before. She quickly takes the lead, so fast that she's nearly dragging me along. We don't speak but we understand each other clearly, we need to move. 

Trailing us, I hear heavy steps beating against the dirt pathway. I don't even need to look back to know that it's following u, its heavy, wet breathing is clue enough. I'm starting to feel a burning in my lungs, saliva builds in my mouth and I spit it down onto the pathway, heaving with every quick-paced step.

One of my too-tight pink flip-flops catches a rock stuck in the path and sends me tumbling to the ground. For just a moment I see a pitch-black figure wearing tattered clothing with amber eyes that glow light street lamps gaining on us; I could've sworn it had human hands and feet but I wasn't in my right mind, it's still enough to send adrenaline coursing through my veins. Without even stopping, Ellie pulls me back up and I kick off my other sandal, running barefoot on the trail.

My feet hammer against the dirt, rocks, and pebbles. I can feel the souls of my feet getting sliced and torn though I don't slow down, the sight of the mess hall in the distance makes me run even faster. 

"Hey!" Ellie yells, trying to capture the attention of someone in the mess hall. Her grip on my hand doesn't loosen, in fact, it gets tighter as she pulls me along. I don't know if whatever was chasing us is still there but I'm too mortified to check. 

I wave with my hand clutching my carabiner but it does nothing to garner any kind of attention within the mess hall. Our feet moving faster than we could form thoughts we ran towards the entrance. 

Ellie pulls the door wide open and pushes me in before slamming the door shut behind us. The very second my heaving body hits the floor, everyone's attention falls on us.

"Woah," Miles regards us with confusion before it morphs into a smile on his face "Did you guys just have sex?" He takes a bite of his sandwich, he looks like he got into Ashlynn's stash.

"Why do you look like Adam Sandler and Hilary Duff?" Dina furrowed her eyebrows next to Jesse, he looked like he was trying to work together some type of conclusion for why we were breathing so deeply and why my feet were bleeding. 

I look at Ellie and she meets my gaze, she no longer looks calm. There's a sense of dread written clearly across her features, that thing didn't seem animal, it didn't seem human either and I wasn't sure which was worse, the echo or the answer.  

A/N: Not much to say today but thanks for reading! Love you all.

TAGLIST: @wherearthepilots-blog @diddiqueen my tags are being so weird I’m so sorry if you weren’t tagged

[galadrieljones]

i actually wonder why you ship daryl and beth? i see them as friends and yeah i watched their scenes over and over and i didn’t see any love between them. And i see beth younger than him and i see daryl see her as a friend and sister So what is your reasons to ship them anyway!?

I'm going to assume this question is in good faith and that you are genuinely interested in why I (and many others) ship bethyl, so I'll answer in good (albeit cautious) faith. I'm also going to tag some of my friends and mutuals at the end who I would like to encourage to share why they, personally, ship bethyl.

First, know that I don't care if people don't ship bethyl. I also am not beholden to shipping "canon" ships. I don't care about any of that, and I think it's boring to restrict one's interest in shipping to what is canon or what the fandom accepts. You're free not to ship bethyl, and I won't be mad. That's your choice!!

BUT, since you're here of your own volition, realize that I personally don't buy the bethyl bond as "sibling-coded" argument at all lol. I can understand if someone just doesn't want them to be together, because they want Daryl to be with another character or something. That's fine and perfectly rational. I can also understand if someone does not like age difference ships, and they reject it on those grounds alone. Okay! That's your preference. BUT, Beth was 18 by the events of "Still." And the argument that they share a "sibling-coded" bond has never held water for me. Believe me when I say that I can see the argument for C*ryl before I can see the argument for Daryl and Beth being "sibling-coded," and that's saying a LOT. I've literally never had anyone successfully explain this perception to me using actual evidence from the show or from the actors/showrunners outside the show. It is ALWAYS subjective. And when confronted with evidence of a bethyl romance, these same people tend to just invoke their *age difference* as if that, in and of itself, is a dealbreaker.

IMPORTANT: It's NOT a dealbreaker, but some people in fandom these days mistake personal preference for moral paradigm, and these people tend to be very judgmental and to screech a lot and to spread rumors and to bully others. The same exact thing is happening to Neggie. But I'm not going to get into that right now.

Now, you say you don't see how they could possibly be "romantic." Of course, that's totally fine, but you will need to try and explain this to thousands of people lol. I am actually not super interested in going through, in detail, why I ship bethyl from a defensive position. I'm very sick of defending something that is, frankly, entirely unproblematic and also...popular! Other than Rickyl (which is a non-canon slash ship), Bethyl, even ten years after her exit from the flagship, is still the most popular TWD ship on AO3. It was popular at the time that the show aired. Jeffrey Dean Morgan's wife ships bethyl lol. Bethyl is not "weird." It's not even a rare pair!

AND YET, to put so briefly, if you *actually* care: I PERSONALLY love bethyl because I believe their characters exist in beautiful harmony. Beth is an artist. Her priority is beauty and continuously discovering what it means to live. She believes in the goodness of people. She is a religious character who has faith in God's love. She is, as Norman put it a long time ago, like a little light at the end of the tunnel for Daryl. She reminds Daryl of what it means to live, what it means to trust people and to have faith. She protects him from his own demons and reconnects him to the beauty that remains in a dying, horrific world. Daryl tends to forget about his own well-being and his own happiness. He prioritizes brute survival, because he was taught to do this over many years of emotional and physical abuse as a child. He is "used to things being ugly" and he frequently blames himself for things that go wrong. He closes himself off to others because he has a difficult time trusting that they won't abandon him or die. At the moonshine shack, Beth confronts him on this, and he confronts her right back. Beth isn't used to being challenged by men. But he challenges her to be better and to face her own insecurities as well. He makes her stronger. She pries open his heart. At the moonshine shack, she physically grabs him to remind him that he is still alive, and that everyone they've lost was once alive, too, and that just because they might be dead now, that's not his fault. The two of them still alive, while others are dead, that's not his fault, and there is still goodness in the world and things worth living for.

Speaking of physical touch, you really should rewatch "Alone" if you want to understand the physical and romantic chemistry between Beth and Daryl. There is literally so much that I could go through, but I don't have time lol.

The moment I fell in love with bethyl was actually in "30 Days Without an Accident," when Beth embraces Daryl in such a way that reassures him that he is not alone in a desperately lonely situation. Both characters are battling demons in this scene. But it's somewhat subtextual. If you don't watch closely, you may miss it.

That said, as has been established, a LOT of people did NOT miss it lol. It's just that a lot of people also want Daryl to be with someone else, or they feel the need to moralize on the internet. Neither one of those things is relevant to me, though I accept them as realities.

Anyway, I hope this helps! ->

@sasusc @frangipanilove @twdmusicboxmystery @pipergirl17 @sweetz1919

@emsee22 @drewmoll03 @bookqueenrules @bethiscomingsoon

@angelthefirst1 @bethgreeneprevails @im-immortal @rose-andthe-thorn @wdway @boltthrutheheart

and anyone else, I know I've forgotten some people 😩. I just went off the top of my head, so please chime in on why you love bethyl, or feel free to completely ignore this ❤️

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 18

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 5k

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

With Mary's letter in your pocket, you sit at the front porch of the house, cleaning your pistol. Yesterday when Karen had given it to you, you didn't have the energy to head into Saint Denis and meet the woman at the hotel. If she needs your help for something important then you want to be rested.

And the reason why you're sitting at the front porch is because you're waiting to run into Arthur. While Mary didn't say that you should bring him along, she also didn't state that you're not allowed to take him with you. By the sound of the letter, it kind of seems like she's more in need of a gun than a friend since she mentioned how well you scared off the drunk guy.

So having the outlaw with you would ease your mind about any potential danger, but who knows if he even wants to join you. He did seem quite shaken up when he met her back in Valentine. Nevertheless, he still helped her.

The front door opens, startling you slightly and a familiar figure steps through it. The moment Arthur's eyes land on you, he takes off his hat and nods at you as a greeting. "Mornin'."

"Good morning, Arthur.", you respond with a soft smile and his own lips curl up in return. As he leans against a pillar and lights up a cigarette, he looks down at you and raises an eyebrow.

"You doin' alright? You seem strange, but then again you're always strange.", he asks, earning a dry chuckle from you. With a roll of your eyes, you lean forward in your chair and give his side a playful smack.

"Real funny, Mr. Morgan." You shake your head and slide the Pistol back into the holster before meeting his gaze again. "There's actually something I want to ask you."

"'Course. What is it?"

A hum escapes you as you contemplate your next words. Your hand wanders to the inner chest pocket of your coat where the letter is. "It's about Mary. She's asking for my help and-"

"And you want me to tag along.", Arthur finishes your sentence and you nod. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette before breathing out a cloud of smoke through his nose. "I don't know."

"It sounded important.", you quickly argue and stand up from your chair. "It sounded like she's in trouble or something. Arthur, please."

The last word you say with a more urgent tone and pull together your eyebrows as you stare him down. His resistance begins to crumble and a grim shadow falls over his face. "Don't gimme that look. Just 'cause you bat your lashes at me and say my name like that, you think I'll jump at your command?"

That's not the way you'd have said it, but he's not entirely wrong. It's more than obvious now that he has a soft spot for you and you might or might not be using that to your advantage with this. After a while of you just looking at each other, he let's out a sigh and puts out the cigarette.

"When are we leavin'?" You fight back a victorious grin at his words and jump down the stairs of the porch.

"I was thinking right now.", you answer and without any more of his complaining, he follows you to the horses. Together you make your way towards Saint Denis and most of the ride passes by in silence.

"Now, just 'cause I said yes this once don't mean I can't say no to you. Understand?", Arthur speaks up and you bite down on your lips to prevent the smirk that is threatening to take form on your face.

Without looking in his direction, worried that your expression might betray you, you answer. "Of course, Arthur."

A chuckle escapes you at the end of the sentence and in the corner of your eyes, you see him shaking his head with a soft smile. Honestly, you don't even remember the last time he said no to you about anything.

Once you reach the hotel, you hear a familiar voice call out to you and you lift your head. Mary is standing at the balcony with a wide smile and waves at you excitedly. "You came! Wait right there! I'll come down in a moment!"

Arthur and you get off your horses and hitch them at the side of the road after she disappears into the building. Only a few seconds later, she comes out rushing through the front door and wraps her arms around you. "It's so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too.", you say, returning the hug and smile she's offering to you. Then her eyes land on Arthur and her entire face lights up in delight. It evokes a bundle of mixed feelings within you.

"Arthur, you came as well!", she exclaims and takes a few steps closer to him as if she wants to pull him into a hug as well, but her arms remain by her side.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me bringing him along.", you start after clearing your throat and she shakes her head hastily.

"No, I'm glad he came. It's a bit...well, the situation is that..." For a few more seconds, she continues struggling to find the right words until she let's out a defeated sigh. "Daddy..."

Arthur and you exchange knowing looks and he mutters an 'of course' under his breath. With a shake of his head, he turns his back towards the woman and runs his hand over his beard. "We're wastin' our time here."

Mary's eyes go wide after she hears him say that and she steps closer to him. "I know Daddy wasn't kind to you, but surely you can't hate a man for the sin of lovin' his daughter and wantin' better for her than..."

She struggles with finishing her sentence and Arthur turns around on his heels to face her. His expression is filled with anger and shock. "Than me?"

"Than the choices you make!", she counters, faster than a bullet, but her words seem to make the man only more outraged.

"What choice did I have? Did I ever have?", he argues, growing louder and earning disturbed looks from some of the people closeby. The scene these two are causing out here on the street fills you with embarrassment and if it continues on like that, you won't get anywhere.

Yes, you were the one Mary wrote to, but now you feel more like the third wheel here. With an irritated grunt, you go in between them and throw annoyed looks in their direction. "That's enough.", you demand with a tone that doesn't tolerate any protest and you turn to Mary. "What is it with your father?"

Much to your relief and appreciation, Arthur stays silent even though his expression makes it more than clear that he has a snappy comment for your question. Mary let's out a sigh and avoids your gaze. "Gamblin', drinkin' and all sorts of other things. He said be was goin' down to the Theodore Eckhart stables. Somethin' 'bout a horse. It's down by the water in the warehouse district near the train yard."

"No. Not a chance.", Arthur chimes in almost immediately and both her and you give him strange looks. "I know the kind of trouble he gets himself into."

With that he motions for you to follow him back to your horses and you grab him by his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. "What has gotten into you? We said we'd help her."

"That man keeps nasty company. If you get hurt 'cause of him..." He doesn't finish and you take his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I will be fine. You know that I can take care of myself if it gets bad. I'm like a cornered tiger." Your quote from Pearson gets an involuntary chuckle out of him and you smile. Slowly, his resistance crumbles away and he nods to himself.

With a victorious grin you turn to Mary, noticing a weird look in her expression. Before you can decipher what it means, it vanishes and she mounts Penthesilea with you. Together you follow Arthur to the warehouse district.

That entire time, you can feel a strange tension in the air and Mary's silence feels oddly heavy. You make a mental note to yourself to ask her about it later when the opportunity arises. Once at the stables, all three of you jump down onto your feet and you cross the street towards the entrance.

"I'll head in myself to see what state he's in.", she says with both hands on the handle and you gently place yours on her shoulder.

"I can come with you.", you offer and she thinks for a short while before nodding. Arthur stays outside while you and her enter the building. Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that's about to unfold infront of you.

There's a man, who you assume is Mary's father from the fine clothes he's wearing, and describing him as drunk is an absolute understatement. The entire place reeks of alcohol and you wrinkle your nose at the stench. His face is flushed and he's grumbling incoherent sentences to himself.

The stable owner, who stands only a few feet away from him, looks like he's about to smack the ever living shit out of him with the broom in his hands. Mary is at her father's side almost immediately. "Daddy!"

A bit too harsh for your taste, he pushes her off him and points his finger at her. "You! What in the nine hells are you doin' here?"

Completely ignoring his question, she is by his side again and wraps her arms around his. A pleading look is on her face as she tries to drag him out of the stables, but he breaks free from her hold. With a huff, he dashes through the front door. Mary and you are closely following behind him.

"I have half a mind to kill you myself!", he yells at his daughter and your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. Arthur really wasn't kidding about that man.

"Daddy.", Mary responds heartbroken and a veil of hurt falls over her. If you weren't such good friends with her then you'd probably have decked him, but something tells you that would only upset her more. "Daddy, come home! You're tired!"

"I am no such thing! You get away from me, head home! I insist upon it!", he yells while waving his hands frantically around and hastily walking away. "Damn nuisance."

The interaction makes you sad, really and you feel Arthur's presence next to you as Mary turns around to look at you. "Still as charmin' as ever, I see.", Arthur comments, but she ignores it.

Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern and her hands are neatly clasped together infront of her. Even in situations like this she manages to look like she jumped straight out of a book. "He's up to no good. We better follow him."

The three of you keep a safe distance from the man, but he's had enough drinks that you could be walking right next to him and he wouldn't notice. Aimlessly, he stumbles through the streets, bumping into one person after another.

After crossing the road a few times and passing through alleyways that reek of piss and rat shit, he stops behind a building and takes out a small object that you can't make out from this distance.

"What do you think he's doin'?", Mary whispers in a concerned tone and furrows her eyebrows together.

"Well, he could be waitin' for a woman of dubious morals.", Arthur answers, making the crease on her forehead deeper and you reassuringly place your hand on her shoulder.

As your gazes meet, you give her a soothing smile. "Or he's just trying to sell something.", you chime in, which could be true. Whatever he's holding in his hands, he might be trying to get some money off of it. It doesn't sound too far fetched.

Another man comes out of the building, tall and thin to the point where you're pretty sure that the smallest gust of wind could send him flying like a napkin. "Ashton.", Mr. Gillis greets him. "Have you got the money?"

So you were right with your assumption, but just what is he selling? An object so small can't be of much value can it? Well, if you could get a better look at it then you'd know. "Have you got the brooch, Mr. Gillis?"

He hands over the object and the thin man holds it up in the air to get a better look at it. In the corner of your eyes you see how Mary's face contorts into an angry grimace. Seems as if the brooch is not only valuable regarding the price but in sentiment as well.

"That is mother's brooch.", Mary hisses through gritted teeth. The words come out of her like venom and Arthur puts up his hands.

"It's just a brooch.", he says in an attempt to calm her down, but you don't think that anything can at this point. She looks absolutely furious, livid even and you're afraid that it might escalate.

With an irritated huff and a shadow cast over her soft features, she stomps over to her father. Her shoulders are squared up and her hands are balled into fists as if she's about to give him a beating. "I can't believe you sold mother's brooch!", she shouts at the top of her lungs.

A shiver runs down your spine as you watch her point her slim finger at him, wiggling it infront of his face. He's twice her size and clearly too intoxicated to think straight. Worried, that he might explode as well, you rush to her side and tense up, ready to intervene.

"That's theft!", she yells at him and his eyes fall on something behind you.

"Oh, speakin' of thieves. I see you found your outlaw again.", he says, his voice oozing with discontent.

Arthur doesn't seem too fazed by his hostility towards him. In fact it looks like he's even used to it. He greets him with a casual wave of his hand as if he's an old friend. "Hello, sir. Have you been well?"

During the commotion, you notice the tall man slipping away, throwing nervous glances in your direction. With a pleading look, you turn to Arthur. "Could you get that brooch back?", you ask in a hushed tone.

The outlaw let's out a sigh, but nods. "Sure." His answer comes out short and he jogs after the other man.

As you turn your attention back to Mary and her father, you see that their argument slowly comes to an end. She throws some more words at him, angry and hurt, but it's like talking to a wall. It upsets you how he dismisses her with a wave of his hand and walks off as if she's nothing but an inconvenience to him.

An annoyed grunt escapes her and with the fire in her eyes dying down, so does her energy. Defeated, she flops down onto a crate and burries her face in both hands. For a moment there you think she will start crying, but no noise leaves her throat. Slowly, she looks back up at you and you offer her a soft smile.

"I'm so sorry that you had to see all this.", she says, her voice weak and tired and you sit down next to her.

In an attempt to comfort her, you place your hand on her back and rub circles on it. "You're not the one who should apologize. He is."

"He hasn't always been that way, you know? He got lost when mother died and-" She leaves the rest unspoken and shakes her head. "Nevermind. I don't want to think 'bout that right now."

A heavy silence falls over the two of you as you wait for Arthur to return, hopefully with the stolen brooch. Your mind ponders as you try to come up with another topic to talk about, something to distract her with. Surprisingly enough she beats your to it. "You and Arthur seem close."

Her statement strikes a cord in you and instinctively you pull your hand back. Now that is definitely not the distraction you were aiming or hoping for. For a very long time, you stumble over your own words, unsure how to answer and her lips curl up.

Understanding is laying in her expression as she locks eyes with you. "It's alright. I'm not upset if that's what you're afraid of. I'm happy actually."

"I don't know what to say.", you admit, sounding almost breathless. "The other day in the saloon. You told me that you're still thinking of him."

She nods. "I did, yes and it was true. After everythin' with Jamie, after seein' Arthur again...he seemed like the man I used to know and love, but at the same time so different. I started dreamin' and fantasizin' again."

You're left speechless, uncertain what to think or feel right now. A part of you feels guilty for not mentioning your bond with the outlaw sooner to her, but another part of you is also relieved. Relieved that it's finally out there and that it doesn't affect your friendship with the woman negatively.

On the contrary, she looks incredibly happy as she takes your hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze. "What Arthur and I had was true and wonderful, but it could never work out between us. I could never accept his lifestyle and neither can he accept mine, but you...you're livin' his life. You have a certain understandin' of that strange code of his that I lack."

A mix of emotions well up in your chest and you feel like it's going to burst, but she keeps on going with her moving speech. "Perhaps he is smarter now and will become a better man for you. I dearly hope so, because you deserve it, my friend."

Without hesitation, you pull her into a bone crushing hug which she returns with the same amount of vigor. You barely even notice Arthur returning until something shiny flashes in the corner of your eyes and you let go of the woman. After giving it a closer look, you recognize the brooch and Mary jumps up to her feet.

"You got it back!", she exclaims in excitement, but it's quickly being replaced by a shadow that casts itself over her face. "It's better that I don't know what you did to get it."

"Hey, I bought it from the feller. Fair and square.", Arthur counters offended, almost pouty even and she briefly raises her eyebrows in surprise. Then she stares longingly at the brooch for a very long time before pocketing it with a sigh.

"We can give you a ride to the hotel.", you offer, but she shakes her head.

"No, the trolley is enough. I can find my way back by myself just fine.", she argues with an exhausted smile. Today's events clearly drained her and you get up from where you're sitting as well, straightening out your skirt.

Mary joins you ontop of Penthesilea and you follow Arthur to a nearby trolley station. She wraps her arms around you and you return the hug. "Don't be a stranger.", you say, making her chuckle softly.

"I won't.", she answers and turns to Arthur. Both of them are a bit more awkward with their farewell until she takes his hand in hers. "Goodbye, Arthur."

He mumbles a quick 'goodbye' too and with that she steps onto the trolley. You wave with your hand as she disappears around the corner and you let out a sigh. Looks like it's time to return to camp again, now that that's settled. Just as you're about to go back to your horse, a hand grips softly your wrist.

"Hey, I was thinkin'...", Arthur starts, struggling. His eyes flicker towards everywhere except for your face and he slowly takes off his cowboy hat. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. "What are you doin'? Right now, I mean."

The sudden question takes you aback for a moment and you shrug with your shoulders. "Nothing, really. I was going to head back to camp unless you got different plans."

"I was wonderin' if you'd like to go to the theater. With me.", he says hesitantly, almost shy even. "Ah, forget about it. I'm bein' a fool-"

"No, I'd love to go.", you interrupt him embarrassingly fast and can't help the silly laugh that is escaping you. "Take me to the theater, Arthur Morgan."

The outlaw let's out a breathless chuckle, as if he can't believe that you agreed, but he hides the sound behind a cough. He motions towards the horses in a way as if he's opening a door for you and together you ride to the local theater.

After hitching your horses on the side of the road, he pushes open the entrance and steps aside for you to enter. Arthur leans against the counter where an employee is standing behind. "So what you got playin' right now?"

"We have a fire breather show, Mister.", the other man says with excitement and Arthur throws you a curious look over his shoulder. After you give him a nod, he buys two tickets and you make your way deeper inside.

The theater is packed with people, but you're lucky enough to find two free seats in the middle. As you move towards them, Arthur's hand doesn't leave your back until you sit down. But even then he picks up the contact again and places his arm around your shoulders.

Sitting this close next to one another with your thighs and arms touching comes almost naturally to you. After all, you've been sitting like that around the campfire ever since you arrived at Shady Belle. A smile tucks at the corner of your mouth at that thought and you relax.

All your attention is set on the stage where a man comes out from behind the red curtains. He introduces the fire breather, Antoinette Sanseverino. The man cracks a joke about how he tried to woo her, but quickly giving up, because she set his topcoat on fire. It gets a laugh out of Arthur next to you.

After the man leaves, the curtains are being pulled back and reveal a beautiful woman holding a lit torch. Her green stage outfit shimmers in the flickering light of the fire, making her look like she's out of this world. The entire performance is absolutely captivating, honestly.

She waves the torch around so effortlessly, swallowing and spitting out fire. It even reaches the middle row where you're sitting and everyone ducks away. The inside of the theater becomes awfully hot after a while and you rub the sweat off your hands on your coat.

Everyone in the audience starts clapping loudly once the show is over and you wipe away the pearls of sweat that are beginning to form on your forehead. "I think I need some fresh air.", you tell Arthur breathlessly.

He nods in understanding before standing up and leading you of the theater. Your chest is rising and falling heavily and your lungs welcome the cool evening air with open arms. "You alright?", the outlaw asks, concern lacing his voice and you quickly nod.

"Yes, I am. The air just got too thick in there."

"Okay then.", he mutters, scratching his cheek. Then an impressed look covers his face as his eyes fall back on the building. "That was quite somethin'."

"Tell me about it! Have you seen that bald guy in the front row, though?", you answer, matching his enthusiasm.

Arthur cackles at your words and waves around with one hand. "Yes! Didn't think his hat would catch fire like that."

During the performance, a man in the first row caught the tiniest bit of fire. His hat wasn't exactly burning, more glowing and he managed to put it out quickly. The high pitched squeals he was making during it all, was what made the audience chuckle in amusement.

After you and Arthur calm down from your laughing fit, you let out an almost disappointed sigh. "I guess it's time to head back home then."

Arthur hooks his thumbs into his weapon belt as he watches you. It's as clear as daylight that he doesn't want to end this either. "How 'bout we don't head back?", he asks then and you raise your eyebrows in curiosity. "Are you hungry?"

Now that you think about it, you don't remember the last time you had a meal today. As if it's scripted, the moment he finishes his question your stomach begins to rumble. With a smirk, Arthur extends his arm to you to have his hand somewhere on your upper back or shoulders again, always respectful with where he touches you.

Since he knows the city way better than you, you let him take the lead again and he takes you to a rather nice looking restaurant. It's nothing for the high society people, mind you, but it's not shabby either. Once inside, the place feels comfortable, cozy even and Arthur pulls out a chair for you to sit on.

When was the last time you ate out like this? The outlaw life has kept you busy and away from doing all these things that used to be so mundane to you. Now it feels painfully foreign. It gets to a point where you're afraid that some gang or the Pinkertons might dash through the doors any moment to get you.

"Hey, everythin' okay?", Arthur rips you out of your thoughts and you let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"I'm fine. I guess I'm just not used to this."

Not like I used to be.

He nods, but much to your relief, doesn't question it any further. It's not a topic you want to focus on at the moment. For now, all you want to do is enjoy the company and a hot meal that has been prepared in an actual kitchen for once.

After finishing the food, you stay a bit longer for some drinks and talk until the sun sets entirely. With a lot of protest from your side, Arthur pays for everything (once again) and you stumble out of the restaurant. Perhaps the alcohol has gotten a bit into your head and you run both hands over your face.

"We should stop at a saloon.", you mumble, earning barking laughter from Arthur. He had slightly more to drink than you, but it doesn't seem to have any effect on him. It makes you wonder just how much he had with Lenny back in Valentine to get into the state he was.

You look at his face. His flushed cheeks are the only indicator that he had any alcohol just now. Maybe it has actually gotten to his head as well and you're just not noticing it.

"Nah, let's get you to bed.", he says, leading you safely across the street and towards the horses. "How about you ride with me and we have your horse follow us?"

His idea sounds good. You usually prefer not to sit behind reigns even after one glass when you can avoid it. Only after wrapping your arms securely around his waist and feeling the warmth of his body on yours, do you realize how much you miss riding with him.

It's nice not having to focus on the road for once or having to be on the lookout for any danger. Sure, back in your time you had some nasty encounters, but not to this extend. Never in your life have you felt unsafe and exposed when going out without a gun, up until now.

Will I ever be able to shake this off?

Fortunately, you don't have the time to dwell on that topic, because you're already at camp. In the distance you see the light of a campfire, indicating to you that some people are still awake. How long have you been out?

Arthur and you walk in deeper, but stop at the fountain, leaving a generous distance between you and the others. It seems like he doesn't want to give them ammunition for teasing either, but you're afraid that it's too late. Karen has a nose for these things and has most likely noticed how long the both of you were absent today.

Before going to sleep, you should maybe prepare some excuses for her questioning tomorrow morning. Something tells you that she won't let you off the hook so easily this time. Quickly you push these thoughts away and turn to Arthur, smiling softly. "I had fun today."

"Me too." His answer comes out awkward and short. It's an amusing sight, seeing the outlaw like this. That man doesn't think twice when he throws himself into fist fights or crossfire, but whenever it comes to these moments, he seems so helpless. It's like watching a deer getting lost inside a city and trying to navigate through it.

Arthur's hat is off as always when he talks to you and his fingers are gripping it tightly. It's too dark to see it now, but you bet that the whites of his knuckles are showing. You bite back a chuckle. "I'd love to do this again."

"Me too.", he repeats and runs a hand over his beard. It could very well be the alcohol that is making you too bold when you gently put a hand on his cheek and place a quick kiss on the other. His beard is rough and scratches your skin slightly and you feel your fingertips tracing over old scars.

Arthur's entire body tenses up a bit, making him almost flinch away, but he stays unmoving. The darkness of the night hides most of his features, but you can make out enough of his expression to see the bashful smile.

"Goodnight, Arthur.", you whisper and leave him standing at the fountain as you make your way to your tent.

You feel his gaze on you all the way until you disappear around the corner.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe

[emilys-bangs]

of broken bones and hearts | e.p

Tags: established relationship, mom!emily, broken bones :(, mild hurt/comfort, a dash of angst, healthy helping of guilt ridden momily because of course she would be, use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: Eloise breaks a bone. Emily freaks out, you exercise damage control, and the both of you pamper her with affection.

Word count: 2.7k

Work is slow. Slower than usual. No cases, no consults, nothing except brain numbing paperwork. Usually Emily doesn’t mind it—it means being home for dinner, helping settle Eloise into bed and unwinding with you on the couch. But today it grates on her.

She’s staring down at a half filled report for last week’s case, tapping her pen on the dotted lines with an idle restlessness. Her sugar-brimmed coffee is down to dregs. The fluorescent lights make her feel caged.

Her phone vibrates with a call; Emily is answering before the first ring dies out. She automatically knows it’s you—or she hopes it is.

“Hi, babe.” She thumbs the skin between her brows, waits for the sweet relief of your voice to come through.

“Hi. Okay, listen. I’m gonna tell you something, but don’t freak out.” 

Emily stiffens. Her spine goes ramrod straight; immediately, her thoughts flit to Eloise. 

“Is it Eloise?”

“She’s fine.” You insist. “We’re at the hospital. She broke her arm at play time, we just got done with the x-ray and we’re waiting for the doctor.” You say it all in one breath, a long string of words that makes Emily’s mouth go dry. “She wants to talk to you.”

Emily is still blinking at her computer when movement rustles in her ear—the phone being pressed to Eloise’s cheek. A belated tremble rocks her hands.

“Mommy.” Eloise whines quietly. The sound grips Emily’s chest in a vice. She’s still stuck in five seconds ago, before images of her daughter in a cast flooded her mind. She roughly shakes her head, as if she can force them out.

“El, hi.” Her voice is rusty. Emily clears her throat, digs her knuckles into her eye. Stars burst along her vision. “I heard you’re at the hospital. How do you feel, my love?” 

“My hand hurts,” Eloise sniffles. She sounds like a kicked puppy.

Emily’s fingers flex into a sweaty fist. “I know it does, honey. The doctor’s gonna make it all better now, okay? You just…you just have to stay really still for them so they can put a cast on. And then you’ll get to choose a color for it!” She forces fake cheer into her voice. “I bet they have a ton of colors.”

There’s a stretch of silence on the other end. Emily’s thumb forces its way between her teeth.

“Pink?” Her daughter mumbles eventually.

“Pink sounds perfect. Just remember to stay really still while they’re putting it on, okay?”

“Mmn.” 

The dulled tone of her voice makes Emily’s heart clench. Eloise is almost always cheerfully rambling about one thing or the other, her inner monologue spilled out for you and Emily to hear, taking up more space than she does. Hearing her reduced to weak, monosyllabic responses twists at Emily’s gut. She blows out a stuttering breath.

“I love you, Eloise. I’ll see you real soon.”

“’Kay.”

Emily is already standing by the time your voice comes through again. 

“Why did you just call?” She questions, only paying half a mind to the way she bites out the words.

“Because I knew you’d do this and I didn’t want to freak you out—well, more than necessary,” your voice lowers, “—before knowing she’s okay. And she is. She’s in a bit of pain but they gave her Ibuprofen a few minutes ago, it should kick in any minute.”

“A broken bone isn’t fine,” Emily mutters, flipping her report closed and grabbing her purse. She doesn’t meet Reid or Morgan’s gazes as she steps past their desks to Hotch’s office. “I’m on my way.”

“We’re almost done here.” You say. For the first time, she hears the threads of exhaustion in your voice. Emily’s frown deepens.

“I’ll meet you at home, then.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You resign to it. So does Hotch. Emily tries to ignore the tremble in her hands as she gets in the elevator and presses P.

___

She gets home before you do. When you walk in with a McDonald’s bag in your hand it’s clear why. A pharmacy bag dangles from your wrist, dangerously close to slipping over the heel of your hand as you shut the front door. Eloise is in your arms, slumped and limp; her purple cast hangs listlessly off your shoulder.

Emily distantly clocks the deep violet but doesn’t linger on it, hurrying instead to lighten your load, taking the food and the meds before easing Eloise’s school bag from your grip. You murmur a quiet thanks. Her lips find your cheek, a wordless response, and then she’s stepping behind your shoulder to glance at your daughter.

“She’s pretty out of it,” you whisper. 

You’re not wrong. Eloise’s eyes are closed, lashes threaded together and resting on her cheeks. Mouth pressed into your shoulder, she breathes evenly, not stirring at her mother’s light touch when she reaches over to sweep the mussed bangs over her brows. 

“Poor thing.” Emily sighs quietly. “Let’s get her to bed.” She murmurs. You nod, though the sun still streams in through the windows and paints the house gold. 

It takes more effort than it usually does to settle your daughter into bed. You take careful steps all the way to her room and Emily drowns Eloise’s bed with more pillows than usual; when you finally set her down in it, you gently elevate her arm the way the doctor showed you to. Throughout it all Eloise only stirs when you move the cast. Her whine is muffled, fingers twitching where they peek out from under the plaster. Emily bites down on her thumb to stop herself from grabbing your hand away.

“How did it happen?” She asks when you’re in the kitchen, putting the happy meal in the oven. 

Your brows tick upward. “She was trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Jesus.” Emily groans into her hands. Guilt curdles in her stomach again, making her shudder with nausea. 

She was the one who suggested gymnastics lessons in the first place. Ballet and soccer failed to catch Eloise’s attention; she was too listless in her tutu and too disgruntled at being jostled around in her soccer jersey. Gymnastics seemed like a perfect fit. It’s only been a few months but she’s obsessed with it, constantly twisting and bending on the mat you’d gotten her, all but abandoning her toys in favor of rolling around in the living room. You and Emily had warned her time and time again about practicing without either of your supervision, but the girl is four years old and half Emily.

“It’s my fault,” Emily mutters. She digs her palms deeper into her eyes, sparks flashing in the dark. “God, what was I thinking? She’s fucking four years old—”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” You say, gripping Emily’s wrists and pulling none too gently. The look in your eyes is hardened with determination—a common sight that usually pulls her from the edge whenever she spirals about anything regarding your daughter. “You said it yourself, Em, she’s four. Accidents like this are bound to happen, whether she’s doing gymnastics or not.”

“She wouldn’t have tried to launch herself into the air otherwise,” Emily mutters, unsurprised to feel a dampness on her lashes.

“Wouldn’t she?” You tilt your head. Eloise is nothing short of adventurous, and both you and Emily know that. You squeeze a soft pattern on her wrists, fingers digging lightly into her skin before letting go and doing it again.

“No.” Her mouth pinches as she drops her forehead on your shoulder. “Maybe we should stop sending her to those lessons. They’re making her reckless.”

“They’re making her fearless. That’s not a bad thing, Emily.” Your fingers release her wrists and travel to the base of her neck, finding knots of tension. You start working them. “She’s not scared to try, and she shouldn’t be, just as long as we’re with her. But the point still stands—this could’ve happened for any other reason.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. She resignedly grabs on to your waist and inhales, filling her lungs with your familiar scent—shampoo, perfume, fabric softener. Something else sneaks in, too, spoiling the usual comfort of your fragrance. Emily recognizes it; faint traces of antiseptic. Her stomach turns.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” you murmur, now tracing her jaw, nudging her chin up to get her eyes to meet yours, “but not everything’s your fault. Things just happen sometimes.”

Emily responds with a sound deep in her throat, her brows arching wryly.

Your eyes narrow. “Okay,” you announce. “As your spouse, I demand you stop feeling guilty. Since I do know best and all.”

A smile tickles the corners of Emily’s lips. “Well, if my spouse insists,” she drawls, though her stomach is still unsettled from it all. A few years ago she’d have gaped in disbelief at this version of herself, but by now she’s well used to it—though she still doesn’t like it. Emily is perfectly composed, unshakable. Always. Except when it comes to you and Eloise. That has become a hard fact, as sure as the day is long. She’s entirely helpless to stop it.

“I do,” you murmur, pulling her in for a kiss. 

Emily belatedly realizes it’s the first time she’s kissed you since the morning. Her shoulders loosen from the press of your lips, soft against hers, the way you thread your fingers through her hair. Warmth builds in her chest; she wraps an arm around your back to keep you close, humming into your mouth. The world quiets for a moment, her frazzled nerves smothered into something more tame under your touch. Your nails gently scrape against her scalp and her spine warms, muscles unlocking as she lets go of your lower lip and nuzzles her nose into yours.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” she whispers.

“It wasn’t really a snap. More of a nibble,” you shrug, like you’re rolling it off your shoulders.

“Still.” Emily insists.

“It’s okay,” you give her a quick peck before escaping the cage of her arms, “I know how it feels. She’s my kid too, you know.” You make your way to the counter, peering into the grocery bag she’d left there before you came. “You went to the store?”

Emily nods as you pull out two sheets of stickers. “Got her ice cream,” she says, “and those. So she can decorate the cast.”

“Smart.” You hum. “She was pretty torn up about it not being pink.”

“What kind of hospital doesn’t have a pink fucking cast?” Emily scorns.

“A bad one,” you agree mildly. As your eyes scan the—very pink—sticker sheets, a smile starts to curve your lips. “But,” you wave them in the air, “at least you had the foresight.”

“At least.” Emily says dryly.

Silver linings and all that.

___

Emily’s leaning over dinner on the stove when a small voice catches her attention.

“Mommy,” Eloise mumbles, half squished into your shoulder. 

Emily turns to face the both of you, a sad smile spreading on her lips when she sees the cast again. It starts just under Eloise’s right elbow and continues until her little knuckles, leaving only her fingers exposed under the purple. The toddler’s head is cushioned on your shoulder, her eyes drowsy with sleep but fighting to stay open. You’d hoped she’d sleep through the night, but barely two hours after you put her in bed she called out through her ajar bedroom door.

Emily steps away from the stove and into the reach of Eloise’s stretched arm, obliging her daughter and gingerly taking her from you. She’s unsurprised at this show of affection; Eloise—like herself—often demands it, more so when she’s sick or hurt. It’s one thing she’s infinitely glad her daughter inherited from her, even if right now it comes with more work. You help adjust her casted arm across her chest.

“Hi, Eloise.” Emily whispers, a muscle somewhere deep under her skin unlocking at the familiar weight in her arms. She brushes a kiss on her daughter’s sleep-warm cheek. “How’s my brave girl doing? Is your arm still hurting?”

Eloise shakes her head, her brows dipping into a frown identical to yours. “S’okay now,” she says. That doesn’t stop her lips from curving into a pout, her frown growing deeper by the second.

Emily presses her thumb to the wrinkled skin between her brows. “What is it, my love?”

Eloise burrows into Emily’s neck, her free hand curling around the collar of her sweatshirt. She huffs out a warm sigh, deeply grieved. “They didn’t have pink,” she mumbles.

You chew on your lip, clearly attempting to keep the smile at bay. Emily pulls a face at you as she absently smooths between Eloise’s shoulder blades.

“That’s awfully rude of them.” She says softly. Her lips find the warm skin of Eloise’s forehead; Emily presses a kiss there. “What if we put some pink stickers on it? Would that make it better?”

The sound Eloise makes isn’t entirely too pleased, but Emily carefully carries her over to where the stickers are anyway. She grabs a sheet and holds it up, thumbing at the plastic covering. “I got these for you. What do you think, would they look pretty on your cast?”

Eloise frowns at them, unconvinced. She reaches out to touch a sticker, her finger hovering between a slice of strawberry topped cake and a pink ice-cream cone.

“Those are pretty,” you nudge gently, sifting your fingers through Eloise’s bedhead and tucking some of the hair away from her face. “Do you wanna try putting them on?”

Her lips purse into a contemplating pout. Eloise shakes her head, turning to bury her face back into Emily’s neck again. Her frown is practically etched onto Emily’s skin; she can feel it, as sure as she feels the wild hair tickling the underside of her jaw. While this is a lesser pain than hearing her daughter’s distressed voice through the phone, it still throbs dully. Biting back a sigh, she sets the stickers down.

You step in again.

“Are you still hungry, El?”

Suddenly the weight of Eloise’s head lids off of Emily’s shoulder. “Did we get McDonald’s?” She asks, more energy in her voice than Emily’s heard all day. It’s a familiar burst of sunshine, the warmth of it sinking instantly into her skin. She closes her eyes and absently kisses the side of Eloise’s head, thanking all her lucky stars for you.

“We did, honey. Do you want to eat that now?”

Eloise’s frantic nodding makes both you and Emily smile. She comes out of her hiding spot, sufficiently appeased with the shift in conversation. As you heat up the meal, Emily grabs the toy inside and hands it to her daughter. 

“I’m gonna set you down now, honey.” She says. Eloise doesn’t pay her any mind, too preoccupied with the toy in her hand to care. Emily sets her down on the counter and hides a wince at the pull in her shoulder as she grabs the golden, sugar infested cup of apple juice in the greasy bag. You chat to Eloise as the food heats up, pulling her attention away from Emily diluting the juice.

“Can we also watch Star Wars?” She mumbles, fiddling with the toy one-handed. 

No TV while eating is a strict rule of yours. But under the weight of Eloise’s pleading eyes and her vibrant cast, it bends. A soft sigh answers, and Emily stifles a smile as you nod and murmur your assent.

That’s how you end up eating dinner on the couch, two pasta bowls and a happy meal on your respective laps, an army of stuffed animals joining you amongst the cushions to watch Lego Star Wars. Sergio serves as a willing armrest for Eloise’s cast, and that night the whole family wedges into your bed, carefully nestled between you and Emily.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[reminiscingtonight]

It’s All Fun and Games...

Leah Williamson x Morgan!Reader

Word Count: 662

A/N: These burbs aren’t in any specific chronological order

Sisterly Love Masterlist

[WOSO Masterlist]

As a professional soccer player, sometimes you don’t want to be playing soccer in your downtime. 

Today’s not one of those days. 

You can’t really remember who proposed it, but someone said something about a little friendly 2-on-2 and the next thing you know, the four of you are trudging to a nearby park. 

Alex (Morgan) was visiting for a couple days, so like the proper best friend she is, Alex (Scott) also wanted to tag along when she heard Leah making plans. The four of you had just had a nice little brunch, and with the great weather in London, it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. The solution ended up being a small 2-on-2 match, something that surprisingly no one objected to.

You’ve just dropped the ball on the ground when Alex asks a pretty reasonable question. “So how are we choosing teams?”

Leah opens her mouth, but before she can answer, you’re blurting out a response of your own. 

“I call Scott!”

“What?” Leah whips her head around, face scrunched up in confusion.

“What?” Your sister’s glaring at you, a little offended at not getting picked.

“Me?” Alex looks a little pleased, but still feigning nonchalance to avoid the wrath of both your girlfriend and sister.

Shrugging, you try to hide your grin. You slip an arm around Alex’s. “Sorry gals, you snooze, you lose. Plus Alex is like a football legend, of course I’m gonna want her on my team.”

“I’m sorry, which one of us has won two World Cups, gotten an Olympic gold, and--”

“Vanity isn’t a pretty color on you, Al,” you tsk, ignoring the offended gasp your comment earns you. 

“Excuse you, forget Alex. What about me?” Leah pushes her way in front of your sister. She’s looking pretty peeved at being left out of consideration. “I’m your girlfriend. Where’s the Arsenal loyalty, babe?”

“Legend,” you repeat, pointing at the woman still attached to you. “Arsenal legend. If anything I’m being even more loyal to Arsenal by choosing her.”

“Oh shut it, you know what I mean.”

“You know what, Leah? It’s fine.” Alex (Morgan) places an arm on your girlfriend’s shoulder. “I for one am happy to have you on my team. And we’re going to have a blast creaming them.”

Never one to be left out of conversation, Alex (Scott) speaks just before the four of you head to your respective halves. “So is there anything at stake in this game? Do the winners get anything? Or punishments for the losers?”

“Loser has to adopt (Y/N),” Alex (Morgan) grumbles, tightening her shoe laces. 

Leah’s eye twitching is the only evidence of how close she is to considering it. “Losers buy dinner tonight?” she proposes instead.

“Hope you like pasta!” you sing out, pretending not to notice the dirty look Leah instantly shoots your way. 

While Alex and Leah quickly huddle up to talk strategies, you and your Alex huddle up to do the same. 

Before you can get a word in, Alex is putting a hand on your arm, tilting her head at you inquisitively. “Love the vote of confidence, ‘go us!’, but you do know I’m the only one out of the lot of you who doesn’t play professionally anymore, right?”

You shrug. “And? Don’t say you’ve never wondered what it would be like to score against Alex Morgan. Or better yet stop her from scoring.”

You must’ve said something wrong because Alex is instantly trying not to laugh. “Oh honey,” she coos, lips twitching in amusement. “How old do you think I am? I’ve most definitely played against your sister before. Not really something I’m looking forward to doing again, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

You should’ve heeded Alex’s warning a bit more.

Leah tries not to be too smug when you end up getting Nandos for dinner. 

Your sister on the other hand, well she doesn’t even try to hide her glee.

[relicsongmel]

The dubious nature of Iris' name (and what it means)

Sister Iris Fey Hawthorne of Hazakura Temple finds herself in a rather peculiar situation for the Ace Attorney franchise in the fact that she is one of very few characters without a canonical last name. Of course, this hasn't stopped fans from assigning her one—for the purposes of tagging and categorization (or simply to distinguish her from Iris Wilson from The Great Ace Attorney series, because "Iris Ace Attorney" is no longer specific enough), every Ace Attorney fan seems to have a different answer as to what they call her, whether it be Iris Hawthorne, Iris Fey, Iris of Hazakura Temple, or simply Sister Iris. This confusion is understandable given the lack of a clear answer in canon as to what her legal last name is as well as her unusual upbringing; what with being raised in Kurain Village as a Fey, taken away by her father as a Hawthorne, and then sent to Hazakura Temple to become a nun. However, before we delve further into Iris herself, there's something a bit unusual (that I don't often see acknowledged within the fandom) that I'd like to bring up—that being, that this name drama not only affects Iris, but her twin sister Dahlia as well.

Simply put, Dahlia Hawthorne being named Dahlia Hawthorne doesn't make much sense when you think about it. Dahlia was born to Morgan Fey, the then-leader of the matriarchal line of spirit mediums of the Kurain Channeling Tradition. As such, it's safe to assume that she and her twin sister were also given this name upon their birth—so why, then, does she have her father's (or possibly her stepmother's—it's unclear) last name when we meet her in-game? Children generally do not have their last names changed when their parent remarries, so what's the deal? This strange situation makes slightly more sense when you remember that much of Trials and Tribulations builds up to the reveal that Dahlia and Iris are Morgan Fey's daughters; as such, Dahlia appearing in Chapter 1 and introducing herself as "Dahlia Fey" would be a MASSIVE spoiler for the events to come.

As for an in-universe explanation, we obviously aren't given one, but we are given a bit of insight from Dahlia (while disguised as Iris) regarding their father's perspective on leaving Kurain Village:

"He hated the place. He said it was a hick dive, and that he had no reason to stay there."

I think it's not an unreasonable stretch to say that their father wanted nothing more to do with the Fey clan after its reputation had been destroyed post-DL-6, and likely went to great efforts to separate himself (and his daughters) from anything that reminded him of it. With this in mind, who's to say he didn't have the twins' name changed? Now, obviously whether this affected Iris herself is still up for debate—it's possible she had already been sent away to Hazakura before this had all happened. But given that Dahlia implies Iris had only been sent away after their father's second marriage, I find it more likely that her name was changed beforehand. That said, it's still just a headcanon based on my personal preferences—I like the idea of Iris having the last name "Hawthorne" because I think the association with the Hawthorne Effect (in which one modifies their behavior in response to being watched) fits her really well, but I don't disagree with those who choose to use other names for her because there are good arguments to be made there as well.

However. However. The intrigue behind Iris' name doesn't even end there. We hear from Sister Bikini very early in Bridge to the Turnabout that it's Hazakura Temple tradition for nuns to choose a "temple" name—meaning that even Iris' given name might not be her real one. I hesitate a bit on this idea considering her name already pairs up nicely with Dahlia’s due to the shared flower theming (and Iris having a lack of respect for acolyte tradition in that regard would give her an interesting resemblance to her mother which I REALLY like), but if it is true it creates another fascinating bit of symbolism—Iris’ first name is a lie. A facade. Which fits in with her lying about her identity to Phoenix for 8 months and her general tendency to put up a front of whoever the person she's talking to wants her to be—whether that be Dahlia's obedient co-conspirator, Bikini's sweet and good-natured daughter figure, or Godot's accomplice and the scapegoat he can use to protect Maya. And neither of the common last names given to her by fandom accurately reflect/show the full picture of who she is either. Fey is what she was born as—but that name comes with a whole host of burdens and generational trauma that she likely does her best to distance herself from considering her tendency to run away from conflict like she did with the fake kidnapping and the aftermath of Doug Swallow's murder (she’s a lot like her aunt in that regard). Hawthorne ties her to the sister she so dearly loves—but also weighs her down due to her sister’s crimes, her role in said crimes, and the family she was sent away from against her will (even if it ended up being better for her) before it tragically fell apart. Neither one truly fits—the Iris name debacle is a perfect representation of the identity crisis of her character and that is nothing short of beautiful to me.

[astrophileous]

Love Bugs (Pt. 04)

Pairing: Derek Mogran x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): kidnapping, stalker/psychopathic behaviors, reader is being held captive, curse words (? - idk if there are any in this part but just in case), violent use of knife, tell me if I miss anything xx

Word Count: 1900-ish

Tag(s): @camilaheroine

Author's Note: I KNOW it seems like the chapters are getting shorter and shorter but I promise you it's because these last two ones are essentially mood-setters for the next big, prominent parts in the series. Sooo hang in there and I promise you'll get some juicy stuff on the new part on Thursday ;) meanwhile, don't forget to LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG to fuel me into making more chapters (especially if you reblog or comment 💞)

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Last night, Derek was finally able to sleep for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

He had lost count of the many nights he spent tossing and turning, reaching for his phone with the intention of calling your number just to fling the device across the room before his thumb could press the call button. He would trick himself into thinking that whatever he needed to say could wait until the next day at work, only to be tongue-tied any time both of your paths would cross.

Derek Morgan had always been a courageous man. He had even proven that he would gladly give his life to hold the hand of someone sitting on top of a bomb if it meant that person wouldn't leave this world alone.

But when it came to you, Derek was an utterly, foolishly, shameful piece of coward.

"Good morning, everyone." Hotch's greeting broke Derek out of his stupor. "Let's start the day, shall we?"

"(Y/N) isn't here yet," Emily spoke up from beside him. At the mention of your name, Derek's ears instantly perked up. "Should I call her?"

Hotch stared at the empty chair where you were supposed to sit, seemingly deep in his thoughts before answering, "It's alright, I'll catch her up later myself. Shall we begin?"

The first to present their findings were JJ and Emily.

"We found something interesting while talking to the second victim's roommate yesterday," JJ began. "Apparently, the victim had been seeing some guy for the past few weeks before she disappeared."

"Why wasn't this information in our files?" Hotch frowned.

"Because our victim only disclosed this once to one of her friends at school that we didn't get to interview the first time around," Emily answered. "The roommate only just found out after they bumped into each other a couple of weeks ago."

"That's good. It's definitely a start. Gather everything you know about the date and send the information to Garcia. Maybe she can give us a list of potential suspects from there," Hotch ordered.

"Already done." JJ nodded.

"Okay, next. Reid, did you--"

"Sir?"

The sound from the doorway interrupted Hotch before he could even begin to voice his question out loud. Every head in that room turned towards Penelope standing in the doorway, a panic-stricken expression decorating her usually cheery face.

"What's up, Garcia?" Hotch questioned.

"Another package just arrived, sir," she informed nervously. "It's our UnSub."

Hotch abruptly got up from his seat. "Did you get a chance to take a look at the video yet?"

"I-It's not a video tape, sir."

"What is it, Garcia?" Rossi asked.

"It's a flashdrive." She cleared her throat. "I, uh, did a routine check to make sure that it didn't contain any viruses. Not like it matters. I probably could still access the files if he had used the common accessible viruses in the market. Thankfully, though, there wasn't a single virus in it. Which, of course, made my job a whole lot easier--"

"Garcia," Hotch warned.

"Yes? Right, right. I'm sorry, sir. What I meant to say is that the flashdrive didn't have any kinds of virus." Garcia started playing with her fingers, a physical tell which Derek knew could only mean that she was feeling anxious. "But I think you guys should see this."

Everyone scrambled from their seats to follow Garcia out of the conference room. In the middle of the bullpen, a large projector had been set up, its large screen covering the vast area of one of the walls.

"Garcia," Hotch called in confusion. "You said that it wasn't a video tape."

"It's not, sir," Garcia choked out. Her glasses-rimmed eyes taking in the sight of the hunched figure on the screen, seated on a chair in what looked like an abandoned building similar to the one they found in the first video. "This is streaming live."

"What?" Emily muttered in shock.

"This is right now?" Hotch asked, to which Garcia answered with a series of rapid nods.

"He's finally chosen his next victim," Reid commented under his breath.

"Wait, look. She's waking up," JJ pointed out.

Every pair of eyes in the room watched as the figure started to stir. When she finally lifted her head, the entire universe seemed to stand still.

Somewhere in the room, Derek heard somebody gasp.

"No."

Derek shook his head in denial. His eyes blinking rapidly to clear the fog that had started to gather in his vision. For a second there, Derek had hoped that maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe the guilt he had continuously hoarded over the past few weeks had at last caught up to him, playing cruel tricks to his mind that made him believe he was seeing things that weren't real.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Derek realized that the scene in front of him was not the product of his overly heinous imagination.

Because the figure being tied down on the chair in that video was, in fact, you.

"That's... That's not--"

"That's (Y/N)," Reid uttered in disbelief, finishing the sentence that Derek couldn't get out due to the strangled air in his throat.

Derek's legs gave out underneath him. Before he could fall helplessly to the ground, the desk behind him caught most of his body weight, ensuring that he would stay standing despite the paralysis that had begun attacking his entire limbs.

His worst nightmare had just come true.

And Derek, for the first time in his life, finally knew what a pure, unadulterated terror felt like.

The insufferable pain was the first thing you registered when you opened your eyes.

Chronic migraines were a condition that had always run in your family. Your mother had them when she was alive. You started having them when you were in high school. At their worst, the migraines you had to endure were unbearable. They became insanely painful at times that you didn't even have the capacity to get out of bed.

But this headache was definitely worse. So much worse.

You blinked your eyes once, twice, three times in an attempt to clear the white threads in your vision. When your eyes had refocused enough for you to see without feeling like you were about to topple over, you began to take in your surroundings.

The room was humid and dark. The small ventilations to your right told you that the sun was already up, meaning that you were passed out all night long. With a few hours had passed since you were last conscious to the moment you woke up, there was no way to estimate the exact location to which your captor had taken you.

As your eyes swept over the large expanse of moldy dark concrete, they caught sight of a device being mounted on the wall.

A camera.

He was watching you.

The dread was quick to sink in your stomach. The camera meant that your captor had been watching your every move. And if he truly had, it was only a matter of time before he would pay a visit after learning that you had regained your consciousness.

As if he had been rummaging through your mind himself, you heard the sound of a metal door opening barely a few minutes later.

His presence reeked of atrocity. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed to the background sound of malice, promising all things devilish to anyone who ever caught a wind of it. You watched him appear from the darkness. All black attire--complete with a black ski mask--to cover his true identity. But even with nearly his whole face hidden, the cruel promise in his eyes alone was enough to make you shiver in place.

"Good morning, Agent (Y/L/N). You were asleep a lot longer than I thought you'd be."

You unconsciously tugged at the restrains that bound you to the chair.

"I saw your message for me, Agent. Did you like my gift?"

"The video tape. That was you?"

His eyes crinkled in the corner as if he was elated at the idea of you receiving the so-called gift he had prepared.

"You liked it?" he almost purred. "I knew you would. I knew you were different from the others. I saw you up there and I just knew that you were the one I was looking for."

"Of course. Thank you so much for such a special gift."

You knew the profile had stated that the UnSub loved attention, meaning that he also seeked validation and compliance from his victims. Trying to fight him would only result in catastrophe. Especially after considering that the video tape he sent showed apparent signs of unpredictable devolving from his organized self. He was intelligent enough to know if you ever tried to trick him, so your best bet at that moment was to play along with his fantasy and hoped that it would give you additional time to figure out a more elaborated plan of action.

"You already know my name, but I still don't know yours. What should I call you?"

The UnSub pondered your curiosity in the silence. "You don't remember me?"

His question baffled you.

His reaction implied that you must have crossed paths with him, somewhere, somehow, during the weeks that had passed since the press conference.

That knowledge alone had dread stirring higher in your gut.

"I'm sorry." You quickly tried to rectify the situation. "It's dark in here, and you're wearing that mask. A-and my head, it's throbbing really bad. Kinda makes it difficult to see or recognize anything. Or anyone."

Thankfully, he seemed to find your excuse acceptable. "You can call me Darling."

"Darling?" You hid the instant repulsion in your voice at the nickname. "Is that really your name?"

Booming laughter filled the room, chilling your bones and activating every fight or flight response in your body. The mirth in his eyes caused you to feel as if you had just delivered the biggest joke of the century by asking him that last question.

"No, it's not my real name," he let out after seemingly pleased by your accidental jab in humor. "Darling is what we are to each other. You'll be my Darling and I'll be yours. Forever."

Forever.

You ignored how that one single word ignited a massive turbulence in your bloodstream.

"Is that why you took all of those women?" you asked cautiously. "You were looking for your Darling?"

"Yes. But let's not worry about that anymore. I've got you, now." He stalked over to you then, taking your chin between his fingers and forcing you to stare into his eyes. "None of the others are as worthy as you, Darling. We are going to have so much fun together."

You inwardly cringed while imagining what exactly the type of "fun" he might have meant.

"I have a surprise waiting for us to commemorate our first day together," he suddenly told you.

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

He reached around his back before pulling out a dagger that he began to twirl in his hand. The sharp point of its metallic blade blinded you as your captor moved around your tied up body, stalking at every angle as if you were a prey he wanted to shred to pieces.

Eventually, his steps halted behind the chair you were tied to, rooting you in place with one hand on your shoulder while the other pressed the tip of the dagger to your jaw.

"Smile at the camera, Darling," he whispered behind your ear. "We have an audience."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your team is watching," he informed between his dark snickers. "Let's make sure the show is worth their time, shall we?"