#thank fuck on the field the chiefs have got it all figured out

[killa-trav]

as if i support two teams in two different sports with shit owners who refuse to invest, united n chiefs are sooo alike off the field lmao

[barbiewritesstuff]

Strauss blocked : Part 1

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Am I bad at naming fics? Yes.

Welp this was supposed to be a 2k porn without plot and it turned into 8k words two part series... oops? I just hope it lives up to expectations :)

I just want to thank my bestie @Igg5989 for beta reading (and helping me write) and @ravensmadreads for giving me the inspiration fir this fic.

Tw: this is SMUT, IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 GTFO I DON'T WANT YOU HERE OR ANYWHERE NEAR MY BLOG. Age gap relationship, boss x employee relationship, p in v sex and all that good stuff

Taglist: @feedthemadness-sweetie

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Section Chief Strauss was many things but when it came to working cases on the field, efficient was not one of them. She had tagged along under the excuse of performing personal performance reviews, assuring the team that she would not be getting in the way. She promised she’d merely be a ‘silent observer’ and to her credit, she had lasted an hour in that role before interjecting in every conversation and second guessing every decision any of you ever made, and because she outranked you all, her will was your command. 

“I think she showed remarkable restraint,” Spencer joked, trying to lighten your souring mood, “I didn’t think she’d last an hour,” he added.

“Did she really have to pull rank when I tried to order breakfast? Like why does she care that I like syrup on my french toast?” you asked, sudden rage exploding out of you with an intensity Spencer could never have predicted, “No, apparently ‘Girls my age won’t be thin and pretty forever, I should watch my diet before my sugar intake starts affecting things’. What a fucking bitch.”

Spencer flinched, “Yikes, I didn’t think she actually said that. I thought you were exaggerating,” he admitted.

“I didn’t even paraphrase,” you replied, looking straight ahead at the investigation board. It had been filled up pretty nicely and evidence has been coming in, but despite knowing all there is to know about the victims, their habits, friends, families and lives, you were not even close to figuring out who he is. 

And that was largely because Section Chief Erin Strauss wouldn’t let you. 

Somehow, she thought that because she couldn’t stand crime scenes and dead bodies, you couldn’t either. It was true that the crime scenes are brutal, and even Morgan came back looking a little greener than when he left, but this was your job. A job she wanted to review your performance for all while not actually letting you out of the station. 

You thought maybe it was because you’re a girl. The only girl currently on the field team because Emily broke her foot and JJ was off for her annual holiday and while Garcia was your constant companion on the phone, you felt like Strauss didn’t actually realise she was a real person. She never said thanks, or please and she kept hanging up while Penelope was still speaking. You took a deep breath, if you weren't careful soon enough you’d be the one they’d have to put behind bars. Or not, because with the way she was behaving you had a feeling Aaron wouldn’t mind giving you a couple of false alibis.

Because as bad as she was with you, she was worse with him. 

He was a good chief, kind and caring when he needed to be but professional and just the right kind of demanding. A few years ago you’d have added a couple more flaws to that descriptions -- bully, drill sergeant, the kind of man who found it easier to trust men than women even if there’s no reason for it -- but he’d grown on you. Your relationship with him has changed. At first he was just a boss, someone you’d go home and complain to your boyfriend about. Then, when Haley asked for a divorce and you got out of your own relationship after finding out your boyfriend wasn’t half as nice as you thought he was, you became friends.

And recently it had changed again. 

You had finally managed to schedule a night out with the girls after unsuccessfully trying to find a date for the seventh time that month. It had been fun, you had all danced, drunk and chatted until the early hours of the morning before calling it quits and returning home. Which is where you had been when Hotch happened to be walking by, or rather, you had been in front of your home when he happened to be walking by. You almost didn’t recognise him, he had shed the usual work suit for a casual pair of jeans and a nice shirt. 

“Hi,” he said, clearly not expecting to see anyone he knew so late -- or early -- in the day.

“Hi,” you replied hesistantly, not wanting to betray just how tipsy you were even as you swayed by your door

“You okay?” he asked, “Not too cold?” he added, helpfully pointing towards your dress. You looked down to see what you meant. Looking to have a good time and maybe bring someone home, you hadn’t dressed particularly sensibly for the time of year. In fact, you had chosen the shortest dress you owned, a golden number that showed off plenty of cleavage and left nothing to the imagination. 

You looked up, horrified to see him smirking.

“I -- err -- I locked myself out,” you said, hoping to get yourself out of that awkward moment by changing the subject.

“I don’t live too far away, you can sleep over. We’ll call a locksmith in the morning,” he offered.

“It’s okay,” you assured him.

Hotch frowned at you, “I’m not having you become one of those girls on Dateline,” he countered. You knew he wouldn’t force you, but if you refused his offer, you would officially kiss a night in a nice warm house goodbye as your only other option was your car. 

“Fine,” you acquiesced. He shot you one of his rare smiles, one of the ones that lit up his own face and that made the usual ball of nerves you felt in your stomach at the sight of one of the FBI higher ups turn into a horde of fluttering butterflies. He didn’t usually give them out easily and you wondered if this one was aided by alcohol. As you approached him, your theory was confirmed. Beneath his nice aftershave and his usually minty breath you could vaguely smell whiskey. Your drunken brain stored that fact for the next office secret santa, you just had to rig it so you’d pull his name. 

“Date?” Hotch asked after a few moments of silence, the click of your heels against pavement echoing through the night.

“Just out with friends,” you replied, accidentally bumping into him as you walked.

“Me too,” he said, “College reunion.”

It felt weird having him volunteer that much information. Aaron Hotchner was the kind of man who liked to keep his work and home life separated and rarely ever let anyone in. Letting the team in on details of his divorce had been as hard and painful as the divorce itself so you never imagined he’d happily volunteer information about what he did in his spare time. 

“I had too much to drink,” he added in a whisper, like it was a confession, “I get chatty when I drink,” he grinned at you. 

“I can see that,” you giggled at him. You hadn’t meant it in any other way than a statement but Hotch grew serious anyway.

“You can tell me to shut up if I annoy you,” he said, looking at the pavement. 

“No I--” you protested, part of you wondering if the reason he kept quiet wasn’t because of professionalism but rather because he thought people wouldn’t care

“I like chatty you,” you said and he looked up, smiling at you for the second time in twenty minutes, “I also like smiley you,” you added.

“Did you have fun?” you asked a little later, for some reason, silence with Hotch now felt opressive.

“It was nice seeing them all. It’s weird though, they’ve all changed so much that I barely recognise them. Like, I look in the mirror and I think I look pretty much the same, I mean older obviously, but like I look the same,” he said, “and then I look at them and --” he brought his hands up to his head and mimicked an explosion, “I haven’t missed them though,” he added with a giggle.

“No?” You questioned, looking at him curiously. 

“God, no. Pretentious assholes,” he replied with a heavy sigh. 

“Sweetie, you went to George Washington University,” you laughed, “Of course they’re all pretentious.”

“Fair point, Agent,” he smiled. 

“Y/n,” you corrected, “My name is Y/n when we’re off the clock.” 

“And mine is Aaron,” he replied

“Well, Aaron, can you tell me how far away we are from yours? My feet are killing me,” 

“Not too far,” he replied, “Do you see your college friends often?”

“Not the majority of them. We keep in contact, call sometimes but there’s only five I see regularly. They’re the girls I went out with,” you informed him. 

“Are they nice?” He asked, “My bunch are…,” he hesitated, “They keep making these underhand digs at those who they see as less successful. I don’t think I’ll go to the next one. It just feels like a dick measuring contest,” he said, then clapped a hand in front of his mouth once he heard you laugh and realised he had sworn, “Sorry,” he apologised, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m trying not to swear because Jack is picking up on it. It’s not going great I keep fucking it up -- no wait! Shit! -- No! Fuck!” he exclaimed, accidentally letting out a swear whenever he realised what he had done. You couldn’t stop laughing and stopped for a moment, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. 

“I am polite,” he assured you, “pinky promise,” he added

“I believe you,” you grinned

“I am so polite that when I get home, I am going to offer you a coffee,” he said. 

“And I will accept,” you said, “I need to sober up, otherwise I’m going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. And believe me, you don’t want to meet me when I’m hungover.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “You’re young, it’ll pass quickly. I remember when I was your age, a hangover was just a headache, now? I have to take a sick day to recover.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a little?” you asked

“Never,” he grinned, “Okay, maybe a little.”

“You are allowed to take days off, Aaron,” you reminded him, “You’re human, you deserve a break.”

He shrugged again, “What would I do during a break? Haley has divorced me, Jack’s only here one week every other week… I don’t want to spend more time in my empty house than I need.”

“You can go to the movies?” you offered, “Have you seen Avatar?”

“Can I be honest?” he asked, “Those blue people creep me out.”

“That is fair,” you replied, “I don’t like the hair,” 

“Yes!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in victory, “They look like elephant trunks,” he added, “My house is there,” Hotch pointed to your left at a small white brick house. One that you had passed many times when you walked your elderly neighbour’s dog. Hotch opened the wooden gate and walked up the path, accidentally tripping on a badly placed stone.

“Watch your step,” he whispered to you. Clumsily, he fished his keys out of his pocket and tried to fit it in the door in the limited light of the porch lamp. Eventually, he got it in and turned it in the lock. It opened with a click. 

“It’s nice,” you said, stepping in behind him

“Liar,” he answered, flicking the light on, “It’s dark. Was. It isn’t anymore.”

“Well it’s nice anyway,” you said, looking around. Although the furniture looked old, it was nice and it looked expensive. On one of the rare nights you had gone on as a team, Hotch had mentioned briefly living alone in Seattle when discussing rent with Emily, and you wondered if this wasn’t one of the remnants of that time. 

“Do beer goggles work on furniture too?” he joked. You stuck out your tongue at him and he grinned. 

“I thought you were polite?” you said, reminding him of his promise.

“Right! Yes! Would you like a coffee?”

“Milk and sugar please,” you answered, trying to undo the straps of your shoes and failing, wiggling your feet out of the heels instead. You’d figure out how to unclasp the buckle in the morning, when you were sober and your feet were killing you less. 

“Do you like DC?” he asked, handing you a steaming mug of coffee a few minutes later. You nodded, taking a sip, burning your lip in the process. Hotch saw you wince and bring a hand up to your mouth and immediately moved to your rescue.

“I am such an idiot,” you said.

“Don’t say that,” he frowned, grabbing your hand by the wrist and moving it away from your lip, “Let me see.”

He leant towards you, staring intently at your mouth. Your head swam more with every second he spent close to you. At work it was easy to keep your all consuming attraction to Aaron Hotchner at bay. He was your boss and maintained a professional distance at all times, preferring to call you Agent, and never asking anything for information about you beyond what he needed to know to feel like you could do the job. But with him so close to you, it was easy to allow yourself to close the gap between your mouths and kiss him.

To your surprise, he returned the kiss eagerly, slipping his tongue into your mouth and battling yours for dominance before seemingly regaining his composure and pulling away.

“We should stop,” he said, then, he hesitated, “Should we stop?”

“No, definitely not,” you answered, pulling him back towards you. Seemingly convinced, Aaron let his hands wander over your body before tapping the side of your thigh. Almost automatically, you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist and rolled your hips against yours. Hotch groaned, blindly stumbling his way towards the sofa where he placed you down on your back. He joined you on the pleather furniture, towering over you with a mischievous grin as he removed his shirt in one smooth movement and unbuckled his belt. 

“Like what you see?” he asked and you gulped. Although you had spent much of your private time imagining what Hotch looked like without a shirt you had never managed to get it right. His soft but toned dad bod seemed even more attractive in person. You raised one of your hands up in the air, gently grazing his skin and tangling your fingers in his chest hair, Hotch closed his eyes and sighed.

“Care to undress me?” you asked, Aaron’s eyes fluttered open as he came back to reality. He looked at you, eager and impatient underneath him and he smiled. He bent down, grabbing your dress by the hem. You lifted your waist up and allowed him to shuffle it upwards, slowly revealing what you kept underneath. 

You silently thanked yourself for wearing nice underwear, because you wouldn’t have wanted to subject Hotch to the panties you usually wore for work. Instead, you had chosen a pretty lavender set comprised of a bralette and a thong, which Aaron seemed very pleased with as once his eyes landed on it, he seemed unable to think rationally, luckily for you, the animalistic part of the brain the lingerie had turned on seemed more than happy to take over. 

Hotch pulled off your thong and shed his trousers and boxer shorts in less time than it took for you to blink. Seeing his erection jump free of his underwear and bump against his pelvis was enough to tell you that Aaron would be bigger than any man you had ever been with. You hesitated for a second, wondering how he would ever fit.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked but you shook your head, shuffling more towards him instead to make the message clearer, “I’ll be gentle,” he assured you. 

One of his hands came to touch your core, gently grazing the sensitive skin before allowing his thumb to rest by your clit. He rubbed circles around it, enjoying every whimper you let out before giving you what you wanted and rubbing your bundle of nerves. The moans that fell from your lips were like music to his ears. He desperately wanted to fit himself inside you, but he wanted to make sure you were ready for him. 

He rubbed you faster, with every touch you could feel the coil of pleasure in your tummy tighten and soon you tipped over the edge and came with a pornographic moan. Exercising all self control, Aaron brough a hand to his cock and jerked it a few times, letting the fingers of his other hand wander down to your aching core. He slipped one finger in, savouring just how tight you were before adding another one. He pumped them in and out of you, stretching you out, adding fingers until he felt you were ready for him. 

Hotch lined himself up with your pussy, gently pressing himself in. You happily swallowed every inch of him and when he bottomed out, he let you adjust for a moment before thrusting himself in and out of you at an accelerating pace. You felt like heaven gripping him so tight that he was sure he wouldn’t last very long. Luckily for him, it didn’t seem like you would either. 

Your hands were clawing at his back, leaving scratch marks that stung deliciously every time Aaron hit that spongey spot inside you, and your moans kept getting louder, spurring him on as he bottomed out and slammed himself back in until he could no longer keep himself from coming. With a groan he spilled himself inside you, triggering your own orgasm. 

You stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, catching your breaths before Aaron pulled out of you. He smiled at you, leaning down to leave one last kiss upon your swollen lips, leaving your relationship forever changed. 

Part of you wondered if anything had leaked. The both of you had been careful not to speak about it, in private or in public, but you worked with the best profilers the United States had to offer. It was possible someone had figured something out. Or, although you didn’t think she ever would, that Garcia had accidentally seen or heard something she never should have. Hotch wasn’t particularly careful with electronics. They were either in his suit pocket or in the back pocket of his trousers, it had never happened, but what if he had butt dialled someone? 

Although, you figured that was unlikely, since Strauss wouldn’t have come if she had any evidence at all, she would have just fired you. But it did explain why she insisted on sticking with you at all times, or why she had demanded a room right above Hotch’s, even though the hotel clerk, clearly wanting to impress the FBI’s section chief, had confessed to her that the room wasn’t all that soundproof. 

No, sadly, the more likely explanation for her overbearing presence was that she hated the team and how it was run. She thought it was too disorganised, too sloppy, and that its subpar running posed a threat to the FBI. You had to roll your eyes at that, you had been in many departments, working as an intern, then a secretary and eventually a full time salaried employee. You had seen more of the FBI than Strauss ever would, and you could say with absolute certainty that the BAU was the only team you had been a part of who ever filed their paperwork on time. Sure, most of the agents had a smidge of a hero complex and were far too eager to place themselves in danger when it came to unsubs, but the cases got cracked. The bad guys got caught. Reports got written and overtime filed.

And yet, she still insisted on making everything difficult. Quantico and the bullpen provided a little protection against her, you could always duck into a cubicle, blame your inability to speak with her on an ever climbing pile of paperwork -- even if you sometimes pulled empty sheets of paper out of the printer to bulk it up a little when it got a little too bare, a technique you had learnt from Rossi and that you had very quickly shared with the rest of the team. Only Aaron, the only agent whose pile was constituted only of real case files and documents wasn’t participating in the charade -- or simply pick the case the state furthest away from Strauss to escape her grip. 

Maybe she had gotten wide to the ruse and wanted to make you pay for it now. 

----

“Not feeling chatty?” Morgan asked the girl. She hadn’t spoken since Hotch and Spencer had apprehended her coming out of a potential victim’s back garden, red paint splashed all over her clothes. Once she was in cuffs and backup arrived, a message had been uncovered, the same message all the other girls had found and reported days before their untimely deaths. It wasn’t uncommon for unsubs to refuse to talk, although most of them at least demanded a lawyer or answered ‘no comment’ after every question. 

Avery Watts had been utterly silent since her arrival twenty minutes ago, and she hadn’t moved or blinked either. It was eerie, and Morgan was feeling it too. He was trying his best not to show it, but he kept glancing at the two way glass every few seconds, almost trying to reassure himself that if anything went wrong, someone would be able to help. He needn’t have worried. Spencer and you had made your way into the observational cubicle adjoining the interrogation room as soon as she had been brought in and you had been joined seconds later by Strauss, hot on your trail, and a rookie officer up for a promotion in a month and eager to learn. 

Avery shrugged

“Fine, I suggest you make yourself comfortable here then. We’ll be back tomorrow,” Morgan said, standing up from his chair and pushing it back underneath the table. Hotch gathered the papers in front of the unsub and placed them all back into his briefcase, leaving the pictures of the various crime scenes and victims last so she could get one last good look and one last chance for you to notice a reaction but none came. Instead, she grinned at Hotch.

“You don’t have any evidence against me,” the girl said, voice raspy from disuse, “You have to let me go.”

“I don’t need evidence,” Hotch replied, looking her straight in the eyes, “I can hold you for 72 hours without cause,” he added, wiping her self-satisfied little smile right off of her face, “And I will.”

Strauss pressed the comms button on the panel in front of you with a neatly manicured nail, “I really don’t think that is a good idea,” she said, sounding so confident in her own non-existent ability that you almost wanted to scream. You held it in, preferring to glare at her instead. Spencer, who had slowly moved to stand next to you -- whether that was to get a better look or to stop you from throwing your career down the drain you didn’t know -- grabbed your arm and squeezed it reassuringly. 

You smiled at him tensely and he returned the gesture. You were the two youngest members of the BAU task force and while a friendship was always bound to form, no one had been able to predict just how quickly the two of you had clicked. He was the resident genius, the model for the definition of a nerd and you were the ex-prom queen and cheerleading captain everyone at your school had voted ‘Most Likely to sell their soul for lipstick’, if either of you had been any less mature, the friendship would never have worked but as it was, there wasn’t a single day where you didn’t text, call, email or meet up for coffee with Spencer Reid. He was charming and kind, and a better friend than anyone else in your life had ever been. 

“Breathe,” he mouthed but you didn’t catch it, behind the two way glass Hotch moved. He placed the briefcase on the floor and walked up to the mirror.

“I am not letting her back onto the streets,” Hotch stated. As soon as the words left his mouth, the unsub moved. With surprising force, she flipped the interrogation table, breaking the cuffs off of the metal loop screwed onto the bottom of it and rearranged the piece of furniture right on top of SSA Hotchner’s trachea. She leaned in, pressing harder. Reflexively, Aaron tried to breathe in, letting out a raspy sound that raised the hair on your arms. 

You were the first to fly out of the cubicle and into the interrogation room, gun drawn and ready to shoot but when you kicked down the door, Avery moved away from the overturned table, hands raised up in surrender. Spencer came in behind you and immediately jumped to Hotch’s aid while the rookie stayed by the door, gun pointed at Avery, blocking her path in case she tried to leave, and blocking Strauss’ path in case she wanted to come in. You put your gun away and pulled out your cuffs, with a swift press of your foot to the back of her knees you got Avery down to the ground and restrained her. 

“Stay down,” Spencer told Hotch, one hand planted on the upper part of his chest, trying to keep the man from moving, “MEDIC,” he shouted. The rookie officer turned around and booked it through various corridors to get to the main office of the Santa Maria police department. Main office was a big word, only three officers operated the three shifts the day was separated into, with a volunteer officer coming in whenever the grocery store he worked for didn’t need him. The FBI’s presence had changed things a little, the BAU’s team of four and one or two medics permanently assisting the team dwarfing the police force without even really trying. It was lucky the police station had been built by an optimist in the late forties, as they had prepared for a mining boom that had never come and made the precinct much bigger than necessary. So big in fact, that half the rooms remained unused and only three of the twelve holding cells had ever been used at the same time. 

Officer Jones, the rookie whose name badge you finally took the time to look at, came back five minutes later, medics and Rossi in tow. They crowded around Hotch as he slowly regained the ability to breathe and then speak. You wanted to stay, seeing him hurt like that roused feelings in you you usually tried so hard to keep down, but Avery stirred and you suddenly remembered the reason Aaron was currently on the floor, recovering from the unsub’s idea of feng shui. You yanked her up and she yelped, feeling a slight bit of vindication you passed Rossi. He grabbed her other hand and helped you manhandle her down the hall into a badly lit holding cell. A ‘bed’ had been prepared, made from a thin mattress, a pillow and a scratchy blanket, and whoever had prepped the room had had the forethought to bring out a plastic cup of water. You walked her into the cell and uncuffed her. Avery glared at you in a way that told you that if looks could kill, you would have been the newest victims in her growing group. You turned around, walking out of the room as Rossi locked it. He turned away, but a strange sound resonated through the air and the both of you froze. Suddenly, you were showered with something cold and wet and Avery cackled, the plastic cup rolling out from under her cell. 

[show-your-fangs]

HIIII! I love your work, and I’ve recently came out as genderfluid and I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a fic about reader coming out as gender-fluid to Aaron? Lots of fluff and comfort lol 😂 if not totally fine. thanks! 💖

oh i love this. thank you for requesting it baby. hope you enjoy this cuteness! (it ended up turning into coming out to the entire team idk how or why but i love them and they love you)

i do apologize for using a such a cliché situation to get the ball rolling, but i think reader needed a little push to tell him and ids are always so fucking daunting to me.

Pairing: BAU x genderfluid!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff and discussions of gender.

Tags/warnings: coming out, the team being absolutely lovely, aaron being very kind, gentle, accommodating, reader wears a binder one time.

a/n: gender is such a wild thing. if you're reading this i want you to know that i'm so proud of you. much like sexuality, it isn't linear, it's a journey and it's okay if you feel like everything, like nothing, like one or the other -- your identity is valid and so are you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

“Make sure you go up to the eighth floor to get your new IDs before the end of the day,” Hotch told everyone before he exited the room. 

It was ten in the morning and there was no new case, so after a short briefing to catch him up on what consultations everyone was working on at the moment, the BAU Unit Chief swiftly returned to his office. 

Everyone else started to shuffle out after him, back to the bullpen and their own exhausting tasks. But that was the job, and you all loved it too much to let the boring paperwork days like this one dampen the exciting, fulfilling, and thrilling ones out on the field. 

But you didn’t move, you couldn’t move as his words echoed in your mind. 

The task was simple. And yet for you it was daunting. 

Penelope’s words still circled in your mind. She had told you a week ago when the request came through that she could easily hack into the Bureau’s database and edit the information on your badge for you. That no one would ever know, that it would just already be there when you got it. 

But you’d told her you didn’t want to get her in trouble, that you would go talk to Hotch about it, finally. But then you’d been whisked away on a case and you honestly used it as an excuse to cower and not say anything.

Everyone except Hotch knew at that point.

Penelope had been the first to figure it out since you’d changed your displayed pronouns on your private social media and being the chronically online lady she was, she clocked the change immediately. 

She’d confronted you about it the next day and you let out an incredibly long sigh of relief when she told you how proud of you she was. There was no need to confirm it, displaying something on social media was as good as telling it to her personally. 

JJ and Emily were stunned to walk into the bullpen so early to an overly excited Penelope practically squeezing the life out of you. Before you could even tell her to stop, she turned around to tell them the news when they asked what was going on. 

It was only after they had both been shocked so strongly they didn’t need a cup of coffee to wake them up, smiled brightly and given you just as much attention as Penelope just had, that you told the chipper blonde that you weren’t sure you were ready to tell everyone quite yet. She’d been apologizing profusely ever since, hence the proposal to hack into the FBI to make it up to you. 

The four of you kept that secret tightly to your chests for a few weeks. You’d been using more gender neutral language at the office regardless, so it was easy to stay true to yourself, as much as gender neutrality allowed, while also not making how you actually wanted to be addressed a big thing.  

It wasn’t until the handsome incident that you finally told Reid. You’d decided to wear a binder that day to finally wear a sweater vest you’d been obsessing over for the past few days. You felt beautiful, confident—

“Well, good morning handsome,” Emily’s voice made your cheeks flush. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t do anything other than hide away as she giggled at your reaction. No one had called you handsome before, and you feared it might’ve been too much.

You finally noticed him when you sat at your desk, your cheeks still flushed. Spencer was staring at you, brows furrowed and confusion plastered all over his face. It was as though he was noticing too many things all at once and he didn’t know how they all came together to provide the answer he was looking for. 

And so, just to spare the poor Doctor’s genius brain, you told him. It took him approximately three minutes coming up with a system. There was no reaction, no follow up questions, nothing but acceptance and call to action. 

It had taken him that long because he didn’t want to just do the gender coded pink and blue. He’d settled on black for when you were feeling more like a girl, black for when you were feeling more like a boy, and silver for when you were feeling like neither. 

The next day he presented you with dainty bow pins that you could easily clip to your clothes or even your hair if you really wanted to. You wrapped him up in a tight hug, one that he didn’t shy away from, reciprocating it for as long as you needed.

You never had to tell Morgan. You’d gotten used to the girls using gender neutral language when they spoke about you and so when Morgan started to do it, you didn’t catch onto it right away. But when you finally did, your eyes widening and the realization sinking into your bones, he simply winked at you and continued speaking.

The most daunting had been Rossi. It had been the day before and was still fresh in your mind. It was the first day you started to wear the little ribbons Spencer had made for you. Silver for your first day, you were easing into it after all. 

Everyone who was in on it knew what it meant immediately, but to Rossi unfortunately, your ribbon meant someone had died. He pointed it out in the kitchen, offering his condolences and whatever support you may need. 

It was sweet, so sweet in fact that he was suggesting taking some time off. There was no other way to explain it other than to come clean, and so you did.

You explained it all, every question that he could’ve easily googled, every perception that he had from his generation and how he grew up. You ended up talking for a while and it was nice to actually have someone so determined to understand, to make sure they weren’t being ignorant or accidentally using language absentmindedly. 

Which is why you needed to rip the bandaid now, needed to tell Hotch how you were feeling before you found another excuse to bide your time. 

You knocked on Hotch’s office door softly, almost too softly as it took him a second to look up at you. 

“Yes?” He asked then, closing the case file in front of him to show you, you had his whole attention. 

You stepped into the room then, gently closing the door behind you and he frowned in confusion for a split second. You didn’t lock the door, it wasn’t like that, and it seemed to alleviate some of the confusion he was feeling. 

“I…um…” you sat down in front of him, fiddling with your fingers. Somehow it had been easy to tell everyone else, even if it had been scary. 

But with him? You didn’t even know where to start. 

“I wanted to know if…if it was possible to have them remake my ID?” You started, hoping that you could find your voice if you talked about something physical, tangible, something that transcended you. 

“Is there a problem with the information you provided?” He asked plainly. 

“It’s not so much a problem as it is a…contradiction?” He sat back in his chair, clearly not having enough information to reply to you, so he allowed you to continue.

You straightened, looked him in the eye and pretended like you were the most confident person in the world, just enough to get you through this conversation.

“I’m not a woman, I’m not a man— I mean at least not all the time,” slowly but surely the gears started to click into place in his head. “And so I was wondering if there was a way to…reflect that on my new ID.”

He was silent for a long minute, the most anxiety inducing minute of your life. But then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk between the two of you. 

“I am…unbelievably sorry if I’ve been accidentally misgendering you,” he started, genuine emotion in his oftentimes stoic eyes. You immediately shook your head, your own hand reaching out to hold his without so much as a second thought.

“Hotch, you’re okay,” you squeezed, neither of you ever even flinching or finding the physical contact weird. He’d always been affectionate with you, and you…well you were affectionate with everyone so he didn’t think you had noticed. But you had, and you made sure to let him know through the smallest of gestures. 

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked and it was your turn to look confused. “Around the office, to accommodate you.”

You smiled brightly. He was so sweet, so kind and caring and gentle, always looking out for his team, for his friends, for you. 

You told him about how everyone else had been super accommodating, how your color coded system with Spencer worked, how Rossi had sent you a million screenshots of articles and stories and even asked if he could come to Pride with you.

He smiled a few times, snickered a couple and it made you heart swell each time. You didn’t know why you’d been so apprehensive about telling him, about letting him know how you were feeling.

Maybe it was because his opinion mattered so much to you, maybe it was because you were scared of the minuscule percentage of possibility that he could react badly, maybe it was because it would’ve broken your heart if he had.

But none of it mattered now. He had reacted perfectly, like you knew he would, and with his hand still in yours, he called HR to request your new badge be edited, with your permission to talk about your situation. 

You could not remember a time when you had felt so understood, so accepted, so loved. He had reminded you that there were no such things as silly requests. He’d do anything to make you feel comfortable, anything to make you feel like you could exist happy and healthy, anything to let you know that you were safe and that he’d move heaven and earth to make it so. 

my sweet babies are so freaking cute i love them sm

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @ssaspencerreidswife

[cr-noble-writes]

Title: By The Stars

Series: I’ve Got You

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Alex Shepard, Reyes Vidal, Chief Green (OC)

Relationships: Shepard & Reyes, Shepard/Reyes (pre-slash)

Tags: preslash, basic training, land nav test, impromptu rock climbing, celestial navigation, near death experiences, overuse of biotics, food shortage, best friends, spanish, arabic, egyptian, stolen supplies, hypoglycemia, i know i am pushing the bounds of reality with a couple of things here, military exercises, physical danger, rock climbing, biotics to the rescue, worried Reyes, stubborn Alex, biotic drain induced shock, huddling for warmth, there was only one blanket, sabotage, caretaker Reyes, short rations, navigating by stars, fuck the man (the bad man, not the sexy Chilean one), running on spite, unspoken feelings

Summary: Alex Shepard and Reyes Vidal are nearing the end of basic training, and it's time for their land navigation test. Unfortunately, Alex’s biotic field interferes with the compass, someone’s stolen most of his rations, there’s a cliff between them and the extraction point, and no one packed climbing equipment.

Notes: This was supposed to be a 1k-ish snapshot of part of Alex’s experiences in basic training to be included in another fic. But apparently that wasn’t enough for these two jackasses. Anyway, as a result of having to write this fic, Reyes and Alex’s relationship has developed into something significantly more serious than it was originally intended to be. It was always intended to be more than friends, but it was supposed to be something resembling casual and then Alex had to go and have feelings.” Hope you enjoy :D

I do have several 1k-ish snapshots of other things in basic training, like Alex and Reyes meeting for the first time, etc, but this really felt like the most important bit, so I wanted to get it out there! Plus, it's gonna be a hot minute until I have any more of Alex's canon story ready to post, so I figure those little snapshots can fill the void in my soul while I am working on the next big part.

Thank you to all the people in the various ME servers I’m part of on Discord for all of the encouragement and help! Special thanks, as always, to @imbiowaresbitch​ for always being willing to let me talk at her, and also for making me like Reyes in the first place, and additional thank yous to @nickelkeep​ and @bleuzombie​ for putting up with me just constantly ranting about Mass Effect and Alex, in particular!

Like Growing Pains, there is some Arabic used by Alex, and translations will be provided in the end notes. Likewise for the one actual Spanish phrase Reyes says.

Make sure you check the A/N on AO3 for links to the AO3 pages of everyone who helped me with this fic!

[jackie-shitposts]

I Thought Thieves Love Jules!

Carmen strolled out of the elevator, feeling pretty beat after her workout with Shadowsan. Not that she would ever admit that- she had wanted to keep going, but it had only been two days since she got electrocuted in Egypt, so Shadowsan made her cut her workout short while he continued. Carmen sauntered over to the counter, taking a long drink from her water bottle, just as Player’s image appeared on her laptop screen. “Check it out, Red. Julia just posted a new entry on her blog, about a recent find in Columbia.” Player said, ”But it totally digresses into fun facts about fair trade coffee, including a “Red Blend.” Carmen leaned onto the counter. “Could be another riddle to solve?” “Good thing I learned a thing or two about code-breaking from Julia.” Player smirked, clearly excited to show off his new skills. “Every paragraph ends with a number. If you line ‘em up like they're a date and time, it’s tomorrow at 8am.” “Seems Chief wants an opportunity to thank me over coffee.” Carmen quirked an eyebrow. Seems as though she’d be seeing her favorite agent-turned-historian-turned-agent-again in the field, per Chief’s request. “How can you be sure it’s not a trap?” Player asked apprehensively. “If it were, Jules would’ve worded it differently.”

“OoOoO, are we talking about Jules?” Zack asked, peeking his head out from the doorway.

“That ACME gal Carm has a crush on?” Ivy chimed in, peeking her own head out from under her brother.

Carmen rolled her eyes at the sibling’s cartoonish antics. “Jules and I are just friends, you two.”

Ivy scoffed, entering the room and flopping onto the couch.  “Yeah right- then why did you specifically go to her when you needed help decoding the relics?”

Carmen casually took a sip of her water before answering.  “Jules was already familiar with VILE- getting a stranger involved would’ve only made things more complicated and dangerous than it already was.” Zack hopped onto the couch opposite of Ivy, resting his feet up on her knees. He pointedly ignored Ivy’s protests of, “Zack, gross!” and smirked at Carmen. “Oh? Then why did you ask Devineaux where she was in Louisiana?” “Hey, you never told me about that one!” Ivy gasped, feigning betrayal. “I was just surprised ACME let that driving disaster use a car,” Carmen quipped. Player laughed on his side of the screen. “Don’t act like you’re any better, Red. Don’t you remember your first caper?”

Carmen gasped, pretending to be insulted. “Says the 17 year old without a learners permit.”

“Not like I have anywhere to go.” Player laughed, before refocusing on Carmen’s interrogation. “Speaking of firsts, how about when you first met Julia? I listened in, and it totally sounded like you were flirting with her. You called her “Jules” on your first meeting!” Carmen narrowed her eyes at Player in defiance.  “I was just sitting across from Jules so I could blend in while keeping an eye on Paper Star. And what’s wrong with nicknames? I called Crackle “Gray” and Ivy “Ives”. I don’t see what the difference is.” “The difference is that you and Cracker used to be best friends, and now we are best friends. However, you and Jules were not friends at the time.” Ivy said, emphasizing the nickname. “His name is Crackle now.” “He went and rejoined VILE, I think I get to call Gary whatever I want.” Player chimed back into the conversation. “Why did you leave the Magna Cartas with Julia, anyway? You had one conversation with her, what made you think leaving them with her meant they were in “good hands?” “While sitting next to her, I noticed Devineaux’s briefcase, and she said they were travel partners on business. I figured that meant they were law enforcement also trying to recover the documents. Leaving them with Jules simply saved me the hassle of returning the documents myself.” Carmen explained casually. “What about the fashion show in Milan, Carm? Why’d you have Julia help us then?” Zack asked, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. Carmen sighed in annoyance. Why won’t they just get off her back about this already? “Jules was the only ACME agent around, and I knew that ACME would be able to get the gowns to safety. And before you ask,” Carmen pointed at Ivy, whose mouth was already open with some smug retort, “I put her in charge instead of you because she would know where the gowns could be put for ACME to return.” At that, Ivy simply leaned back onto the couch and mirrored her brother’s smug grin.  “Yeah, that was a fun night.” She smirked, and Zack tried to hold back his laugh that came out as more of a snort. Carmen raised her brow at the untold story, but she decided not to press. For the sake of her sanity.

“Well, what about Stockholm?” Zack blurted. Ivy and Player’s eyes snapped to Carmen, looking for any hint of discomfort, and Zack immediately tried to rectify the situation. “I-I mean, yknow, you just were gonna go try to get her help before-”

Carmen cut off his anxious rambling, smiling warmly. “Don’t worry about it Zack, I know what you mean. I wanted to talk to Jules to see if she could get ACME to back off. While that obviously didn’t happen, I know Jules didn’t try to betray me.” Carmen glanced out the window for a moment, whispering quietly to herself. “I don’t think I could be angry at her if I tried.” Carmen turned back to her friends and smiled. “Plus, she helped me out in Monaco and Ile De L'oleron afterwards, so-” Player practically leapt up from his chair, causing a loud crash as he knocked the fidget spinners off his desk and dropped the rubix cute he was playing with. “Yeah, let's talk about Monaco! You can’t tell me you guys weren’t flirting at the party. She was so confident you were going to deliver the goods to her door, and you trusted her not to stop you when you stole the eggs. Come on, Red, you know she was flirting with you!” Carmen felt Zack and Ivy’s eyes on her expectantly, and she chuckled at Player’s exasperation. “Player, I’m pretty good at reading people, and I’m fairly certain she wasn’t flirting with me. Even if she was, I was not flirting ba-” “Then what about the roses?”

Carmen’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. How did Zack, of all people, know about the roses?

“Oh my god, the roses! Carm, why the fuck didn’t you tell us about the roses?” Ivy exclaimed, springing up from her relaxed position on the couch.

Carmen bit her lip before answering. “They were just flowers, as a thank you gift for the help. How do you know about them, anyway? I didn’t buy them until after you guys left.”

At that, Player piped up once again. “So Red, you know how at the end of each month, I look through our funds and see how much we spend on capers, to set our budget for the next month? Well, it was pretty interesting for me to see that you used our encrypted card to buy a bouquet of red roses from the flower shop across the street from Julia’s apartment, on the same day we left her the goods.”

Fuck. Carmen needed to shut this down, now. “They were just a thank you gift guys, nothing more. Just something Jules could keep for herself. And red is my color, so the roses seemed like a good gift. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Carmen glared at the redheads sternly, daring them to stop her, before looking down at Player with the same forbidding look. ”I’m going to take a shower. Player, let me know when you’ve got a red eye to Seattle ready.” Carmen closed the laptop, tucked it under her arm and walked out of the room without looking back. ~~~

The video call flickered to black, and Player leaned back into his chair, sighing. Red can be so thick-headed sometimes. As he booked her flight, he thought back to their teasing and banter from moments before.

Red seemed pretty genuine- maybe we were wrong after all.

Player took a deep breath- he didn’t want to call Carmen back so soon, especially when she seemed pretty pissed at the end of their last call- but he had booked her flight for a short two hours from now. So, Player reconnected to Carmen’s laptop, still looking at the red eye information on his other monitor, before hearing a loud, exasperated groan coming from his speakers.

“Holy fuck that was such a mess!”

Player’s head snapped towards his other monitor. The laptop had been set on the dresser across from Carmen’s bed, where she was laying sprawled out in agony. Player quickly hit his mute button and sat back to watch.

Carmen’s arms raised up to cover her face- though Player couldn’t see it, he was sure her face was covered in her signature color. “God, and the roses- why did I use the card for the roses? That’s a basic credit card slip, how am I so stupid!”

Carmen sat up, hands still over her flushed face. “I’m so fucking lucky they didn’t hear us on the ferry or at her office, there’s no way they would’ve ever let that go- I thought I wasn’t being obvious about this stupid crush-

That was all the confirmation Player needed. He clicked unmute and nearly shouted, “So you do have a crush on Julia! I knew it!”

Carmen’s head snapped up to the source of the sound, her face as red as her coat hanging on the wall’s hook. “Player! What the fuck are you-” Carmen froze as she watched Player pick up his cell phone. “Player, if you do what I think you’re about to-”

“Then what? You’re two thousand miles away Red, I'm practically untouchable.” He laughed and grinned smugly at the webcam as he dialed a number.

“Player, you are so dead next time I visit Ontario!” Carmen yelled before she threw her door open, barrelling down the hall to the stairway.

~~~

Zack and Ivy watched in silence as Carmen walked out of the room. When they heard the door to the stairway close, they looked at each other, before they couldn’t take it anymore and burst into laughter.

“Holy shit she looked so mad!” Ivy wheezed through her laughing fit.

“I know! Do you think that means she was telling the truth?” Zack questioned as he tried (and failed) to calm his giggles.

“No way.”

“But she seemed pretty-”

“What are you two laughing about?” Shadowsan’s stern voice stopped the twin’s giggling dead in its tracks. Just as Ivy opened her mouth to make an excuse, since she doubted Carmen wanted Shadowsan involved in her love life, (he is like her father, isnt he?) Zack spoke up.

“We tried to get Carm to confess that she likes Julia, but she kept on telling us she just likes Julia as a friend. Maybe she wasn’t lying, most of her reasons were pretty solid.” Ivy would’ve smacked him then and there if Shadowsan hadn’t interrupted her train of thought with a small chuckle. Since when did Shadowsan chuckle? “On VILE Island, Carmen was trained to be a master of deception. Do you not realize that she was also trained to survive any interrogation?” Shadowsan said, with…humor in his voice? Zack and Ivy were silent for a moment. “Wait, does that mean she actually does like Ju-” The moment was interrupted with a call on Ivy’s phone. When she looked at the caller ID, her eyes widened as she answered it and put the device on speaker. “Carmen does have a crush on Julia!” Player shouted from the phone, just as the Crimson Gay Ghost herself burst into the room and crashed into Ivy. “Dammit!” Carmen yelled, taking the phone from Ivy who was now on the floor with Carmen and laughing. “Player, I’m going to fly to Ontario and kick your ass!” Player’s laughing from the phone was almost drowned out by Zack and Ivy’s. “Oh no you’re not, you’ve got a flight to catch in two hours!” “OoOh where to? To go see your “favorite ACME agent”?” Ivy teased through her laughter. “Yeah Carm, I thought thieves love Jules!” Zack said as he laughed. Carmen jumped off of Ivy, her voice a noticeably higher pitch and her face extremely red as she shouted, “No! I mean- well, that is- I just-” As Zack, Ivy and Player continued to tease an extremely red-faced and stammering Carmen, Shadowsan smiled and quietly walked out of the room. It seems the war may be coming to a close with ACME on their side, but that doesn’t mean Carmen has to stop chasing someone.

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 6 - zuko x fem!reader

The thing about forever is that it's a fucking lie

part 5 | masterlist | part 7

a/n: you all know whats coming lmao i got nothing to say for myself

wc: 3.5k

warning(s): pakku's usual sexism, typical siege of the north stuff, mostly angst but a lil bit of fluff in there

chapter title comes from forever is a lie by bea miller!

“I can’t believe that your tribe doesn’t teach waterbending to women!” Katara fumed, the snow beneath her feet packed tightly from her continuous pacing. “I mean, how can they even do that? Master Pakku’s all about ‘his culture and his teachings’ but his teachings are completely sexist!”

Y/N just nodded along as she listened to Katara — Master Pakku had refused to teach Katara, and after a disappointing healing lesson she had found Y/N to rant. “Yep. It’s unfair, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

Katara frowned and stopped in her tracks. “Don’t you want to learn how to fight too? I love being able to heal and help people, don’t get me wrong, but healing isn’t all I want to do.”

A shaky sigh fell from her lips and she shrugged, adjusting her position on the platform of ice she had made to sit on. “Well… yeah, I guess. I know a couple of martial moves, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know more. But Katara, I—”

Y/N was silent for a moment as flashes of the past played behind her eyelids. “I’m not like you. I’m not the kind of person to challenge the rules. Not anymore.”

Katara shook her head, already back to her pacing. “I think you’re selling yourself short. I saw your healing during your class — you’re really talented, Y/N, and I know that skill will transfer over to fighting.”

“Thank you, but— but it doesn’t matter how good we are. Master Pakku is just as stubborn as he is talented, and I think he’d rather die than be a decent person. It’s a shame though. I’d really like to see someone knock some sense into him.”

“Yeah…” Katara sighed. “Hopefully Aang is having a better time than I am.” She looked up at the sky then fixed Y/N with a wry smile. “Speaking of Aang, I should probably get back to him and my brother. Sorry for talking your ear off the whole night.”

Y/N waved her hand around nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. You have my permission to rant to me any time you want while you’re here.”

Katara grinned and offered her hand, which Y/N took with a small smile as she got up from her ice platform. With a slight movement of her hand she bent it back into the ground, and the two girls began their walk back to the city. “I just wish I knew how to get Pakku to let up.”

“You’ll think of something,” Y/N reassured.

-

Katara did indeed think of something. Y/N’s wish of Pakku getting some sense knocked into him was granted when Katara challenged him to a fight, which was quite possibly the best thing that Y/N had ever witnessed. Though she ultimately lost, he still decided to take her on as a student — and in a move that Y/N would forever be grateful for, Katara had gotten Pakku to take her on as well. Katara made history that day, and she felt a shining sense of admiration for the girl for shaking things up.

And now, her days consisted of early mornings spent training, afternoons in classes, and nights doing homework, as well as fitting in time to hang out with Yue — it was a miracle she had any free time at all.

Lately though, it seemed like all Yue could talk about was Sokka. She liked him just as much as he liked her, but Yue was good — no matter how much she cared for someone, her tribe would always come first.

(“Did I hear that you and Sokka have a date later tonight?” she teased. “Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” Yue was silent at her attempt at humor and Y/N frowned. “Yue, are you okay?”

Silence lingered in the air for so long that Y/N almost thought she didn’t hear her, but finally the princess spoke as she pulled down the collar of her jacket to reveal an engagement necklace. Y/N gasped.

“It’s from Hahn,” she said quietly. “He proposed an hour ago, and I accepted.”

“You what?” Y/N cried, prompting a slight grimace from Yue. “Hahn— you can’t stand him!”

“Y/N, please,” Yue sighed. “He’s not that bad — he’s handsome, I guess. And he’s the son of a noble, and he’ll be really good for the tribe.”

“Yue, you’re the one who has to deal with him. He proposed to you, not the tribe — Spirits, half the boys in this tribe like you, why him?”

“It’s best for the tribe,” she repeated, her words an attempt to convince Y/N as much as herself.

“But what’s best for you?” Y/N countered.

Yue hadn’t answered, and had made up some half-baked excuse that she had to be somewhere. She had watched her go sadly, hoping that she would figure something out with Sokka.)

And it’s not like she wasn’t happy that her friend had found someone, it was just…

Y/N was upset that someone wasn’t her. And she didn’t know how to deal with that revelation.

But one morning, while making idle conversation with Katara as their lesson came to an end, a matter much more pressing came to hand.

Black snow. Soot raining down from the sky, tarnishing everything it touched.

A feeling all too familiar brewed in her chest as she met her friend’s eyes, and one thing was clear.

The Fire Nation was coming.

-

The air was even more frigid than usual with the knowledge of an imminent invasion, and Y/N had parted ways with her friends once they reached the town hall to be with her grandparents. The tension in the air was thick as Chief Arnook stepped up to address the people.

“The day we have feared for so long has arrived — the Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe, but they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence, I call upon the great spirits. Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us! I'm going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sokka stood up. “Count me in.”

Her eyes widened as she met Katara’s from across the room, and she looked equally surprised. “Sokka…”

“Be warned: many of you will not return.” Several other men stood up after Sokka, including her grandfather. Despite his age he was a skilled fighter, but that was no comfort to Y/N. She reached up for his hand and shook her head almost desperately, but he smiled sadly and squeezed her hand, a sentiment to express words unsaid. “Come forward to receive my mark, if you accept the task.”

As he walked forward to join the line, she found the only solace she could in her grandmother’s open arms, burying her face in the fur of her jacket. “He will be okay,” she soothed. “He’s just as strong as he is brave. You have to have faith.”

She hoped that her grandmother was right. She couldn’t handle another loss.

Once all the men had received their marks, they left to confer about the battle plan. Y/N found her way up to the stage where a tearful Yue sat. It pained Y/N to see her in such a way, and when she sat down and offered her hand the princess immediately took it.

“I saw that your grandfather volunteered,” she said after a beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For Sokka.” Y/N adjusted her position so their shoulders were touching, and she sighed heavily. “I can’t stop thinking about my village. My father.” She met Yue’s eyes, her own beginning to tear up.

“What if it happens again?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t— I can’t do it again.”

Yue let go of her hand to wrap the girl in a hug, the warmth of the embrace managing to chip away at some of their hopelessness. “You won’t have to do it again,” she stated, the reassurance seeming like the truth when coming from her. “You’re not alone this time.”

She finally pulled away from the hug as she wiped the tears off her face, and Y/N nodded. Yue somehow always knew exactly what to say. “What would I do without you?” she asked, her voice slightly watery.

“You’re never going to know,” the princess smiled. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” That got a laugh out of Y/N and the two of them stood up as Yue gestured outside with her head. “I think I saw Aang and my father out there. It’ll help to talk with them — I think you need some fresh air anyways.”

Y/N nodded and the two girls walked out hand in hand, a small reprieve from carrying the weight of the world.

-

Things were so much worse than she had been anticipating.

After a short talk outside the hall with Katara, Aang, and the Chief, Yue had been transported somewhere safer as Y/N steeled herself for the front lines. After all, as a student of Master Pakku, she could fight damn well — it was just a matter of putting it into action.

But a line of warriors and children alike were no match for the strength of the Fire Nation from afar, and the first few fireballs had done their job at disrupting both the fighters and the wall — Seeing her home get destroyed hurt nearly as much as constantly getting thrown around.

After Aang had taken off on Appa and Chief Arnook took a section of his soldiers off for a different plan, the work on the ground began. The fleet of ships seemed endless , and the same went for their artillery — the fight went long into the day as Y/N worked with various other waterbenders to stop fireballs and repair broken parts of the city’s infrastructure, but just as the full moon began to show, the attacks stopped coming. Limbs heavy with exhaustion from their work in the field, Y/N and Katara met up with the princess back at the balcony of the palace.

“They’ve stopped firing,” Yue noted as they all gazed off into the distance.

“Thank the spirits,” Y/N muttered as she worked out a knot in her shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept going.”

Just then, Appa came into view and a grin spread across Katara’s face. “Aang!”

He landed below them and the three girls hurried down to meet him. Aang landed on the ground, exhaustion clear in every part of him. “I can’t do it,” he muttered as he placed his head in his hands. “I can’t do it.”

“What happened?” Katara asked as she ran up to him, Yue and Y/N close behind.

“I must’ve taken out a dozen Fire Navy ships, but there’s just too many of them!” His large grey eyes were full of hopelessness, and Y/N’s heart ached for the boy. “I can’t fight them all.”

“But— you have to!” Yue pleaded. “You’re the Avatar.”

“I’m just one kid,” Aang countered wearily. He buried his face in his arms and Katara kneeled next to him in an attempt to comfort him. Y/N could almost forget about the pain in her body at that moment, feeling an odd responsibility to this boy as she looked down at him.

“Aang,” she muttered, following Katara’s example and kneeling next to him. “You’ve already done so much for us. Just by being here, you’ve inspired hundreds of people — you’re a beacon of hope all on your own! We don’t expect you to take out this whole navy by yourself. As long as you’re here, fighting with us? You’re helping us more than you know.”

He managed a slight smile at that and he took her outstretched hand, getting pulled back to his feet with her help.

“We’ll have a better view from up there,” Katara noted, pointing back up to the balcony. “You can help us keep watch, Aang — in case they start attacking again.”

He nodded and the four of them began the walk, the Avatar in slightly better spirits.

“The legends say the moon was the first waterbender,” Yue said once they had reached the balcony, all of them gazing at the sky. “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.”

“I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night,” Katara mused, causing Y/N to hum in agreement.

“Our strength from the spirit of the moon, our life from the spirit of the ocean,” she said. “They work together to keep balance.

Aang’s expression brightened at her words as he popped up from the ground. “The spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!”

“How can you do that?” Y/N questioned.

“The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World,” Katara explained excitedly. “Aang can talk to them!”

“Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win this battle!” Yue exclaimed.

“Or maybe they'll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” At that, all three girls met him with strange looks. Aang coughed and straightened his posture. “Or wisdom. That's good, too.”

“The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident,” Katara said with a frown. “How are you going to get there this time?”

Yue’s eyes lit up and she looked at them with a smile. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

-

A few minutes later, they were standing in the Spirit Oasis, the most spiritual place in all of the North. Yue, Y/N, and Katara all shed their coats as Aang walked around, marvelling at the beauty.

“I can feel… something,” Aang said as he sat down, getting into a meditating position. “It’s so tranquil.”

Soon enough, after a few moments of silence, Aang’s eyes as well as the arrow on his head began to glow.

“Is he okay?” Yue gasped.

“He’s crossing into the Spirit World,” Katara reassured. “He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Y/N whispered, astonishment etched into her face. For as much as she had been taught about the ocean spirits, she wasn’t well-versed in the Spirit World as a whole — she was thoroughly fascinated by every part of this.

“Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested, still on edge as she took a few steps away from the gate.

“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him. Besides, I already have some help here.” She smiled at Y/N, a sentiment that she returned happily.

A deep voice, almost mocking, broke the silence as it echoed throughout the oasis. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now? Even got yourself a little student.”

The three girls all whipped around to find the source of the voice, and Katara’s whole body stiffened. “No…”

“Yes. Hand him over and I don’t have to hurt you.”

Y/N immediately eased into a bending stance along with Katara as the princess fled to get help, but her confidence faltered when she took the time to focus on their assailant.

She almost didn’t recognize him — it had been nearly four years since she had last set eyes upon the boy, but it was as if he had become a completely different person. His head was shaved completely save for a ponytail, and blues and reds marked his skin in various cuts and bruises. His eyes held an anger she had never seen before, an expression only heightened with the addition of a large red scar across his left eye.

“Zuko?” she breathed, her chest tightening up beneath the weight of the revelation. Katara stared at her in bewilderment — she had no idea that Y/N knew the prince that had chased them halfway across the world, but Katara supposed that she had no reason to ever suspect she did.

His eyes flashed with recognition as they ran over her, and it seemed as if he had a similar epiphany as he staggered backwards. “I… I thought you were dead.”

“You’re with them,” she muttered, blood turning to ice. “Your nation is invading, and you’re helping them— you’re after the Avatar? What are you doing, Zuko?!”

The momentary surprise was replaced by steely determination as he shifted his weight forward and kicked up his leg, sending a blast of fire that she barely managed to dodge. “You know nothing!”

Y/N fell back into position next to Katara, but the newfound knowledge was like a fog over her mind. “Whoever he was when you knew him, that’s not him anymore!” Katara yelled as she bent water out of the pond and blocked his following attacks. “He won’t hesitate to hurt you, so you can’t either!”

“O-okay!” she stammered. This was the moment she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? After training with both Katara and Pakku, her martial skill had increased tenfold, and she was desperate to try it out — she only wished her first opponent didn’t have to be him. But another fire blast snapped her out of her paralysis, and she jumped into action.

The two girls worked impossibly well together, one stepping forward when the other fell back, the bending between them nearly seamless. Any fire that the prince sent their way was quickly extinguished, and with two against one on home turf, Y/N and Katara were able to hold him off with relative ease.

Y/N bent another jet of water up from the oasis and shot it at Zuko, the force of which knocked him several feet back. Katara took the opening and froze his feet to the ground, then began to move her arms about as she formed a ball of water around him — one more movement and it was frozen solid.

“You little peasant,” he growled. “You’ve found a master, haven’t you?”

The orb of ice began to glow, the air around them becoming hotter and hotter until it melted around him. Blasts of fire were flying at them as soon as Zuko hit the ground, and they were forced to retreat back towards the oasis as they grew more intense.

Y/N drew up a shield of water, extinguishing the flames on impact. Zuko dodged around them, his fingers inches away from Aang’s collar. Y/N propelled the water already at her fingertips towards Zuko with a grunt of effort, which sent him flying into the shallows on the other side of the oasis. She conjured up a large wave and sent it towards the prince, sending him up the side of the wall and trapping him once Katara froze it.

She breathed a sigh of relief and let her arms fall, a part of her wondering how they were still connected after the tediousness of the earlier battle. But this, one on one in a fight with real stakes? It was as exhilarating as it was nerve wracking, and she had never been so thankful that Katara had gotten her in with Master Pakku. Y/N felt intensely guilty over the pain she had inflicted on Zuko, but she tried her best to push it out of her mind — like Katara said, he would’ve done worse if she hadn’t fought back.

“You fought well,” Katara smiled. “I told you that you were talented.”

She chuckled and shrugged, cheeks heating up slightly at the praise. “It’s not exactly my first fight, just… the most intense.” It reminded her of the early mornings and late nights spent sparring with Zuko, a memory that only twisted the dagger in her heart even more.

The two girls smiled at each other as they began to walk back over to Aang — it seemed the boy was undisturbed by the fight by virtue of his glowing tattoos and closed eyes — when Y/N found herself squinting from the rays of light filtering in.

“Huh,” she mumbled. “The sun’s out. The sun’s out— Katara!”

Y/N turned to find the prince free from the ice, and the pair barely had time to draw water from the pond to shield themselves from the impending flames. But it was too little too late, and the power of the blast sent them back several feet. They slammed into either side of the gate, the force of it immediately knocking Katara out.

Y/N gasped in pain as she tried to push herself up, but the fight combined with the impact of her landing had taken a toll on her and she collapsed once more against the gate. When the smoke from the fire cleared, Zuko was there with Aang’s collar in his grasp.

“You rise with the moon,” he muttered, his face tinged with the slightest bit of guilt as he met her eyes. “I rise with the sun.”

The last thing she saw before her consciousness faded out was the boy she loved escaping with the Avatar.

-

why did i make yue and y/n like this when i KNOW what i have to write next omg i hate myself

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895 @ilovespideyyy

atla: @marianne1806

[ssahoodrathotchner]

There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get kidnapped by an unsub and needless to say, it’s not fun

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: swearing, blood, injuries, stabbing, panic attacks, kidnapping, hospitals, angst and fluff

A/N: wanted to write something angsty with a happy ending and here we are! the longest thing i’ve ever written

Masterlist

---

In hindsight, things could have gone better. The case itself was pretty straightforward, with the biggest complication being where the hell Michael Robertson was hidden away. However, no man can hide from Penelope Garcia and within six hours of figuring out Robertson was the unsub, she had his location narrowed down to a small farm in the middle of nowhere. Of course, you thought, where else would a guy like him torture and kill seven women.

Pulling up to the seemingly small farmhouse, you and Reid exchange looks before tightening your bulletproof vests. Double—triple—checking your gun, you tune in to Hotch and Rossi giving directions to the team and local PD about breaching the home. Hotch and Prentiss will take the front door, Morgan and Reid the back, while Rossi and JJ have the barn—you’ll take the side door and meet in the middle, easy. Local PD will secure the perimeter and provide backup as needed. Giving Hotch a reaffirming nod, you disperse to your entry points.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your weapon and prepare to bust this door down in hopes that Robertson will surrender peacefully and you can all go home because fuck do you want to get out of Iowa. Hearing Hotch’s signal, you kick down the door in front of you—a welcome plus of your job—and announce your presence. However, you’re met with a hard elbow to the face. Reeling backwards and tasting blood, you only have the sense to cup your now bleeding—and most likely broken—nose with your free hand.

“Motherfucker,” you spit out in pain, the comms in your vest picking up your voice.

“Y/L/N, report,” Hotch demands, voice scratchy through your earpiece.

However, you are unable to respond as Robertson moves towards you and, taking advantage of your dazed state, hits you over the head with a fucking two-by-four once, twice, nope three times before the jagged wood floor is rushing up to meet you as you collapse into darkness. Oh, fuck. You’re out before you hit the ground.

---

As soon as Aaron hears you swear, he knows it’s bad, but one look at Emily has him forging ahead and clearing each room like he is supposed to. Checking in with the other duos, Hotch can’t help but worry when you don’t respond immediately. When he finally gets to the mid-point of the house and the exact spot where you were supposed to rendezvous with him, Emily, Derek, and Spencer, his worries spike exponentially.

“Where’s Y/L/N,” he spits out.

“We didn’t see her,” Morgan answers carefully. “We assumed she found you guys,” he adds, and Hotch grits his teeth.

“Clear in the barn,” he hears Rossi report, and he sighs.

“Y/L/N is missing,” he says, surprisingly calm. “Report to the house.”

Police officers shuffle through the house, and Aaron tries not to let his irritation show. Turning back to the team, he can’t help but notice how worried the rest of them are.

“Our one and only priority is finding Y/N,” he states.

“I’ll get Garcia onboard to coordinate what happens next,” Morgan says, excusing himself from the tension of the farm house sitting room. “Expect some very distressed calls in your futures,” he finishes with a shake of his head.

“Emily and I will re-check the rest of the house, just in case,” JJ supplies, and Hotch nods. Reid, looking uneasy, makes some excuse about double-checking the floor plans of the property before skirting out the door, leaving Dave and Aaron—and some police officers—to survey the bland artwork on the walls.

Grasping the bridge of his nose, Aaron tries to take a deep breath, but he can’t; not with you missing on the property owned by an unsub fucking known for mutilating women.

“Hey,” Rossi approaches from Hotch’s left. “We’ll figure this out. Y/L/N’s a smart girl; she won’t go down easy,”

Hotch can only hope that Rossi’s right, but he trusts you; trusts your instincts as an agent.

---

You come to in bits and pieces. Some part of your brain recognizes that you’re being dragged by your armpits down some rickety stairs and deep into the earth; another part recognizes that your hands are free, which means your gun is no longer in your grasp. Fuck fuck fuck. A particularly harsh blow to your head from the hands of your captor stops any further thoughts. Fuck you, Robertson.

---

Regrouping with the team outside the house, Hotch starts to get agitated.

“What do you mean there’s an elaborate tunnel system beneath the house, Garcia,” he almost yells. “How did you not catch this before.”

“Well,” Reid steps in, “the only plans that include this system are dated between 1910 and 1924 which means that they were built in at least the 1900s and the fact that they do not appear in any property plans since those dates suggests that the subsequent owners either didn’t know about the tunnels, or they actively chose to not include them for some reason which—”

“—which means that we don’t really have a clue as to what the current tunnels look like,” Morgan finishes for him, and Hotch internally blanches.

No, he thinks to himself. I will not lose her like this, not after Haley.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch tries to re-assess the situation, but finds himself unable to breathe deeply. At all. Gasping, he tries to communicate to the team the severity of their situation, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. Vaguely, he hears Morgan clear the room as JJ gently takes his upper arm and steers him out the back door of the house on to the porch.

“Hotch,” he can’t stand to listen to her voice; her calm demeanor only increasing his anxiety about your current situation.

“Hotch,” JJ tries again, harsher this time. “I need you to take a breath; only one, just now, that’s it.”

I can do that, he thinks. And he does; he takes one solitary breath.

“Good,” she encourages, “now do it again, just once.” And so he does, again, and again, for JJ.

Once his breathing is under control and JJ steps back with an appraising eye, he speaks.

“We need to find her,” he gasps out. “We have to; I can’t—” he trails off.

With a softness he has yet to comprehend, JJ looks into his eyes and sighs.

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” she reassures him. “She’s on the property, she has to be, and we’ll find her.”

With a shaky nod, Hotch allows JJ’s words to take hold of him, and he goes back to being the BAU’s Unit Chief. Gazing out on the field behind the house, his resolve is firm; Aaron Hotchner will find you, Michael Robertson be damned.

---

The next moment you remember—thanks broken nose and probable concussion—is your body being roughly thrown into a plastic chair, sans bullet-proof vest, and then your arms and legs being tightly tied down. A rag of some sort is crudely stuffed into your mouth, and you can’t help but gag because fuck does it do nothing to replace the gross taste of blood in your mouth. At least it’s me, you think to yourself, I’d hate to think of anyone else from the team in this position. And with that thought, you drift out of consciousness with Aaron’s face in the forefront of your addled mind. Love, I hope you find me soon.

---

It’s been three hours and Aaron Hotchner is losing his mind. Garcia, to her credit, is working furiously to uncover literally everything she can on Robertson, his family, friends as well as the closest neighboring farms to the one the BAU is currently ripping apart. Prentiss and Morgan have taken to meticulously going through each and every room of the house and barn in hopes of discovering some new and hidden passageway to the tunnel system that resides under the structure. Reid is creating an enhanced geographical profile of the property and those that encompass it, while JJ and Rossi discuss the nuances of Robertson’s profile somewhere with the local cops. Aaron, however, can only seem to scowl at the field of corn behind the house and remember the last moments he had with you before you disappeared.

“Hotch,” he turns when he hears Morgan’s voice. “We’ve got something.”

Heart racing, Hotch nods and follows Morgan out the side door—the one you entered—before stopping just short of the man in front of him.

“Local crime scene techs just confirmed that there’s blood here, and judging from the placement of the drops, it seems that Robertson got the drop on Y/L/N,” he states with a grimace, and Hotch can’t help but scrutinize the ground where your blood has fallen.

“Reid’s got a better handle on what might have happened, but I thought you’d like to see it for yourself,” Morgan finishes, and Hotch nods tightly before moving off in search of Reid. Finding the young profiler in the front room of the farm house, Hotch only has to look at him before he’s revealing all that he’s learned since your disappearance.

“It seems that the blueprints for the house were updated once since the 1920s, which was in 1953, so that’s our most recent map of what the whole underside of the property looks like,” Reid continues. “From what I can tell, there are at least five entrance points, three main walkways, and eight different chambers that appear to function as some form of bunker for the previous owners, and so my guess is that Y/N is being kept in one of the rooms, just like the previous victims most likely were,” Reid pauses. “Not that Y/N will become another victim, I’m just saying that for the sake of the case it appears that—” Emily enters the room and Hotch has never been so grateful for her presence in a room, ever.

“Hey, I don’t mean to disrupt Reid’s briefing, but local PD has found a possible way into the fuckin’ labyrinth out in the barn,” she states, curiously looking over at the map Reid has scribbled onto the property blueprints.

Turning his head sharply, Hotch nods at Prentiss and uncrosses his arms as she leads him out of the farm house as Reid continues to ponder the blueprints in front of him.

---

The next time you rise to consciousness, Robertson is dragging an ugly hunting knife across your collarbones, shoulder to shoulder, and cooing at you to wake up. Weirdo.

“Ah, there you are baby,” Robertson says sweetly. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up for me.”

You let out a groan and through the gag in your mouth—holy fuck does it taste like dirty socks—you attempt to cuss out your captor.

“Now, now, Sweetness,” Robertson chides. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” and with that terrifying statement, he leans closer to you and pulls the knife across your left shoulder, effectively slicing open your work shirt. Damn, you think to yourself, this was actually one of my favorites. But that’s the last coherent thought you produce because the combination of Robertson’s knife, the searing pain of your broken nose, and your own possibly concussed brain are unable to completely comprehend any more information as the man in question leaves light slices across your upper chest. Thankfully, the rag—sock? —in your mouth muffles your whimpers as you jolt in pain. Aaron, please find me soon you think before the feeling is all-encompassing and your mind shifts to merciful blankness.

---

“I wish I could do more,” Garcia states, but Hotch can only sigh in agreement.

“You’ve done well, Garcia. Let me know if you find anything else,” Hotch states, eyes darting over to the geographical profile Reid is standing in front of, conversing with Emily. The tunnel found by local PD had been a decoy, and they were no closer to finding you.

“Of course, Sir. I’m on it like Sergio on tuna. Garcia out,” and with that statement, the line goes dead.

Putting his phone in his pocket, Hotch walks towards Reid and Prentiss with purpose.

“Reid, have you found anything else about the tunnel system?”

“It appears that there are a series of false entrances that don’t actually connect with the full network of passageways,” Reid states gesturing wildly at the map. “The full system can only be accessed from four different vantage points, but given that this map hasn’t been updated since the 50s, I only have a general idea of where the entryways are given that the buildings on the property have shifted since the last accurate map was compiled.”

“The good news is that two of the entrances seem to be contained within this house, the bad news is that they may have been bricked over by renovations to the building,” Prentiss says with a grimace. “The other two entries are somewhere out in what’s now the fields, so we’ll have less luck finding them, even with all the extra help from the PD.”

Hotch’s shoulders sag under the weight of the new information and he frowns at the agents in front of him. Squinting hard at the blueprints haphazardly tacked to the board in front of him, Hotch tries to make sense of the possible entry points in the house he’s currently standing in.

“Get Morgan in here,” Hotch finally says. “He’s got experience with restoration work and may have a better idea on where the unsub could have taken Y/N from within the house given the structural changes.” And with that, Hotch strides out the front door of the house and leans on the porch railing. Y/N, I’m coming for you, just hold on a little longer.

---

Robertson is a bitch. And he has the knife to prove it.

“So, you’re impotent, that’s why you’re using such a big knife, right?” you taunt him after who knows how fuckin’ long. “You see, we thought you had, mmm, issues, but we didn’t know for sure; this just confirms it.”

He took the gag out of your mouth to hear you scream, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing so. However, instead of responding to your jabs, Robertson just drives the knife a little bit deeper into your torso and you let out a hiss in retaliation, throwing your head back.

“God, you sure know how to treat a girl, don’t ya?” you grit out between pained breaths. “No wonder a charmer like you had so many lady friends.”

“They didn’t appreciate me!” Robertson yells. “Just like you don’t appreciate me!”

The next slash glances off your ribs and yikes does it fuckin’ hurt. Jerking away as best you can, you contemplate your options. At this point, you know your only way out is to either escape—as if—or to make Robertson see some semblance of reason. Otherwise, you aren’t going to make it out of here alive. Fuck, you think, I’m so sorry, Aaron. I promise I’ll find you. Or you’ll find me. A particularly vicious cut to your cheekbone draws you back to reality, and once again, you are only able to focus on the pain and Robertson’s maniacal laughter. Creepy motherfucker.

---

Hotch has never seen Morgan so focused. Scouring the blueprints with Reid and Prentiss, Garcia on speakerphone, Morgan works to figure out where the hell Robertson could have disappeared to inside the house. With you. Hotch has taken to pacing the length of the house in order to keep his nerves and his temper somewhat under control; he needs to be alert and ready to get to you as soon as possible. Running a hand through his hair and over his face, Hotch sighs which draws the attention of Rossi and JJ who slowly drift over to him from their place by a window.

“Hotch—” JJ starts but is cut off by a hard look.

“We’ll find her, Aaron.” Rossi tries. “You know that she’s here somewhere, probably giving Robertson all sorts of hell.”

“We’ve seen what Robertson does to his victims, Dave,” Hotch retorts. “He basically slices women to pieces and beats them,” taking a breath, he tries to calm himself. “We need to find her alive,” he finishes softly.

JJ and Rossi share a concerned look before Rossi sighs and steps forward to place a hand on Hotch’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her. There’s no way—” he’s cut off by an excited yell and the three of them swing around towards the source of the noise which happens to be Prentiss.

Morgan’s already moving, stalking into another room and Reid, accompanied by Garcia on the phone, hurries to catch up.

“We found the door Robertson most likely used to take Y/L/N and we’re pretty sure it connects to the full system under the property,” Prentiss explains and that’s all it takes for Hotch to stride off after Morgan and Reid.

Head spinning, Aaron fluctuates between hope and hopelessness. He knows they’ll find you; Robertson can’t hide in the tunnel system, no matter how well he knows them, but he’s most worried about you. We’re coming for you, Y/N. I won’t let this bastard get away with this.

---

Your whole body fucking hurts and you’re pretty sure it’s not just because you started off your captivity with a broken nose and concussion. Your mouth tastes like blood again from how hard you’ve clamped down on your bottom lip to resist screaming as loud as you can. Robertson is cruel, there’s no question about that. You’d seen the photos of his other victims, and now you were undergoing the same things those women did in their last moments. Your entire body feels heavy, and if you weren’t tied down to a chair, you don’t think you’d be able to hold yourself up. Between the blood loss and head trauma, you’re surprised your thoughts are still relatively coherent.

Robertson is pacing in front of you, muttering to himself, shooting looks your way, and absentmindedly gesturing with the knife in his hand. Fantastic, you think hazily, he’s most likely devolving and I’m the only one around. Yay. Sucking in a breath, you wince as the action reignites a dizzying pain in your torso. Letting out a groan, you flinch as Robertson turns towards you, eyes shining with something that makes your heart race a little quicker. 


“Now, baby,” he states with a twisted grin—grimace? —that makes you grit your teeth even harder. “I’m not done with you yet, don’t worry. I still wanna hear you scream for me.”

Here we go again.

“Do your worst,” you snarl at him, and while that’s probably the worst thing to say to a devolving unsub, you’re too fed up and tired to care at this point; you can take it, you have to take it so you can survive. C’mon, Aaron. Where’s my knight in shining armor? Robertson descends on you with renewed vigor, and after the fourth slice to your leg, your ears rush and your head drops to your chest as you pass out. Fuck.

---

The trap door Robertson dragged you down can only be accessed by sliding one of the wooden floorboards back half an inch before it clicks into place and the adjoining boards lift slightly, revealing the way into the tunnels. How Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss figured that out is beyond Hotch’s current thought process because how many times had he paced over that exact spot? As soon as the hatch is lifted, all he sees is blood—your blood—sprinkled on the steps that descend into the darkened passageway. He takes a sharp breath and somewhere behind him, he can hear JJ gasp and Morgan swear.

“Medics are on stand-by,” comes Rossi’s voice from his shoulder.

Nodding tersely and setting his shoulders, he turns to the team.

“Stay alert and stick together. We don’t know where Robertson is, so clear the rooms and move on.” His voice is hard and leaves no room for debate.

“Let’s go get our girl,” Morgan adds, and with that, the team takes careful steps down into the hallway, following Aaron.

---

The first room they happen across is empty, as are the second, third, and fourth rooms. Forging ahead, knowing that they’re only closer to where you are, they continue. Turning a corner, Hotch can hear movement and his heart speeds up. Robertson. Signaling to the team to pause, he gauges the best course of action. He doesn’t know what state you’re in, or Robertson for that matter, and so he has to approach the situation with caution. Gun in hand and stepping to one side of the door, he lets Morgan and Prentiss move to the other. Backed by JJ, Reid, and Rossi, Hotch nods and Morgan kicks down the door before moving quickly inside, yelling at Robertson. Prentiss follows him and then Hotch steps through and freezes.

Robertson is crouched over your crumpled and bloody body looking wild-eyed at the agents in front of him. Hotch can’t breathe. You aren’t moving.

“She’s mine,” Robertson snarls, brandishing a knife at Morgan as he tries to get closer. “Mine!”

“Okay, Michael,” says Rossi calmly, “Let’s figure this out.”

“No. She’s mine! I’m not done,” Robertson’s reply is harsh, bordering on a yell.

“What do you mean you aren’t done, Michael?” Hotch’s voice is cold and flat. What more could Robertson possibly want?

“She didn’t scream! I need her to scream for me!” and with that, Robertson runs the tip of his blade down your already bloody cheek.

The team is stunned, but then Robertson raises the knife in the air over your chest and—

He falls.

Looking slowly to the right, Hotch sees Prentiss, gun raised, and then to Robertson splayed on the ground, blood pooling under his head. Vaguely, Hotch hears Reid calling for medics and alerting the local officers to what just happened. Morgan’s already at your side, turning you slowly, carefully, gently on to your back, and that’s when Hotch rushes to you, gun holstered.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. There’s blood everywhere. Aaron can’t tell if you’re breathing. He chokes back a sob. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.

“Hotch, she’s alive,” Morgan breathes, and with that, Hotch lets out a sigh of relief and allows himself to fully look at you, blinking a few times to rid his eyes of tears.

Your face is littered with shallow cuts. Your nose is bloody—definitely broken—and there’s already bruising around your eyes. Your shirt is torn and bloodied in so many places, as are your pants. He can see blood leaking slowly multiple places on your thighs, and even more from your arms and midsection. Your eyes are closed.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Hotch presses down on one of the lacerations to your torso, Morgan taking another, and JJ appearing to apply pressure on a cut that’s just a little too close to your femoral artery.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” his voice shakes. “I need you to open your eyes, Y/N. Have to know you’re okay.”

There’s yelling from down the hallway, medics bustling into the room and taking over. Aaron can’t make himself let go of you, and it takes Rossi’s gentle but firm hand to guide him back and away from you. He can’t stop shaking.

---

You wake, briefly, when you feel yourself being lifted. Squinting, you try to turn your head, as the rest of the world comes crashing back in a wave of sound and movement. Vision blurred, you try and make sense of what’s going on around you.

“She’s awake!” calls a voice from your left, and you can make out the outline of… JJ? They’re here.

You’re shifted around more, and you get the idea that you’re being strapped down to a gurney as medics begin to wheel you out of the hellhole where Robertson held you.

Suddenly, there’s a hand grasping yours, and before your mind can comprehend what’s happening, all you hear is—

“Sweetheart…?” in the most relieved, reverent, adoring, tone you think you’ve ever heard in your life and it’s Aaron holding your hand. He’s here he’s here he’s here. He found me.

“Aaron,” his name leaves you in a sigh. “Y’found me,” you say softly, looking him over.

“Of course, I did, Sweetheart,” he says, just as soft.

“Where’s…?” you don’t want to say his name.

“Dead. Emily shot him,” Aaron answers in a low voice. Good fucking riddance.

You hum and ease back as the gurney jostles you particularly hard. Gritting your teeth, you groan as you head starts to pound even harder. Feeling yourself losing consciousness, you squeeze Aaron’s hand.

“Love you,” and before he can respond, you vision goes black and all is quiet once more.

---

After you get loaded into the nearest ambulance and speed towards the hospital, Rossi confirms that local officers have secured the scene. With not a moment to waste, the team takes off after the ambulance. Morgan calls Garcia to update her on your status and spends a majority of the ride to the hospital convincing her that she doesn’t need to fly over to see you. Hotch stares blankly out the window and replays the entire interaction with Robertson. He saw the damage Robertson did to you—I need her to scream—and can’t help but feel a little bit of pride at the fact that you didn’t give in to Robertson despite the obvious pain you endured.

The SUVs pull up to the hospital, screeching to a halt, before all the doors are thrown open and the team hurries into the lobby. The nurse at the desk looks up to find six disheveled agents crowding around the counter, worry across all of their faces.

“We’re here for Agent Y/L/N, she probably arrived twenty minutes ago,” Hotch states, voice surprisingly calm.

“I can confirm she arrived and that she’s currently being attended to, but I don’t know any more than that at this moment,” the nurse replies, looking at the computer screen.

“Do you know if she’ll be okay?” asks Spencer in a subdued voice.

“The severity of her injuries is yet to be determined, I’m afraid. She has obvious head trauma, numerous lacerations, and possible internal bleeding, but until I get another update, that’s all I can share,” the nurse says with a sad smile.

Nodding, Aaron steps away from the counter. C’mon, Sweetheart.

“Thank you,” comes Rossi’s voice from Hotch’s left, and with that, the team migrates to the largest cluster of chairs where they promptly collapse in exhaustion.

Sitting down heavily, Hotch rests his elbows on his knees and runs a hand over his face. Prentiss drops in to the chair on his left, Rossi settles in on his right. Across from them, Reid and JJ sit on either side of Morgan. Looking down at his hands, Aaron realizes that they still have your blood on them. He glares at them, somehow wishing that if he stares hard enough, it’ll vanish on its own. A hand closes around one of his, and he looks at Emily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says softly, then, louder, “You guys too, Morgan and JJ. Let’s go.”

It’s then that Aaron looks—really looks—and sees that like him, Morgan and JJ have your blood on their hands as well. With a nod, they all stand. Morgan and Hotch walking into the men’s room while Emily follows JJ to keep her company. Mechanically, the two men stand side-by-side and turn on the taps, starting the slow process of washing away the blood that’s dried on them. Glancing to the side, Hotch sees Morgan, brow furrowed in concentration, as he scrubs under his nails.

“Thank you,” he says, stopping his own motions to fully look at Derek, who turns at the sound of his voice.

“For what?” Morgan asks, slightly confused.

“For going over the blueprints with Reid, Prentiss, and Garcia. For figuring out where in the house Y/N had disappeared. For going above and beyond to find her and— “

“Hotch, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Morgan cuts him off. “I will do everything in my power to make sure this team is okay, you know that,” and with a small grin, he adds “I’m just happy that one of my hobbies was useful for the case.”

Hotch can’t help but smile a little in return, and with that, they go back to washing their hands in a more comfortable silence.

---

Walking back into the waiting area, Hotch is confronted with the sight of Reid and Rossi surrounded by a pile of snacks from one of the vending machines. He pauses for a second, shakes his head, and then continues back to the chair he was sitting in earlier. Once he’s seated, Reid tosses him a bag of something—chips? —which he dutifully opens under the watchful eye of Rossi. Morgan snags his own snack and then leans against the nearest wall, content to stand. A short while later, Emily and JJ return, Emily’s arm secure around JJ’s shoulders, before they too are digging in to the veritable mountain of food that Reid and Rossi managed to accumulate. Sitting in silence—save the crunching of whatever food they were eating—the team takes a second to contemplate and reassess the day.

The sound of Velcro breaks Hotch out of his trance, and he looks over to see Morgan undoing his bulletproof vest. The vests which the rest of them are still wearing. There’s a scramble after that, to rid themselves of their exterior layer, which are then haphazardly stacked on an open seat. Taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time in days, Hotch sinks back in his chair and closes his eyes, head tipped back against the cool wall behind him.

“Anyone want water?” Reid is the first to break the tenuous silence. There’s a chorus of hums and head shakes before he stands and wanders off, presumably in the direction of the vending machines where he first got the food.

“She’ll be fine, you know,” Rossi says looking at Aaron, whose eyes are now open, staring at the ceiling. “She’s tough, tougher than I think we gave her credit for.”

Hotch sighs in response, but Emily is the next to speak up.

“Robertson said she didn’t scream, which…” she trails off, looking at the floor before meeting Aaron’s eyes. “I don’t think I could have done that, not like that. I can’t imagine what that was like for her...”

“I wish we had gotten there sooner,” Hotch finally says. “I wish—”

“No.” Morgan says, a hard edge to his voice. “Don’t do that to yourself, Hotch. Or any of us. We did what we could and we found her alive.”

“I know, but—” Hotch is cut off by JJ this time.

“But nothing, Aaron. She’s going to be okay.” And with that, JJ moves from her chair to the one next to him and gently puts a hand on his shoulder. “She was awake and talking before they took her away, you know that,” she adds softly.

“Hey guys, so I talked to the nurse and—” Reid returns and with those words, Hotch sits straight in his seat, JJ’s hand falling away as his attention and that of his teammates focus on what Reid has to say next. “—and apparently, Y/N only needed minor surgery to repair some internal damage from three of the stab wounds and the other slashes were relatively shallow, so they just needed to be stitched up. She also has contusions on her head from where I’m guessing Robertson hit her to initially subdue her, and she does have a concussion and broken nose, but according to the nurse Y/N only has to stay here for a maximum of three days to make sure that there are no serious effects from the concussion and to keep an eye on her sutures before she’ll be cleared to leave.” Reid’s final statement hangs in the air, sinking in, and once it does, Aaron hangs his head as tears fall down his cheeks. You’re okay. You’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.

Derek immediately calls Garcia to give her the good news and her scream of excitement can be heard by the rest of the team even though Morgan did not have her on speakerphone. Rossi chuckles to himself before looking over at Aaron and his shaking shoulders. Putting a hand on his back, Rossi doesn’t say anything, but instead, provides silent support to the man who almost lost what little he had left.

“Agent Y/L/N?” comes a voice from the desk, and Aaron wipes his eyes before taking a breath and standing and turning with the rest of the team.

“Yes?” It’s Prentiss who replies.

“We’ve moved her to a room; you can see her now,” and with that, the nurse beckons for them to follow her through the set of double-doors that lead further into the hospital. Coming to a stop, the nurse turns and fixes Hotch with a look. “I’ll warn you now, she looks worse off than she actually is, so don’t be put off by her appearance. She shouldn’t move too much because there’s a risk she’ll rip her stitches, but other than that, she’ll be okay,” and with a nod, she opens the door and ushers them inside.

Aaron’s eyes rush to take in your appearance—butterfly bandages across your nose, a few on your cheekbones and forehead, bandages up both arms, and he’s sure there’s more hidden from view. For a moment, he’s taken back to the last time he saw you laying this still. Crumpled on the floor, bloody and unmoving, Robertson with a knife crouched over you, going to kill you—

Prentiss pushes past him, breaking his train of thought, as she moves to your side and gives a low whistle before gingerly taking your hand. Aaron walks to your other side, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head, and the rest of the team surround your bed, everyone gazing down at your sleeping form.

---

The first thing you notice is the pain in your head, followed by pain that slowly pulses through your whole body, and for a moment, you remember. Robertson, the knife, slicing, slashing, taunting, yelling, don’t scream can’t scream—

But then you feel it. The familiar pressure of Aaron kissing your head and it clears your head a bit. Not with Robertson, not with Robertson, I’m not with that fucker.

“Fuck,” you groan, mind still hazy, pain more intense, as you return to consciousness. “Wh’re am I?” you slur out next, as you blink away the tiredness in your eyes and try not to squint at the fluorescents or the shadows that are sharpening into your team.

Looking to your right, you lock eyes with Aaron, who pushes hair off of your face before smiling sweetly at you and you try to smile back.

“Hi, Love,” you say, voice low and rough. He leans down and kisses your forehead this time, before gently holding your hand.

Realizing you aren’t alone, you look around at the rest of the team, squeezing Emily’s hand in yours.

“You killed ‘im?” you ask, searching her face. She nods. “Good,” you sigh. “He was such an asshole.”

With that, Derek laughs, followed by Rossi. Emily’s shoulders drop as she lets out a chuckle, Spencer smiles, and JJ rolls her eyes with a fond grin. Almost the whole team.

As if summoned by the power of thought, Derek’s phone rings and he answers the call, Garcia’s voice coming through loud and clear on speakerphone.

“Y/N! My poor, poor, goddess divine how are you?” she questions. You clear your throat and attempt to speak, but before you can say anything Morgan is passing the phone to Aaron, who holds it closer to your face. You shoot him a grateful smile before responding.

“I’m fine, Pen. Just some cuts and scrapes,” you joke.

“That’s a lie, Y/L/N and we all know it. Don’t make me ask you again!” she chastises and you roll your eyes, holding back a wince as pain twinges through your side.

“I’ll be okay, Penelope,” you say softly. Another jolt of pain, this time in your arm, almost makes you whimper, but you bite your lip instead. An action which does not go unnoticed in a room full of profilers.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Y/N,” JJ says lightly before shooting a glance at Aaron and then looking at the rest of the team. “But we should get back to the hotel.”

“Bye my lovelies! I’m happy you’re okay, Y/N. Get home safe, please! Garcia out,” and Derek puts his phone away before smiling at you. Reid give you a small wave and Rossi claps a hand on Aaron’s shoulder before they all turn to exit.

With one last squeeze to your hand, Emily lets go and follows the rest of the team, save Aaron, out the door with the promise that they’ll return later.

When everyone is out and the door shuts behind them, you finally let out a pained breath and scrunch your eyes shut with a groan. You feel Aaron smooth a hand over your hair and you try to control your breathing, but it’s hard when your entire body hurts. Slowly, tears make their way down your face and Aaron’s quick to softly brush them away. Turning to look at him, you allow yourself to breakdown in the safety of his presence.

Your breath hitches as the tears fall faster, your head hurts, your chest hurts, everything hurts and you try not to break into a sob, but the tears won’t stop and eventually sobs wrench from your body and you let them. Aaron has tears of his own falling down his face and he holds your hand in both of his, kissing your knuckles, fingertips, palm, whatever he can as he watches you break. He wants to hold you, wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain but he can’t because your injuries prevent him from doing so and it pains him to see you this way. So he does what he can.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. I didn’t get to say it before you passed out and—” he pauses to take a breath. “I love you so much. So so much.”

“I was so scared—” you gasp through a sob. “Terrified, Aaron. I couldn’t—” you can’t speak through the force of your tears. Aaron shushes you and kisses your cheek, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know, but you were so brave, so brave and I am so proud of you for being so strong and—” he breaks off in his own soft sob. “—and for staying alive. You’re alive.”

Lifting a hand to scrub at your face, you take a few deep breaths, but more tears escape.

“I can’t—” your breath hitches at what exactly Robertson had done to you. “He wanted me to scream so I didn’t, I couldn’t. I knew what he did to the others, and I just thought that—” you take another breath. “I just thought that if I could deny him that, not give in, it would buy you guys time to find me,” you pull Aaron’s hand to your lips, resting them on the back of his hand and closing your eyes to ground yourself.

“And you did,” he replies softly, gently. “When we found you—” he takes his own steadying breath. “When we found you, Robertson was angry, he said…he said he needed to make you scream, and hearing that…I just,” he moves his hand to cup your face, softly moving his thumb over the bandage on your cheekbone. “You astound me, Sweetheart. Everyday,” he finishes in a whisper.

“I love you,” you say just as softly.

“I love you more,” he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back.

You lean forward, then. And he meets halfway, hand disentangling from yours so he can cradle both sides of your face as he sinks into the kiss. One of your own hands finds its place on his cheek and you sigh into his lips. This. This is what kept me alive, you think when he gently tilts your head. I love you I love you I love you. Thank you. With tears slowly drying on both your faces, you and Aaron revel in the comfort of each other. In the words you don’t have to speak, and the touch of the one you love. Through the worry, pain, and fear of the day, this is how it always ends. You and Aaron. Together. Safe. Loved.  

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[mercurysstars]

All That Glitters Is Not Gold (part 1)

Summary: Y/n gets hired to be the avengers chief physician and also happens to be an ex assassin.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Violence.

A/N: this is an old story that I wrote the first few chapters of so I figured why not finish it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦

𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸,

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

_

Y/n POV

_

"I'm pulling up Matt ill talk to you later," Y/n says while turning on to the gravel road that leads to the Avengers compound.

"Alright call me if you need anything." With that Matt hung up.

As Y/n was nearing the end of the road she looked up to see a tall black gate surrounding the compound. 5 feet in front of the gate there was a waist-length box where you could scan your badge or press a button to talk to the operator.

Y/n pressed on the button, and it began ringing. Three seconds after a muffled voice came through.

"Hello Avengers compound front desk, this is Teresa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um hi, I'm Y/n Y/l/n. I'm the new Chief physician."

"Oh of course Dr.Y/l/n, when you hear a buzz pull right on in."

"Thank you!" Y/n exclaimed before she pulls in the gate.

Today was Y/n's first day as the Chief Physician for the Avengers. Everyone before her either quit because the job was too demanding or they were scared for their safety. Generally, doctors are 'nerds', and most time nerds aren't really Averger threat worthy of defending themselves. Tho you couldn't really say the same for Y/n.

_

Y/n pulled in the gate to see several buildings, she pulled in front of the biggest one with lots of windows and a huge A on the side. Y/n put her car in park and rested her head on the steering wheel giving herself a mini pep talk.

Who wouldn't be nervous the first day of their new job? Especially if you were working with superheroes. They'd have to rely on her in their most vulnerable moments. Y/n could only hope she could be what they needed.

A knock at the window caused Y/n to jump.

She grabbed her chest and took a deep breath while opening her car door.

"Hello, ma'am, would you like for us to valet your car?" The man said with a boyish smile.

"Oh, that would be great." Y/n squinted her eyes to get a good look at the boy's name tag "Torres thank you."

Torres gave a polite smile with a little nod and took the keys from Y/n.

_

The compound was crowded with SHIELD recruits, scientists, journalists, and other lower-level avenger employees.

Y/n began to weave between people to get to the front desk. She approached the desk to see a blonde petite woman with round glasses.

Y/n cleared her throat "Teresa right."

The stalled her typing and looked up from the computer screen. "Yes Ma'am and I'm assuming Dr.Y/l/n?"

"I am she, I was told I'd get my pass here," Y/n said

Teresa took a badge off her desk and swiped it on the side of the computer screen. "Here you go. You have a gold pass, so you can get into any room or floor you please. Happy is by the elevator to escort you up to your office."

Y/n looked over to her left to see a chubby man with short brown hair in a black suit with his arms crossed behind his back looking around standing exactly where the woman said.

Y/n quickly thanked Teresa, put the pass over her head, and walked over to the man.

_

As Y/n nears the man she could see the prominent scowl on his face which didn't change when she became within a few feet from him.

Happy gestured his head toward the elevator and Y/n followed. When they got in Happy swiped his badge and pressed the 2nd floor. She furrowed her brows in confusion her office was on the 11th floor.

"I thought we were going to my office," Y/n questioned as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

They stepped out "He wanted you to meet the Avengers, so you wouldn't have to meet them in more unfortunate circumstances." Happy replied dryly.

Y/n just nods in response. They walk down the long hallway the only noise between the two is Y/n's heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

They arrived at the door of the Avenger's conference room. "Thank you," Y/n says. Happy gave tight-lipped smile in response. What a dick she thinks.

_

Y/n paused, she wiped her sweaty hands against her skirt. Taking in deep breaths didn't seem to help calm her nerves. Adjusting her bag, plastering a fake smile on her face, and tilting her chin up just the slightest, Y/n manages to walk into the conference room.

"And there she is." Y/n heard as she entered. Her eyes darted around the room when she looked to the left her gazed finally found the man she was looking for.

"TONY!" She shrieked happily and ran into his arms. "Hey, Sunshine long time no see." Y/n scrunched her nose at the nickname as she squeezed Tony nearly to death.

Everyone that sat at the table watched them confusingly as they embraced each other. After an awkward silence, Clint spoke up.

"Not that I mind the beautiful face compared to these hags, but who's the new girl." Nat jabbed him in the ribs. "OW!"

They pulled away from each other and Tony cleared his throat "Oh yes, of course, guys meet our need chief physician Y/n Y/l/n or more specifically our new personal doctor."

"Y/n this is Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, And Bucky. Peter is at school and Thor's in Asgard, so you'll meet them later " Tony added.

Saying that didn't ease their confusion. "No offense or anything Dr.Y/l/n but you look quite young to be a doctor and a liability in the field" Steve Rogers or better know as 'Captain American' says.

"Just Y/n please, Captain Rogers, and I assure you that I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove. As for the age, well I'm only 26, so I'm quite young for a doctor."

That catches Bucky's attention 'I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove'  what does that mean?

He looks up from the table and looks at Y/n, he was immediately drawn to her. There was a familiarity in her eyes.

She had y/c/h colored hair and y/h. She wore a confident demeanor. Y/n had a white blouse, a black pencil with black heels. She had a lanyard around her need with her ID and a couple of keys.

Bucky felt a poke in his side. He looked over to see Sam with a raised eyebrow giving him the 'I totally caught you staring' look. Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him the 'I don't know what you are talking about' look. He huffed annoyed with Sam and looked back at Y/n.

The hair on the back of Y/n's neck stuck up as she felt like someone was watching her. She looked around for the source to be met with deep blue eyes.

She felt her stomach flip. Bucky Barnes or more commonly known to her as 'The Winter Soldier' the world's best assassin. Bucky quickly looked away.

"We bumped into each other a few years ago, right Y/n?"

Y/n eyes snapped to Tony's and nodded at him. It isn't technically a lie she told herself.

_

Y/n 7 years ago

_

"Goddammit." Y/n cursed herself while scooping up her textbooks off the pavement. She crossed the street while holding her books to her chest.

Grunting and wrestling caused Y/n's eyes to snap toward the alley. Out of curiosity, she walked closer to the commotion. As she neared she heard muffled screaming. Her eyes went wide she dropped her books, heard a splash, and she darted closer to the sound.

When she approached she could see about 8 men dressed in black tactical gear surrounding a man in an expensive suit. She caught a glimpse of a hydra sign on the van behind them. "Oh, fucking hell" she whispered.

The man started to scream again. She pulled her hoodie over her head "here goes nothing." She huffed.

Y/n rushed toward the man closest to her. She pulled her backpack off, wrapped the straps around his neck, spun around, and flipped him over her back.

She rushed towards the next man. She used her momentum to bring herself around up his midsection and sat on his shoulder. Y/n grabbed the hydra agent's gun off his thigh holster and shot the two men that were trying to shove the man in the van.

She tried to shoot the third one, but the gun clicked as it was out of bullets. The Hydra agent's shoulder she sat on kept trying to throw her off. "Hold on you cocksucker you'll get your turn," Y/n grunted.

She cocked her shoulder back and chucked the gun at the other hydra agent she couldn't shoot before, it hit him in the head, and he hit the floor within seconds. She took her knife flipped it around and shoved it in the man's throat that she sat on. The hydra collapsed, she hit the floor and rolled up onto her feet.

The next agent seen her a rushed toward her, he swung his knife, and she ducked, she faked a punch and the man went to block it. She saw an opening and kicked him in the stomach, he fell back with a thud.

She snuck up on the second to last man, she wraps her arms around his throat and pressed a pressure point to get him to pass out. Y/n turned around to take out the last agent but the man in the suit head-butted him and jabbed him in the ribs and they both collapsed.

At that time Y/n got a chance to really look at him, and it finally clicked. Expansive suite plus hydra agents equal Tony Stark. She felt her heart drop, only her luck that she would save an Avenger.

She yanked her hood down, walked over to Tony, and stuck out her hand. "Well, mister Stark it's good to see your suit wasn't too badly ruined." She joked.

Tony grabbed her hand and grumbled, she pulled him up, and he straightened his jacket. "I had them on the ropes." He commented dryly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you did." She rolled her eyes. They started to slowly walk back towards the street.

"Okay, what the hell was that? You pulled up all G.I Joe and took like 10 of them out."

Y/n figured after he saw that she couldn't lie and told Tony about how she grew up, and her training. They talked for a good 20 minutes. They neared the end of the alley and Tony turned to her. "You know we are always looking for more people on our team, we could definitely use you."

Y/n chuckled grabbing the books that she dropped earlier "I'm no hero Tony, and I'm a little busy going to school for my doctorate, which on that note I need new books because I dropped them in a puddle." She grimaced.

Tony paused to think for a second. "Here I'll make you a deal, I'll pay for your college, housing, and anything else you need if when you graduate if you consider joining our team."

Y/n's eyes went comically wide "Wait what? I can't ask you to do that, that's like 200,000 dollars of just school debt, let alone housing and all that."

Tony just smiled "Oh Sunshine you truly wound me, that's basically a trip to the Bahamas, c'mon think about it."

It was an offer she truly couldn't refuse, no one has ever been this kind to her sense well ever.   Y/n thought it over for a moment, She stuck out her hand "Well Tony Stark you have a deal, and don't call me Sunshine."

Tony gladly shook her hand.

_

"Funny enough, Tony wasn't paying attention to where he was going and ran right into me and spilled coffee all over me and him. But I don't blame him I know his eyesight is getting worse because of his old age, right Anthony?" Y/n put an arm around Tony mockingly.

Tony scowled and pushed her arm off with fake disgust. "What's with the insult's sunshine?" This time it was Y/n who grimaced.

"Any-who I've got another meeting to get to, so you're gonna have to have someone else show you around."

"Bucky will do it." Sam grinned.

Y/n looked over to see Bucky wide-eyed. "Well let's get to it, Sargent Barnes." She smiled.

_

Once everyone left the conference Bucky looked at Y/n with a pink tint to his cheeks. "Uh sorry, Sam can be a bit much sometimes." He rubs his neck sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it Sarge, I'm flattered that you'd show me around." She grinned.

Bucky looked torn for a split second, but his expression eases at Y/n's easy-going demeanor. "Well then, shall we get going." He Stuck out his arm.

She smirked back grabbing his arm "We shall."

He explained how the first floor is just mostly open to the public and where they hold press conferences. The second floor is where the SHIELD training room, a tiny med-bay, and the kitchen are. The whole third floor is for the Avengers to train which includes a weight room, sparring room, shooting range, pool, sauna, and locker rooms.

The fourth floor is where Bruce and Tony's lab is located. The 5th floor is where the Avengers common room and kitchen are. The 6th floor is where the debriefing room, weaponry, and where they get dressed to go on a mission. The next five floors are where their rooms were located.

"And here we have the 11th floor. Avengers med-bay and where your office is located also out the window you can see the Quinjet."

"It's awfully plain in here," Y/n murmured peeking into her new office.

"Our last doctor was a bit older in age and a little strict. No conversation, no joking around, and absolutely no color was her motto." Bucky crosses his arms while looking around the room.

"Thank the lord I won't ever have to meet her." She said with slight distaste.

"Actually Dr.Smith is the new SHIELD doctor, so don't thank god just yet."

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes and smiles back at Bucky. "Well thank you Sargent for the tour I appreciate it."

"I told you doll, call me Bucky." Her knees nearly buckled at the nickname.

"Alright then Bucky, thank you." Bucky put on his famous smirk

"Anytime doll, anytime."

Before Bucky walked out the door he turned to look at Y/n one last time. She gave him a mock salute and he chuckled.

Part 2

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

--

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

--

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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[lespritdekin]

gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[momsopposed2theoccult]

I don't know and I'm sorry if you have answered this before, but what do you think about toph being a cop, there's so much hate on it but I personally don't find it that wrong, I'm not sure tho I haven't seen korra yet. thank you:）

I'm going to be honest with you and say that I'm still pretty on the fence about this myself. I've spent a lot of time pondering it, but I'm still not sure where I stand, because I feel like there's an argument to be made both for and against it. Not sure if I'll be able to provide you with a straight answer, but I'm happy to provide some thoughts on both sides of the argument as well as on how and why I think she got into the field, my issues with the way the police force was run in LoK (under the assumption that it was built from the ground up by Toph herself), and what I would have done differently (or rather what I think Toph would have done differently that would have made it feel more in-character, if that makes sense).

The main argument as to why it's out of character for Toph to go into law enforcement is that in the original show she's portrayed as somebody who is anti-authoritarian and has no qualms about breaking the law. Kid Toph is very much a "fuck the rules" kind of person and dislikes being told what to do, so the idea that enforcing rules and regulations would become her future career is definitely confusing. Although I was also extremely confused at first, over time it's grown on me in a way and I can make sense of it. However, I agree that it's still not the most in-character and I can understand why a lot of people don't like it.

Although it's still up for debate as to whether or not she has the philosophy for the job, she absolutely has the skill set for it. I can see her enjoying getting to exercise her metalbending skills on a daily basis. Toph is in extremely good physical shape and is an athletic person who enjoys exercise, and having a physically-oriented job would definitely be good for her. She probably made an excellent detective as well, what with her lie-detecting abilities, seismic sense, and general fine-tuned observational skills. Oh and can you imagine being interrogated by Toph? Scary shit. There's also something to be said about how although Toph hates being told what to do, she absolutely loves being in charge and telling other people what to do. Like they say, "When you get sick of breaking the rules, you make the rules," which is sort of how I view Toph in this scenario. Toph is largely unhappy with a lot of the rules and regulations in society, so I think that if she were offered a position where instead of having to follow other people's rules, she would be able to create her own rules in a way she saw fit, I don't think it would be entirely out of character for her to take it. My headcanon is that she created the police force as a favour to Aang and Zuko because they asked her to and she wanted to feel like she was playing an important role in the founding of Republic City. Toph has many virtues, but humble she is not. I really do think she would enjoy the glory she received in such a high-profile position as the Chief of Police. Would she be passionate about the law, per se? Well no, but I think she would enjoy being able to exercise her unique skill set on a daily basis and would likely get a thrill out of bringing people like Yakone to justice. She would enjoy feeling important. Toph isn't someone I view as really wanting a long-term career, so I imagine her getting into the position was less "I want to be a cop!" and more "Welp, I need to get a stable career eventually, and Zuko and Aang really want me to do this for them, and hey I guess I'll get to metalbend everyday and oh I'll have lots of people to yell at and being in charge would be fun and you know what I don't trust anybody but myself to make the rules in this goddamn city so what the hell, I'll take it." I do think that people forget that Toph wasn't just a beat cop, she wasn't even just a detective. She was the Chief. And it wasn't as if she inherited the system from somebody else, it was quite literally a system of her own creation. She wasn't upholding somebody else's law either, she was creating her own laws. Toph was the law in Republic City, and there are few things that girl loves more than being in charge and telling other people what to do.

Now, as to how the Republic City Police Department was portrayed in LoK, it really didn't feel like a system of Toph's own creation like we're supposed to believe it was. Apparently it was largely inspired by the Dai Li, and the idea that Toph would create a system modelled after the Dai Li is preposterous. Toph hated the Dai Li and Ba Sing Se in general. The RCPD is largely "arrest now, ask questions later" and very focused on security, security, security, which just isn't Toph's style. I've seen people throw around the idea of an alternative system loosely inspired by the Kyoshi Warriors, which is something I do like, and I think Toph would as well. I don't think that Toph would really bother with petty day to day stuff like robberies. The main function of the police force under Toph's control would be to bring "real" criminals like Yakone who legitimately endanger the lives and safety of other people to justice. In fact, I can see Toph wanting to rehabilitate and give a second chance to "petty" criminals, especially youth (this is especially true when you take into consideration that she is somebody with a criminal past herself). As we see throughout the show and the comics, Toph is a forgiving person who gives second chances and will hear you out even when you don't feel as though you really "deserve" it. Hell, even if you are a "real" criminal, Toph would probably still hear you out and give you a chance to properly explain yourself. She's 100% the kind of person who would demand fair trial for every single criminal who comes into her custody, even the guiltiest of the guilty, because that's the kind of person that Toph is. In general I think she would likely be a controversial figure in Republic City who would routinely question every single law the council tried to pass. Toph would flat out refuse to uphold any and all laws she felt were unjust or unnecessary, which is part of the reason why having someone like her in the position would in some ways be beneficial.

To be completely honest as somebody who's read a ton of Toph-centric canon complicit post-ATLA-pre-LOK fanfiction, I've kind of just gotten used to the idea. In some ways it makes sense, in some ways it doesn't, and in my opinion it's far from the worst thing that LOK did to Toph's character. But that's just my two cents.

[13uswntimagines]

Fighting Fires - No Biggie (Lindsey x Reader)

Request: press or lindsey x reader where reader is a firefighter and she gets called to help with the fires in cali and press or lindsey is sad but they know it’s what she has to go do?

Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ for her amazing editing skills!!!

You loved moments like these. Moments where you were cuddled up close to the love of your life, buried under blankets. Moments where everything was still. Where everything just seemed to… pause. It was rare that You and Lindsey got moments like this, With her soccer career taking her all over the world and your insane schedule as a firefight. But moments like this always made it worth it. 

The comfortable silence was shattered by your phone, ringing. 

“Shit,” you sighed, taking an extra second to place a kiss on Lindsey’s neck before rolling over to reach for the offending device. 

“Who the fuck is calling you at 2am?” Lindsey groaned, throwing the arm that had been wrapped around you over her eyes. 

“The station,” you said, your voice rough with sleep. Lindsey hummed, her hand rubbing your back, as you placed the phone to your ear.“Hello?” you listened for a few seconds, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration, your lip caught between your teeth, the hand not holding the phone rubbing your eyes. 

“Yes chief, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” You said, already standing from the bed. Lindsey sat up, the covers pooling around her waist as you scurried about the room, pulling on clothes and grabbing your go bag designed specifically for occasions like this. 

You were a firefighter, and your ladder was one of the best in the country. Part of the job was always being available to help if you could. 

“What’s happening,” Lindsey asked, her voice shaky, you sighed, pulling on your work sweatshirt. You would have to change when you got to the station anyway. 

“I gotta go. There’s a massive fire and they need people to help,”

You made your way over to her side of the bed, cupping her cheek. She leaned into your hand, and you smiled sadly at her. It sucked when your time together got cut short. 

“Be safe,” She whispered. You ran your thumb over her cheek, as you leaned in to connect your lips. 

“Always my love. Play good,” You mumbled, your breath fanning against her lips as you pulled away. You sent her one last smile and wink before pulling your bag over your shoulder and heading towards the door. 

****

“More than 30 departments have been called to help with the escalating fires, which have already caused more than 10 billion dollars worth of damage…” 

“Would you turn that shit off please?” Lindsey groaned, glaring at the news man on the television. Knowing that you were out there, risking your life to save others, and seeing it on screen were two very different things. Christen smiled sadly at her, muting the television in the locker room. 

“Yeah, sorry Linds,”

“It’s alright, it’s just difficult, you know? She’s doing what she loves and she’s helping people, but like it’s super dangerous,” Lindsey said, sitting heavily on the bench, unable to tear her eyes away from the flames on screen. She didn’t even want to think of you facing that wall of fire in person. You loved helping people, and she understood, but it still made her sad when you had to leave. 

“We get it, trust me. Her mom had a heart attack when she found out that Y/N was actually going to go through with it,” Emily nodded, sitting beside the woman and running a comforting hand along her back. She had known you since the two of you were in diapers,/‘d she remembered the fight that had ensued after you told your parents of your career plans. Yes, it scared her too, but you had wanted to be a fireman for as long as she had known you. 

Lindsey nodded, sniffing lightly. “I’m happy she’s following her dreams, but it doesn’t make those like that,” she pointed to the screen, displaying firefighters spraying what looked to be a 40 foot wall of flames with water.“any less terrifying,”

Tobin followed her hand, her eyes landing on the truck proudly displaying the Portland logo along with the ladder neither. She felt her breath leave her. There was no way right? “Hey, isn’t Y/n part of ladder 13?”

“Yeah, why?” Lindsey asked, her attention shifting to her fellow midfielder. Tobin Pointed in the direction of the television, and Lindsey. Mad Emily’s eyes widened in horror. The truck was surrounded by flames, the caption stating that they were trapped and unable to communicate with the rest of the group. 

Lindsey’s heart stopped, it was as though all of her fears were being realized. She barely registered the breathless “Shit,” that sounded from beside her. You promised you would be safe, and now you were cut off from the rest of the group. 

She loved you and now you were probably…- she couldn’t even think the word. The two of you didn’t have enough time together for that to even be a possibility. No. You had to be ok. 

“Alright ladies, let’s hit the field,” Vlatko clapped entering the room, entirely oblivious to the crisis several of his star players were having. You might not be a national team member, but you were a large part of their family. Christen sent him a curt nod, turning to your girlfriend who looked like she was going to pass out if she didn’t breath. 

“I’m sure she’s fine, they’d call you if she wasn’t,” Christen said comfortingly, carding her fingers through Lindsey’s hair and shushing her softly. Lindsey nodded, straightening up. You had to be ok. She wouldn’t give up on you until they were absolutely sure. Until they told her she had to. No news was good news at this point. 

“Come on, let’s get your mind off this for a while and then we’ll figure out what’s going on,” Emily mumbled, hoisting your girl to her feet. Hopefully some time on the field would help them all clear their heads and prepare to help Lindsey through the worst, if that news came. 

****

Lindsey sat at the airport, her knee bouncing with impatience. She had gotten the call just as practice ended, assuring her that you were fine and providing her with your ladders flight information. So here she was, with the seconds feeling like hours, waiting for you to make your way through the terminal and back to her. 

She stood the second your limping form came into view, wrapping you into a hug the second you were within reach. She buried her face into your red sweatshirt, breathing in your scent that was slightly more smokey than usual. 

“Hey babydoll,” You sighed, kissing her forehead and hugging her tight. You nosed her hair, smiling tiredly at the sweet smell you found there. It felt so good to have the woman you loved back in your arms. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” She said, her voice muffled by the heavy fabric of your shirt. You brought your hand up to card it comfortingly though her hair, brushing her ear with each pass, your cheek still resting gently on her head. 

“I know darling, I’m so sorry. We didn’t realize it had circled back, and we got caught for a little while, but I’m alright. I’m here,” You mumbled, pressing another kiss to her head and holding her impossibly tighter. 

She didn’t need to know the gory details of your near death encounter. She didn’t need to know just how close of a call it had been. All she needed to know was that you were here, safe with her, and that you would be for a while. You took a little step back, and she looked up at you. You cupped her cheek, and gently brought your lips to hers. You needed to feel that she was here right now. 

“I love you, even though you terrify me,” She mumbled against your lips, before gently probing your bottom lip with her tongue, asking for entrance. You smirked, pulling away just enough to huff out a, “Hey, I love you too even though you terrify me,” before reconnecting your mouths. 

Your tongues entertained for a few seconds, before air became an issue. You connected your foreheads, your heavy breathing falling gently across her lips. 

“I scare you?” She breathed out, and you felt your lips tick up at the question. 

“Have you seen the size of some of the people coming after you?” You asked in return, pulling away as your girl nearly doubled over in laughter.

“I’m serious, people like Kelley are seriously scary,” You mumbled, warmth spreading across your cheeks. Emily and Lindsey insisted she was harmless, but that shovel talk she had given you had left you shaken. 

“You fight giant walls of flames that can vaporize you for a living and you’re scared of squirrel?” Lindsey weazed. 

“Hmm, not when I have you to protect me,” you smiled, pulling her back into your chest and flinging her over your shoulder, patting her but as you began walking towards the luggage carousel. 

You were safe, and with her and that’s all that mattered. 

[sleepysnk]

Team Player: Chapter Ten

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: suggestive content

Word Count: 3.1k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

"Let's go Kirstein!"

Coach Smith's words echoed throughout the field, it was the day before the championship game against Marley University. The team that Trost had lost to a few weeks prior. Everyone was beyond excited but nervous for this matchup, it decided if Trost would be good enough.

The only difference at today's practice was that a familiar face would be returning, that person was Eren. 

He had worked all day with (Y/N) to get used to his new techniques, he had only one more day to try and it was finally time for him to prove to Coach Smith that he was a reliable and worthy player for the team. Eren silently prayed that all this hard work would pay off.

The air was chilly that day, it was a usual cool morning and, for some reason, Eren felt like he had a stroke of luck. That today would be the day he'd get back to the sport he loved, and maybe, just maybe, he'd get a spot on the Kansas City Chiefs. 

Eren watched his teammates jogging on the track, some panted, while others continued pushing through the pain of running for so long in the cooler weather. 

"Coach."

Coach Smith's attention averted towards someone he didn't expect seeing, he didn't think Eren would show up.

"Eren? Did you work out your issues?" he asked, looking back at the players who were still running. 

Eren tossed his bag to the floor. "Yeah, I'd love to show you my improvement," he replied, his voice confident. 

Coach Smith blew his whistle. "Everyone! Gather 'round! I'm gonna explain today's plan," he called, waving everyone over. 

Eren watched his teammates approach his coach, he hadn't seen some of them in two weeks; a few of them stared at Eren, or exchanged looks with one another. 

"Today we'll be running plays, you all need to be at the absolute best. Eren here is going to be joining us today, let's see if he's ready," he explained, looking around at the boys. "Are we ready?"

"Ready!" they yelled all together. 

"Good.. now go get some balls and get started," he said. "Not you Eren.. I gotta see what you can do.."

Eren stopped in his tracks and turned towards Coach Smith. "Okay, what do you want me to do?" he asked, nodding.

"How is your ankle? It's been awhile since I've heard anything about your injury. I need to make sure you're 100%," he asked, looking down at his ankle. 

Eren stepped a few times, rolling the muscle around to show there was no sign of pain. "It's been good.. I got better meds and I stayed off of my feet," he replied, looking up.

His coach only nodded, "I see.. well, let's see how being off your feet has paid off. Reiner! Come throw some balls for Eren," he yelled at the blonde. 

Reiner jogged over with a football in his hand. "Sounds good coach, Eren, it's good to see you again," he said with a smile. 

Eren smirked, "It's good to see you too Reiner," he replied. 

"Enough talkin', get on the field and catch some balls," Coach Smith ordered. 

Eren put his helmet on, he hadn't worn his helmet in so long; he missed the feeling of it on his head. 

Reiner stood at the end of the field, he tossed the ball up into the air. "You ready!?" he called.

Eren nodded, "We're good!" he yelled back. 

The center got into position to pass the ball to Reiner, his eyes scanned the players around him before he spoke. "Hut!"

Eren ran down the field, his head turning to see where Reiner was going to throw; he could see the ball falling towards him. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby, it was his ball at that point. 

The ball landed into Eren's arms, he slowed down a bit and looked back at his other teammates; along with his coach. 

"Nice catch.. you seem to have a better ankle," Jean said, patting his shoulder. 

Eren tossed the ball back to Reiner. "Yeah, I do. I'm ready to get back out there," he replied, flashing a smirk his way. 

"Let's run that again! Reiner! Do a random play of your choice!" Coach Smith yelled, crossing his arms. 

Eren jogged back to the line, he could feel the sweat already forming on his brow. He had to do his best, it was for the sake of his career and his team. Eren wasn't even thinking about the offer anymore, he just wanted to help his team; it was different, but he knew it was from all the work he had put in with (Y/N).

(Y/N).

Eren smiled to himself as the image of her flashed into his head, he wanted to show her how much he's worked. 

"Hut!" 

Eren ran down the field, he turned his head to see what was going on. He wasn't sure where Reiner was going to throw; Eren wasn't even sure what play he was running, but one thing was for sure, the ball wasn't for Eren. 

He watched it fall into Jean's arms, his body making contact onto the floor. "Got it!" Jean yelled, sitting up a bit. 

Eren jogged over, reaching his hand out to help Jean up. "Here.." he said, looking down at him. 

Jean took his hand, "Damn.. you usually never help me up when I catch a ball. Did that girl do something to your head?"

Eren looked away for a moment. "Nah.. but she did help, I'm thankful for her," he replied, smiling a bit.

"You're a simp"

Eren looked at him, "What..?"

"I said it.. you're such a simp for (Y/N), it's obvious, especially when I was flirting with her in the library." Jean replied, a smirk forming onto his features.

Eren rolled his eyes, "Whatever.. she's pretty great though," he said. 

"Eren!"

He turned his head to see his coach over. 

"I'll be right back," Eren said, patting Jean's shoulder.

He jogged to the sidelines where his coach was standing, he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. He hoped that his coach would tell him some good news, if not that'd seriously crush him; his dreams would be over as well. 

"What's up coach?" he asked, nodding his head. 

Coach Smith looked at him. "You seem to be doing well.. that last play was meant to throw you off," he said. "Before you used to go for the ball without a car in the world.. but now, I've seen a change in you," 

Eren looked at him, confusion written on his face. "So.. what does that mean?" he asked. 

"I'm going to let you play tomorrow.." Coach Smith replied. 

His eyes grew wide, excitement rushing through his veins. He did it. He actually fucking did it. Eren could now show all of his hard work, it paid off. 

"You're for real?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes I'm for real, Eren. I like what I see, keep this same vibe on the field tomorrow and we'll win this game," Coach Smith said, nodding his head. 

Eren stuck out his hand. "Thank you coach," he said, a serious expression written on his face. 

He shook his hand, "You're welcome Eren.. don't make me regret this," he replied.

"You won't, I can count on that."

The rest of practice went very well for Eren, he actually gave his own ideas on some new plays they should try out. He also talked about some ways they could improve the team, all of it impressed Coach Smith; he never knew Eren had this side to him. He was most impressed by the way Eren let the ball go, he didn't hog it anymore; he gave it up. It shocked some of his own teammates as well.

"Say Eren, who made you get your head out of your ass?" Reiner asked, leaning against the locker. 

Eren looked down and back up at him. "Let's just say, it was someone special," he replied. "They uh.. really made me see what I was doing wrong."

Reiner nodded, "Well whoever they are, they did a great job," he said. 

Eren chuckled, "Yeah.. she did.." he smiled thinking of (Y/N).

"Alright! See you all tomorrow! Remember, be here tomorrow at noon! The bus is leaving at 12:45!" Coach Smith yelled, his voice echoing in the room. 

Eren grabbed his backpack, pulling the straps over his shoulders. He wanted to go and find (Y/N) to tell her the good news. 

"Eren."

He turned to see Coach Smith standing there. "What's up?" he asked, blinking a bit.

"It's good to have you back," he replied, smiling. 

Eren looked down, "It feels good to be back."

He made his way out of the locker room with a huge grin on his face. He couldn't wait to tell (Y/N) the news.

-

The hallways were filled with different students who were either heading to class, just leaving class, or going off to their dorms to relax for the rest of the day. (Y/N) being one of them. She was exhausted and she just wanted to head back to her dorm and take a nap. 

She was walking with Sasha, her roommate, of course the girl was rambling about something her boyfriend Connie did. It didn't necessarily interest (Y/N), the only thing her mind was worried about was the brunette boy she kissed the previous night. 

She wasn't exactly sure what their status was, was Eren just playing some kind of prank? What if he was just using her? She liked Eren a lot, she couldn't necessarily deny it anymore; it was obvious. She made it her goal to figure out what was happening with what they had, she silently prayed it wasn't him just messing with her. If that was the case her whole confession would be an embarrassment and she knew the kind of person he was. 

"(Y/N)! Hello?" 

She looked over at Sasha who was waving her hand. "You're spacing out again.. what are you thinking about?" she inquired, nodding her head. 

(Y/N) blinked for a moment before speaking. "Oh! Nothing Sasha, I'm just really tired and today was a long day,"

The brunette didn't seem exactly thrilled with her statement, she didn't believe a word that came from her mouth. 

"What even happened between you and Eren? You guys were gone for awhile, not to mention it was storming," she asked, raising a brow. 

A rush of heat formed onto (Y/N)'s face, her mind going back to the kiss they shared in the rain. The kiss made her knees weak and she couldn't even speak properly, Eren was just a charmer. He had the most amazing hair, his scent intoxicated her, and don't even start about his body. 

"We just got lost in the rain, that's about it," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. 

Sasha leaned against the wall. "Uh huh.. well whatever you say (Y/N), I gotta go find Connie, can you wait here for a second?" she asked. 

She nodded, "Yeah go ahead! I'll wait.." 

Sasha ran down the hall to find her boyfriend, (Y/N) giggled at the sight of her friend. She was happy Sasha found someone, not to mention how cute her and Connie were. 

She started scrolling through her phone, a sigh came from her mouth noticing that she didn't have a notification from the person she wanted to hear from most. Eren. She hadn't heard from him since that night and the feeling was bothersome, it lingered with her all day and she wasn't sure what to do. 

"(Y/N)!" 

Her attention averted towards the brunette running towards her, it was Eren. He seemed excited too, he had that same smile and his face was bright. 

"Hey? You seem to be in a better mood," she said, a smile forming onto her features. 

Eren panted a bit, "Yeah.. I had to – man fuck I ran a ton – I wanted to tell you the news," he replied. 

She furrowed her brows, "What news? What happened?" 

That same grin appeared onto his face again. "I'm back on the team!" he said, his tone excited and happy. 

Her jaw dropped, a smile appearing as she heard the news. "Oh my God! Congrats! I'm so proud of you!" she said, hugging him. 

Eren lifted her up and held her tightly against him. "Thank you but.. I gotta give you all the credit. You truly were the one who got me through this," he replied, slowly placing her onto the ground. 

Her cheeks grew hot from the contact. "It was no problem! I'm happy for you," she smiled. 

Eren rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you have class after this? I have an off period and I was wondering if you want to.. hangout?" he asked, nodding his head. 

She looked at her phone, she actually didn't have any afternoon classes that day. It worked out perfectly for them. 

"I actually don't.. do you wanna go back to mine?" she asked.

He chuckled, "Yeah, can we? My roommate doesn't really let me have girls over."

"It sounds good, mine is with her boyfriend right now. I have a free dorm," she said, looking down the hall for Sasha. 

Eren took her hand into his. "Let's go then," he said, smirking. 

The two both made their way to (Y/N)'s dorm, Sasha noticed the pair making their way out of the main campus building and she sent her a text telling her 'good luck ;)'. It made the two of them giggle. 

(Y/N) stood in front of her dorm door, she fished around her pocket for the key and unlocked it. Eren's chest was against her back and it made her stomach bubble with anticipation.

"Do you have practice later?" she asked, removing her shoes and tossing her bag onto the floor. 

Eren shut the door to her dorm. "Not until like.. six or seven, so we have time," he smirked, leaning down closer to her. 

Their noses brushed against each other before their lips connected into a kiss, God, did she miss his lips. They were soft and she could taste the faint hint of his mint chapstick, it suited him well. 

Eren's hands moved to her hips, bringing them closer to his own. He was starting to get excited, the blood began to all rush down to his dick and he was becoming needy. 

"Fuck, I missed your lips," he said in between kisses. "Sit on my lap"

Eren scooched back until his ankles hit the side of her bed, he plopped down and brought her onto him. Her thighs on either side of his legs, she looked so pretty like this to him.

"Shit.. Eren, touch me, please." she pleaded, her voice coming out almost like a whimper. 

Eren's hands explored her sides, his hands squeezed at the plush of her ass making her gasp. A chuckle rumbled from his throat seeing her reaction. 

"Who knew you were such a bad girl behind the scenes?" he said, kissing at her neck. 

She let out a breathy moan. "I'm only bad for you.." she replied, grinding her hips against his aching cock. 

Heat was pooling in between her legs from his kisses, Eren was so intoxicating and addicting. It took her breath away. 

"You're so hot, you have no clue what you do to me." 

She swallowed thickly, her pulse was beating against her neck and the room was growing hot. She needed Eren, she didn't care what way, she just wanted him. 

"W-Wait.. Eren," she said, pressing her fingers into his chest. 

He leaned away from her neck, a look of concern written on his features. "Shit.. did I make you uncomfortable? I'm sorry, I just got lost in the moment." 

She smiled, "No, you didn't, I just needed to ask you about something.." she replied. 

Eren placed his hands onto her thighs. "And that is?" 

Her hands went around his neck, twirling one of his strands of hair. "Do you actually like me? Or did you just say that because I helped you?" 

Eren furrowed his brows, "What? (Y/N), I do like you. I didn't say it because you helped me," he said.

She chewed her bottom lip. "I just don't know if you're being for real, I like you a lot Eren, I just don't want to look like a fool." she replied, looking down. 

Eren tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "First off, I am being real with you. One thing I never do is lie to a girl, my mom raised me better and I could never hurt someone like you. You're sweet, funny, kind, drop-dead gorgeous, and you bring out a better side of me that I never knew I had. I like you a lot and I want you to be my girlfriend," he said, cupping her cheek. 

A smile crept onto her face. "You mean it?" she asked, nodding. 

"Hell yeah! I would never lie to you," he replied. 

She giggled a bit, "Well.. I'd love to be yours Eren. I like you a lot and I don't want the opportunity to slip by."

He put his arms around her waist. "I like you a lot too, I won't let you get away," he said, kissing her cheek. 

She leaned into his touch, a smile plastered onto her face. "Now.. where were we?" she asked with a smirk. 

Eren laughed a bit, "Oh? You like that huh? I never took you as the freaky type," he teased. 

She rolled her eyes, "You'd be surprised what I can do.. now, you deserve a little present for getting back on the team today." 

Eren raised his brows in surprise. "Oh? I like the sound of that, I'm interested," he smirked, bringing her closer to his face. 

She giggled, kissing him again. "You should be interested, now lay down so we can get this started," she replied, putting her hands onto his shoulders. 

"We're going to have a lot of fun, so get ready," Eren said, leaning towards her ear. 

A chill went down her spine before she smirked. "Oh? Is that right? Bring it on Jaeger," she teased. 

"Go put the scrunchy on the door." 

She grabbed the scrunchy off of her table, making her way towards the door. She placed it on the knob on the outside and closed it before rushing back to where Eren was sitting. 

"Done."

He smirked, she could see his eyes that were blown with lust. "Good, the only words I wanna hear from your mouth from now on are your pretty little moans when you're wrapped around my dick," he whispered. 

"Show me you can be a team player, Eren," she replied, looking into his eyes. 

He chuckled, looking at her with a grin. 

"I'll show you a team player alright."

tagging: @ererokii @eremiie @callmepromise @thicmitten @moomii-hime @luvrboykento @katsuhera @flam3bird @bell0214 @daughter-of-the-stars11 @chayauwu @lunamoonawatcher @ryan249057 @sofi-yeager @hugemommymilkers

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

it should’ve been you

summary: you and spencer never got along since you joined the bau, mostly because you made a mistake that costed the life of one of his colleagues. 

word count: 3,761                                                                                     reading time aprox: 15 mins

masterlist

“Mistakes are a fact of life. It is the response to error that counts.” said Nikki Giovanni. Although the expression only extends to the limitation of ending someone else’s life because of a mistake. With the existing dichotomy of religious patrons adherent to celestial beings and men of psychology claiming that trauma and fault can enhance cognitive development, the question still stands whether the slight improvement in the human schema is worth the life of an individual. 

Why is the essential nature of living ‘to flourish in someone else’s misfortune’?

Is it so, once they’ve experienced this misfortune they can be placed in the shoes of the fortunate soul, with the inability to recall their previous position; causing another individual to fall into the paradigm?

This philosophy is circumstantial, spontaneous even, pertaining to life itself no matter what socioeconomic standing you hold or religious scripture that you accredit. Regrettably, this philosophy stripped the BAU of an agent and the team, of a colleague. 

At its core, it was my fault. I was the lucky son of a bitch that flourished in his misfortune. 

Despite most of the team seemingly differing this proclamation, it was my choices that led a man to be deprived of the life ahead of him. The only other individual who didn’t side with the rest of the team was Spencer Reid. 

Agent Ryler, Darrison Ryler is was a single man who lived in his eclectic condo with the accompaniment of his golden retriever, Sam. He served as a confident to the team, specifically to Spencer according to my observations of their relationships prior to the incident.  

He died an honorable and ardent man, even in the most grotesque situations his concern only derived from the conditions of his partners. For 10 years he’s served the BAU, only for a rookie as myself to completely decimate his entire life’s meaning by killing him in the field. 

-

“Ryler, you and Morgan flank the left side, we’ll file in after” Hotch ordered signaling to a door with corroded blue paint chipping off that was located at the end of the hallway we were posted at. 

The supposed unsub lived in Manhattan, NY and was responsible for the homicide of five women that resembled his late wife. The unsub had been categorized as a sexual sadist in the midst of a psychotic break, deriving from denial. 

The SWAT team lingered behind us, awaiting orders from the team leader. The atmosphere of the situation penetrated my nerves, causing a natural sense of uneasiness from my parasympathetic, fight or flight, nervous system. Moonlight infiltrated through the ragged curtains that hung above a window at the end of the hall, which seemed to be slightly ajar; letting crisp air into the corridor. 

I could already feel the little fibers of hair on the back on my neck stand, an obvious indication of my apprehension. Despite that signal, I was determined to follow through with the decision I’ve fought for. To elaborate, it was me who had convinced Hotch to let me journey into apprehending the unsub regardless of my inexperience of being physically out in the field with the team. 

-

I was naive and selfishly driven to expose myself to such an atmosphere I thought I was ready for. I pushed and pulled to expedite my training in order to fulfill my hero complex. Nevertheless, I never consider the possibility of killing a man to satisfy that. 

-

Morgan had completely obliterated the door as it was now swaying from it’s hinges. Ryler followed him from behind, gun pointed at his surroundings as he announced he was FBI. 

The rest of the team filed in, SWAT included. Reid had entered after me as we both surveyed the perimeter. Hotch nodded at us, pointing Reid one way and me the other. As I left to inspect other areas of the apartment of the unsub, the shuffling of feet emitted from the loud stomps of the SWAT members increased my heart rate. I convinced myself that it was normal since it was my first time being out in the field. I swept the area, checking the master bedroom and bathroom with a few members of the SWAT, until we heard commotion in the living room. 

We hurried to the scene not wasting a breath to calm myself. When I had arrived the men that were with me had dispersed to shooting positions as I stood behind a wall that was directly adjacent to the unsub.

I had taken the opportunity to peek out, gauging the altercation and to my misfortune, the unsub had Agent Ryler in a choke hold with dagger lined up to the major artery in his throat. The unsub began spewing heinous accusations such as “you took her away from me” or  “you killed her, not me, you killed her you fucking pigs”. He screamed and shook, rationality draining from him as fast as the saliva gushed out from his lips. 

Hotch took the opportunity to calm the unsub down, playing at the factor of remorse he showed in his previous victims. Hotch sheathed his gun back to it’s holster, promptly raising his hands up in surrender while coaxing the violent man into dropping the weapon. 

Although these were fruitless attempts, the unsub grew to be more erratic as Hotch approached him. With this I made my presence known to Hotch, shifting to a better position to engage the unsub from behind. The rest of the team stood gawking at the entire scene with anticipation gnawing at their fingertips, agitating to shoot if necessary. 

I drew my gun out, my hands becoming slightly shaky from the anxiety that heightened when the reality of the situation came to mind. 

I might kill a man today

The unsub maintained his gaze at Hotch and the army of guns that surrounded him. “Fuck you, you fucking pigs. You killed her! You. Killed. My, Kerrie. Now one of yours will die!” He threatened, pressing the blade harder on Ryler’s skin earning a repressed wince from him. The men from the SWAT team cocked their weapons causing Hotch to command them to ‘stand down’. I met Hotch’s gaze again, a distinctive look flashed in his eyes, the hesitation clear on his face as he motioned for me to inch closer to the unsub. 

“Please, we just want to-” Rossi spoke up lifting his palm up as a symbol of sympathy, but in reality beckoned me to close in on the individual. 

“Shut up! Shu-shut the fuck up!” The unsub screeched, wiping his forehead with the arm that held the blade as he blinked rapidly. “Thi-this ends today, I-i, this is for my Kerrie!”

With one swift motion the unsub raised the knife to slice Ryler’s throat, but in a moment of weakness, Ryler was able to apprehend the man, overpowering his grip as he flipped their positions. 

“Y/N! NOW!” 

My surroundings moved in slow motion, similar to the speed of the slideshows Garcia would show us as she presented cases. My vision blotted, feeling every sweat droplet begin to dampen the palms of my hands. I felt every crevice of my body writhe in dread and apprehension, feeling the sudden weight of the weapon I gripped in my hands. I took in a breath, setting my eyes on the unsub. Finally, I squeezed the trigger, acknowledging the life that would be taken away. 

A loud bang and a grunt surged through the air

I closed my eyes expecting the gun to retaliate it’s force, yet I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to gauge at the scene before me, realizing that my gun hadn’t fired. 

-

I took a life that day, however it wasn’t the life I was expecting to take. Morgan had taken the shot to eliminate the unsub, but only after the unsub was able to plunge the dagger into Ryler’s pericardial cavity, nicking the side of his aortic wall. 

He bleed out on the scene. DOA.

I later figured out that my gun had been on safety the entire time we were infiltrating the, now deceased, unsub’s apartment. I could still hear Spencer’s cries of protest and disbelief when he grasped the gravity of the situation. But most of all, I can distinctively remember the menacing look he wore in his eyes as he fixated at me. The genuine enmity and contempt that swam in his pupils spoke the message that his lips couldn’t convey, it was an expression that you didn’t need an eidetic memory to recall. 

After that incident, Spencer did nothing but express his vexation at the very existence of my being. He ‘mindlessly’ knocks case files off of my desk occasionally, talks over my presentation of theories, and has undermined the suggestions I would pose during investigations.

It’s been approximately 6 months since the loss of Ryler and the mourning period seems to have curtailed over the course of the year. The heavy somber  air that was consistent in the bullpen began to dissipate and the fellow agents painted a more positive light on the life of Ryler, reminiscing on his various accolades. Despite this plateau, Spencer’s resentment hadn’t shown any modifications.  

We were on a plane routed to New York City, another homicide had taken place and there was evidence of the case being serial. Hotch was on the phone with the chief of the NYPD gathering new information that had surfaced about the unsub. Morgan wore his headphones loosely with his eyes closed, bobbing his head to 90s music while Emily and Rossi played a game of chess. 

Spencer on the other hand, had his nose in a book, his eyebrows furrowed as his long fingers dragged along the pages, scanning them at light speed. His bottom lip had become entangled between his teeth, chewing the muscle in deliberation. 

I sat across the jet, complementary to where Spencer resided. I fixated on the copy of Jane Eyre that I brought with me, although my mind had decided to overflow with a multitude of transpiring thoughts. 

“Okay, thank you very much chief, we’ll be landing soon” Hotch bid adieu, closing his cellphone and tossing the device on the table with a heavy sigh. “They just found another body” He announced, earning sympathetic and discontented stares from the team. “Kate Walsh, 36 years old, had a husband that worked in a law firm with two children. She was found dead at a Manhattan apartment on the Upper East Side” Hotch noticed the glances of the onlookers before him, although he spared a glimpse at a special brunette who practically harbored his face in a book. “It’s the same location where Ryler’s case took place 6 months ago” Hotch informed. 

Nobody dared to inspect the reaction that had been elicited from Spencer. Although his fingers grew noticeably rigid, imprinting the cover of the novel with discernible markings. His chest heaved as he took in the information, yet his composure remained cold and impervious to the circumstances. 

Morgan looked to Reid in equivocation before reverting his attention to Hotch. “Do you think there could be a connection to the case we worked there?” He inquired, sneaking another glance at Reid in the process. But to no avail, Reid remained motionless. 

“Possibly” Hotch returned, reciprocating the perturbed looks Morgan had directed. “This unsub has the same MO, same victimology, but different signature compared to the case we worked before” He reached over for the case files flipping through the images of the victims and laid them down at the table where he sat at. 

Emily had approached the table, looking over the images. “If you look at the stab wounds on the abdomen of the victim, doesn’t it look familiar to you?” She pointed to the punctures evident on the victim. 

“They resemble the wounds the unsub inflicted on women on the case we had with-” Rossi spoke, pausing mid sentence. “-when we worked that Manhattan case” His voice faded out, dwindling in apprehension to make any mentions of Ryler. 

“Yeah- and if you look at the depth of the wounds, they indicate hesitation marks-” Emily expressed. 

“Our unsub is remorseful” I butted in. 

“That contradicts with the excessive and deliberate overkill this unsub displayed” Spencer muttered, catching the attention of his teammates, although his immersion in his literature didn’t falter. 

“W-well, yeah, I’ll go to the station to start a geogra-”

“Actually, I’ll build the geographic profile for the case to ensure that more people don’t get killed by human error” Spencer disputed, directing his astringent words towards me without losing focus. 

“I guess I’ll go talk to the family of the victim” I stuttered, ducking my head behind my chair to avoid the questionable stares I knew were headed my way. An unrelenting hold tugged on my heart strings, my conscience spiraling in revelations of self resentment. 

“Actually, Y/N, me and Morgan had already contacted the family and said that we were going visit them soo-” Emily corrected, motioning to her and Derek with lamentable eyes. “But, if you really want you can-” She interjected, the tone of her voice exponentially growing to be amiable and motherly. 

“I think it’s better that you and Morgan go, Emily, so we can get an accurate profile on the guy. Maybe this time we can catch him early enough without going in guns blazing, it decreases the statistics for weapon mismanagement” Spencer suggested, this time laying his book flat on the seat next to him, peering at Emily as he insinuated the proceedings of last year’s case. 

“Reid” Hotch warned, a menacing tight lipped expression planted on his features. In defiance of the team leader’s cautioning, Spencer continued to antagonize the situation, justifying his response in order to cover up his personal agenda. 

Hotch sighed diffusing the latter of the interaction by distributing the rest of the details of the case and certain tasks that needed to be done. “Y/N I’m going to need you to go to the Coroner’s office and find out if there’s any new information or if any reports from forensics came back yet” Hotch ordered. 

I nodded in agreement, not meeting his gaze while I fidgeted with my fingers. Unbeknownst to me, the team, excluding Reid, shared a similar expression as they interpreted the tense atmosphere that encompassed the room. 

I picked at my fingers, pulling at various strings of loose skin at the bed of my nails. I bounced my knee in uneasiness, my thoughts beginning to revolve around the case we faced 6 months ago. The same memory of Reid’s apathetic eyes that were fixated on me replayed in my mind, making the feelings of self doubt resurface at the base of my skin. Anger flooded freely throughout my system as if it was welcome and well deserved. I clenched my fists around my novel, doing so in the same way Reid did. 

“At least this time she’ll be looking at dead people instead of causing them” Spencer mumbled under his breath. Despite his certainty in himself to be reticent, it didn’t seem to catch his realization that his chastising comment was coherent enough for the entire team to hear, including myself. 

“Okay, I get it, alright. It was my fault, it was my mistake that killed Ryler but you can’t just sit there alienating me from any case we work on-” 

“No, Y/N you don’t get it. You don’t get to justify you murdering Ryler because you couldn’t do your job” Spencer lashed out.

“Reid-” Hotch attempted to disrupt his malicious annotations, but was promptly shut down by Reid. 

“No Hotch. You always emphasized how important it is to be vigilant in our job, yet you let her inject herself in the investigation knowing she was completely incompetent in the field” 

“Spencer, I’m war-” Hotch was interrupted again by me this time. 

“I WAS TRYING TO BE A GOOD AGENT. Can’t you understand that Spence, I-” 

“Don’t fucking call me Spence” Spencer retorted gritting his teeth, venom practically dripping from his lips as he articulated his words. At this time he stood up from his chair with his chest heaving and hair tousled from running his hands through it. “You don’t get to call me Spence, Ryler called me Spence and you took that away from me, so don’t think you have any authority calling me that”. 

He began his stride towards me, only to be obstructed by Morgan’s arm that held him in his position. 

“Look Spencer, I know I can’t take back what I did and yes, I made a stupid decision-” I spoke coolly, dictating every syllable with an understanding and remorseful tone in order to diffuse the taut ambiance. “But, I’m sorry and I want you to know that I regret everything that I did” I explained. 

Spencer broke Morgan’s restraint on him, shoving his arm away forcefully as he took a few determined steps towards me. 

“Tell that to Mary Anne Ryler, Amina Ryler, and Timothee Ryler” 

“Spencer-”

He moved in closer.

“I had to walk up to their house and tell them that their brother/son had died in the line of work” He explained, setting his hands on the table in front of me. “I had to tell them that he died an honorable death and that he died protecting people” He stared at me with the same deadly eyes at the day of the incident, no sense of remorse palpable on his expression. 

“But he did die an honorable ma-” 

“NO Y/N! I LIED TO THEM” He slammed a firm hand on the tabletop, making the surface rattle as I did when the booming sound met my ears. I crouched down in my seat, feeling my silhouette diminish in his large shadow. 

“Now Reid that’s enough” Hotch bellowed, although he was unsuccessful in alleviating Reid’s onslaught of defaming words. 

“I WANTED TO TELL THEM THAT YOU KILLED HIM BECAUSE YOU DID FUCKING KILL HIM”. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth landing on the leather covers of the airplane seat. “YOUR MISTAKE KILLED HIM”

“IT. WAS. A. MISTAKE. REID” I retorted, feeling my blood begin to boil as Spencer scolded me. I stood up to his level, slamming my hands down to reciprocate the malicious gesture he had displayed previously. “I ALREADY BLAME MYSELF ENOUGH JUST BACK OFF!”

By this time, the rest of the team had readied themselves to intercept if our back and forth became violent. They were the audience of constant bickering that occurred between the two agents for quite some time now, but nothing has ever amounted or elevated to the dispute in front of them. 

“YOU BLAME YOURSELF?!” Spencer began to laugh in a patronizing matter. “YOU BLAME YOUR FUCKING SELF. That’s a fucking joke, well newsflash Y/N, YOU SHOULD!” 

“That doesn’t give you an excuse Rei-” 

“WELL YOU KNOW WHATS AN EXCUSE?” He pulled my chin with the tips of his fingers. “You. You’re a sorry ass excuse for an FBI agent” He whispered disdainfully through gritted teeth, butting my face away with an incredulous expression on his face. His eyes had completely blackened, the hazel hue that resided in his irises dissipating as they were clouded in animosity. 

My impulsivity became too much to subdue as my rising blood pressure took over what little rationality I had. Without thinking, my palm autonomously met Spencer’s cheek with a violent hit, causing him to stumble backwards with his face in his hands. 

The rest of the team jumped into action, separating the both of us. Morgan and Hotch coming to Spencer’s side as Emily and Rossi came to my aid. I maintained my attention to Reid, him doing the same, as we stared at each other with malevolent gazes. I noticed the pockets of blood surface on his cheek, a portion of his curls masking the prominent dark red tint forming on his visage. 

Emily asked of my condition, Rossi reciprocating the same questioning. I assured them of my state and encouraged them to believe that I was fine.

But I wasn’t. 

I could feel every nerve in my system rattle and shake. I felt every pore on my body excrete sweat from the hysteria that I experienced. My head pounded and my body felt like it was being pulled in numerous directions. I took a few shallow breaths to convince myself of a normal composure, but my eyes told the truth of my state. 

Emily wrapped a comforting arm around my waist to steady myself and to regain a sense of stability. Rossi maneuvered back to his seat, taking a second glance at Reid whilst shaking his head in discountenance. 

Silence engulf the jet, the hum of the engine combined with the shifting of the seats was the only sound to be heard. Soft murmurs came from the other side of the room where Morgan and Hotch spoke to Reid in attempt to console him. 

It had been a few minutes after the confrontation, the petulant air of the scene plateauing to a more reasonable space for conversation. I battled with the idea of speaking up, but something needed to be said. 

“Look Reid” I began, penance laced with every word that I spoke. “It was my fault, I made a mistake that costed Ryler’s life and I’m sorry. It’s something that I can’t take back and my job will always revolve around the mistake I made” I continued. 

No response

I took this as encouragement to sustain an explanation. “But with the mistake I made, I know that this will make me a better agent and that I’ll be able to save more lives out there” I sighed, feeling Emily’s hand grasp mine. “I’m sorry Spencer for all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you, but please let me do my job- or at least give me the opportunity to do my job” 

No response again. 

“I know you won’t forgive me, but I hope in time that-” 

“It’s you” He finally spoke up, meeting the line of my gaze. Although his was unreadable, expressionless almost. 

“What?” I ceased my apology, furrowing my eyebrows at him in confusion. 

Chills ran up my spine as I looked into the windows of his eyes. It was like staring into the mind of a serial killer. Uneasiness climbed it’s way back into my skin as I gripped on Emily’s hand. 

“It should’ve been you who died that day Y/N” He spat, disgust and hostility radiating off of him. 

“It should’ve been you”

part 2

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A/N:

yes there will be a part two, I’m just finishing up requests atm ❤️❤️