#then I've probably been abducted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 6 months ago

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Hello everyone! I've got to say, I'm very pleased that this au won the latest poll! Gwaine's one of my favorite characters, but I don't give him enough love in my writing. So, I decided to really let his character shine in this au alongside some other characters who I feel like didn't get enough attention in the show. Enjoy! :D

Also, I saw that Merlin was trending again today, so I decided to jump in while that was happening lol! I love that this fandom will just wake up on a random day and decide to take over tumblr!

This au is set in the years between season 4 and season 5 (but Lancelot is still alive because I say so), and the story starts with Gwaine's getting a little worried about his friend. Merlin's getting more and more stressed as the weeks go by, and he doesn't smile very often anymore despite Gwaine's best efforts, which usually involve roping Merlin into whatever mischief he's stirred up recently for a little bit of fun.

Gwaine feels pretty guilty about Merlin's worsening mental state, because Gwaine is thriving for the first time in his life, finding a community and purpose among the knights of Camelot. And he owes it all, everything he now has, to Merlin, who is suffering under a burden that no one can seem to help him with.

So, Gwaine tries all that he can to cheer up his friend and pull him out of whatever terrible place his mind is stuck in, but no matter what Gwaine does, he can't seem to lighten Merlin's mood any. Sure, Merlin will plaster on a smile for Gwaine's sake and tell him that nothing's wrong, but Gwaine can see the dullness in Merlin's eyes, he saw it every time his saw his reflection for years before Merlin barreled into his life and showed him that there was more to life than taverns and wandering.

Before he knew it, a year had passed, and Gwaine hadn't made any progress in pulling Merlin out of his darkening mental state. Gwaine felt so frustrated and useless whenever he saw Merlin's smile the drop the second he thought that no one was watching. This was his chance to finally repay Merlin for turning his life around for the better, for giving him a home, a family, a purpose, but nothing he did was helping!

But Gwaine couldn't give up on helping Merlin. There must be a way to help him, to support him through whatever was burdening him, some way to bring that bright spark back to his eyes. Gwaine just had to find out how.

From the on, Gwaine kept an even closer eye on Merlin, determined to figure out what was weighing down his friend and how to ease his burdens. It was because Gwaine was watching Merlin so closely that he noticed them.

Gwaine will give them credit, whoever they were, they were good at stealth, far beyond anyone Gwaine had met before. The cloaked figure was almost always out of sight, right in the corners of his vision. At first, he thought that this nearly imperceivable figure was after him, but it didn't take him long to figure out that the mysterious figure was following Merlin.

As soon as Gwaine realized this, all of the alarm bells in his mind went off. Was this an assassin sent to kill Merlin? A spy trying to infiltrate Camelot? A bandit planning to abduct Merlin for ransom?

Or, Gwaine realized, this might be connected to Merlin's worsening moods. This mysterious figure was clearly well trained, but they had been following Merlin for over a week and still hadn't attacked, so they probably weren't an assassin or bandit. Was Merlin being threatened by this figure into doing their bidding?!

Finally, after tailing Merlin's stalker for weeks, Gwaine manages to get some answers after following Merlin on a late-night rendezvous outside of the castle. When Gwaine had spotted Merlin sneaking away under the cover of night, Gwaine of course had to follow him! Merlin could be in danger!

Gwaine followed Merlin as the other man made his way into the woods with a surprising amount of stealth. After a long hike through the woods, Merlin arrived at his destination, which, to Gwaine's shock, looked strikingly like a druid camp. There were painted tents, campfires, and even magical symbols carved into the tree, and all signs pointed to sorcerers living there.

Gwaine's anxiety skyrocketed at the sight. Why would Merlin risk coming to this secret druid camp, which Arthur definitely did not know about? Was Merlin being threatened and followed by sorcerers?!

Gwaine crept around the outskirts of the camp, sticking to the darkness. He saw Merlin approach a rather intimidating bald man, who, if the way the others in the camp made way for him as he walked, was the leader of this group of sorcerers.

Gwaine kept his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and run to the defense of his friend at a moment's notice. As he kept watching though, he strangely couldn't see any sign of a threat towards Merlin. While Gwaine couldn't hear much of their conversation, the intimidating leader guy acted almost friendly towards Merlin, and Merlin was relaxed, not showing any signs of fear at all.

As Merlin and his maybe-friend began making their way out of the camp, Gwaine could finally hear some of what they were saying.

"Thank you again, Alator. I'm not sure what I would've done without your help!"

"It is no burden to me or my men, I assure you. It is an honor to assist a man as great as you, Emrys. Morgana's forces are a threat to us all and an affront to all that is good in this world. We will fight at your side as always and ensure that Morgana's spies never infiltrate Camelot again."

Alright, there was... a lot for Gwaine to unpack there.

First of all, the scary bald man's name was apparently Alator, so that was good to know. He claimed to be allied with Merlin against Morgana, which gave Gwaine some relief.

However, as Gwaine's mind put the pieces together, he wanted to scream with frustration. Merlin was consorting with dangerous sorcerers behind Arthur's back in order to protect Camelot! It was a move so selfless yet foolish that only Merlin could pull it off.

Still, these sorcerers didn't seem hostile towards Merlin at all, so Gwaine could work with that. He just needed a little bit more information on them, some way to confirm that they really were on Merlin's side on not double crossing his friend.

So, Gwaine crept closer into the camp, trying to see what they were up to now that Merlin was gone. He didn't see anything incriminating just yet, but that didn't mean that they were free of any nefarious plans.

Gwaine inched closer and closer into the camp, his eyes trained on the men who were probably sorcerers going about their evening chores in the camp. Gwaine so focused on his targets, in fact, that he didn't register that there was someone behind him until he felt blow to the back of his head and fell unconscious.

As Gwaine woke up, his first thought was that the pounding in his head was just a hangover, which was not by any means an unusual occurrence for Gwaine. That idea was quickly disproven as, when Gwaine tried to raise his hands to his head to try and alleviate his massive headache, he realized that his hands were bound. Once again, this wasn't necessarily an unusual situation for Gwaine, but it did cause him to freeze up with alarm as he remembered where he was and what he was doing before everything went black.

When Gwaine was finally able to peel his eyes open, he was greeted with the sight of several angry-looking men, including their intimidating leader whom Merlin had spoken to. What was his name... ah yes, Alator!

Putting on his friendliest and most innocent smile, Gwaine immediately tried to talk his way out of the situation. It had worked for him in similar situations, so why not give it a shot?

"Well, hello there gentlemen! I was just here looking for my buddy Merlin, have you seen him? Lanky fellow, dark hair, always wearing a neckerchief? A great guy, really, you'd know if you had met him!"

Gwaine scrutinized each of his captors' reactions to Merlin's name. Maybe this way he could find out what their intentions with Merlin. However, all of their expressions remained stubbornly neutral, except for Alator, who simply blinked at the mention of Merlin.

After an awkwardly long silence, Gwaine again tried to get some sort of reaction out of these mysterious men.

"I could have sworn I saw him heading this way, and I got worried about him, ya know? What kind of friend would I be if I let him wander around the forest at night all by himself! He's the kindest person I know, but he can somehow find himself in trouble at any time."

Again, much to Gwaine's rising frustration, Alator simply blinked. After another awkward pause, Alator finally responded.

"You are a knight of Camelot, correct? And you hold Emrys is high regard?"

Gwaine frowned at the seemingly random questions, but he figured it couldn't hurt to keep the conversation rolling, especially if it can get him some answers. Admitting to being a knight of Camelot in front of a bunch of potentially dangerous sorcerer might not be the best move, but they were willingly working with King Arthur's personal manservant, so these guys must not have that much of an issue with Camelot, right?

"Why yes, I am a knight of Camelot! Sir Gwaine, at your service! Based on your question, I assume that Emrys is some nickname you have for Merlin?"

In response to his question, Alator merely gave a single, solemn nod. Man, this group really needed to work on their communication skills.

"In that case, I do hold Emrys in very high regard! In fact, I'd say he's the best person I've ever met!"

Finally, that comment got a reaction out of them! As soon as Gwaine told them about how much he values Merlin, the men in front of him started nodding and murmuring amongst themselves. Gwaine hoped that they were happy about having a common friend and not plotting ways to kill him.

After reaching some consensus, the men all turned towards Gwaine simultaneously, which sent a shiver down Gwaine's back. What were they planning?

Alator then waved his hand, and his eyes flashed gold, confirming Gwaine's suspicions that he was dealing with sorcerers. Gwaine flinched back and braced himself for whatever spell had just been sent his way...

Only to feel the chains binding him fall to the ground, leaving him free and unharmed. Gwaine glanced down to check that he was, in fact, still in one piece before staring at Alator in shock.

"I can sense the honesty in your heart as you speak Emrys's praises. Know that any friend of Emrys is a friend to us. We apologize for our previous behavior, as we did not know that you were also an ally of Emrys. Please, join us for a cup of tea so we can discuss this further."

Gwaine, reeling from his host's sudden change in attitude, let them maneuver him outside and give him a seat at their campfire, with Alator and his men sitting with him around the fire.

Gwaine looked around at his hosts, who sat silently around the fire, not even talking amongst themselves. The silence made Gwaine's nerves stand on end, so he decided to fill that silence himself. He might as well get to know his gracious hosts and fellow friends of Merlin, right?

"So, who are you guys? How did you meet Merlin? Hey, maybe we can compare stories of him! Let me tell you, I've got some crazy stories to share about adventures he's dragged me on!"

The men sitting around him shared a silent look at each other before Alator answered.

"We are the Catha, masters of combat and one of the last surviving sects of priests of the Old Religion. I am Alator, the leader of the Catha. I first met Emrys when I betrayed Morgana to follow a better, more peaceful path. Emrys showed us that Morgana's hatred lies opposed to the will of the gods, and we chose to place our loyalty in him instead. What stories do you have concerning Emrys?"

Gwaine nodded, feeling a strange sort of relatability to these intimidating magic-wielding warrior priests. They, like him, were on a path of meaningless destruction and found a better life by meeting Merlin.

"Ah, I can remember meeting Merlin like it was yesterday! There I was, drowning my sorrows in a tavern, when in walks a skinny looking guy and his pompous friend! They got into trouble pretty quickly, and I couldn't miss out on all that fun! I jumped into the tavern brawl to help them, but I got pretty banged up in the process. But, it turned out that it was my lucky day, because wouldn't you know it, I had accidentally saved the life of the prince of Camelot himself!

I didn't think much of prince Arthur at the time, but his manservant sure made a great impression! He brought me back to Camelot on his own horse, took me to the royal physician, gave up his own bed to me for the night so I could recover, and then covered for me after I got drunk off my ass in the tavern, again.

But then some jackasses posing as knights tried to hurt Merlin, and I stepped in to defend him and wound up getting banished by Uther, but then Arthur welcomed me back and even made me a knight when he became prince regent! And I've been lucky enough to have Merlin at my side ever since!"

Gwaine watched as many of the men's eyes widened at his story, unsure of what exactly they were so shocked by.

"You mean to say that you stood up to Uther Pendragon, the mad butcher king, for Emrys's sake? And came back to his side as soon as you could despite the threat of death hanging over your head?"

"Well, I did manage to see Merlin on one other occasion while I was banished, but he sought me out for that one. Apparently Arthur was having some trouble on his big quest to the Perilous Lands, so Merlin called me in as backup."

The Catha started whispering amongst themselves at that, with even Alator leaning forward in interest.

"Emrys specifically sought out your skills on such a monumental quest? You understand the significance of such an honor?"

Gwaine nodded, his expression shifting from a wistful one to a much more serious one.

"Of course I understand. Merlin's such an amazing person, and it shocks me every time that he thinks I'm someone worth relying on. Still, that only motivates me to not let him down. He saw something in me that no one else did, not even me, and he found a way to bring it to the surface. He changed my life, gave me a purpose, and I will never underestimate how much he's done for me."

This time, all of the Catha were nodding their heads in approval of Gwaine's appreciation for Merlin.

"You truly do see the significance of Emrys, Sir Gwaine. I can see your loyalty towards him clearly. For that, I would like to make you an offer.

Emrys's enemies are our enemies, and there are many of them. Morgana's forces grow stronger by the day, and we can only do so much with how few of us are left. Emrys himself faces many dangers, and we cannot always protect him as much as we'd like, seeing as how we cannot enter the city of Camelot. You, however, are at Emrys's side every day.

In working towards our shared goals, will you work alongside us to protect Emrys and keep Morgana's forces at bay? We can provide you with training that will put you far ahead of any of your peers and weapons that shall make you a formidable opponent to even the most powerful sorcerers. Will you accept our offer?"

"Ah, I see now. It was you lot who have been following Merlin around recently! Well, that certainly gives me quite a bit of relief, knowing that he isn't being followed around by someone who'd want to hurt him. I'd be happy to join in on your mission to protect Merlin!"

The Catha started murmuring approvingly amongst themselves at Gwaine's acceptance, until Alator spoke again.

"That is wonderful. It is an honor to be able to work alongside a warrior held in such high esteem by Emrys himself."

As Gwaine shook Alator's hand, accepting his offer, he got the feeling that this was the start of an amazing alliance.

And it sure was. Over the next months, Gwaine trained alongside the warrior priests whenever he could, becoming accustomed to their stoic natures and silent demeanors. They taught him fighting styles that he had never even heard of before and gave him information on people who were trying to hurt Merlin, allowing him to keep an eye on and eliminate threats to his friend before they had the chance to strike.

The Catha figured out pretty early on that Gwaine was rubbish at learning anything about magic itself, but when they placed enchanted weapons in his hands, he could wield them effortlessly and adapt his combat style to whatever the effects of the enchantment were. He even got a sword that could burst into flames!

As Gwaine's abilities to wield stronger enchanted weapons improved, the Catha started letting him fight the powerful sorcerers that Morgana sent into Camelot. Soon enough, he was equipped with indestructible armor armor that could repel spells and curses, weapons with some of the most formidable enchantments that the Catha could muster, and even a growing reputation throughout the land!

Luckily, the helmet that the Catha provided him with obscured his identity, so no reports of a rogue and enchantment-wielding Sir Gwaine made their way back to Arthur, as funny as that would be. Still, reports of the "indominable magic knight" that had defeated some of Morgana's most powerful sorcerers made their way across the land, even into Camelot's court. Some council members wished to capture the unknown knight and kill him before he became a threat, while others saw an opportunity to make a powerful ally against Morgana, and Arthur was constantly on the fence between those two arguments while Gwaine sat at the round table, quietly smug.

Meanwhile, Merlin, checking in with the Catha: What's this I hear about a warrior using powerful magic weapons to fight Morganas men?

Alator: Don't worry, Emrys. He's one of ours, fighting against Morgana in your name. He's one of your most devout followers in fact.

Merlin, not wanting to meet another Emrys fanboy who looks at him like he's a god: Uh, just tell him to keep up the good work and to let me know if he needs anything.

Soon after reports of the magic knight made their way to a very conflicted court of Camelot, Morgana sought out the magic knight, ready to either kill him for being such a nuisance or make an ally out of him. After all, surely a knight wielding such powerful magic would never be on the side of Camelot?

However, when Morgana managed to trap the magical knight and surround him with an army of a hundred sorcerers, the knight managed to defeat her and her entire army before escaping. He rained down fire and lightning upon them, the very elements fighting alongside him, as he cut down her army and left her defeated and humiliated.

Of course, reports of Morgana's defeat travelled to Camelot, where the court was even more incensed over the topic of the magical knight. He was capable of beating Morgana, surely he would be a great ally and could ensure Camelot's protection! But he was also now a magic-wielding threat even more powerful than Morgana! Sure he was now the foremost threat to Camelot!

In the end, Arthur and some of his most trusted knights decided to go on a quest to seek out this magical knight. Gwaine wasn't particularly worried, because how could they possibly find him if he was already travelling with them?

During the journey though, they receive word of a magical beast terrorizing nearby villages. The knights all try to fight the beast, but to little success, and it even managed to injure Merlin's leg before escaping!

Merlin's injury turned out to be not life-threatening, but he couldn't stand on his leg for very long. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Merlin entrusted Lancelot with slaying the beast after his injury, enchanting Lancelot's sword so that it could kill a creature of magic and his chainmail so that he wouldn't be hurt by its claws.

Gwaine, meanwhile, was furious with the creature and, that night, summoned his enchanted armor and weapons to go slay the beast and maybe give its head to Merlin as an apology for being unable to stop it from hurting him. Or maybe he would just treat Merlin to a night at the tavern when they got back.

So, Lancelot and Gwaine both tracked down the beast that knight. When they both arrived at the beast's lair with visibly enchanted weapons, they take each other by surprise. Lancelot is on guard, unsure if he wants to trust the now-infamous magic knight, but Gwaine just laughs and removes his helmet, and Lancelot is shocked.

Lancelot and Gwaine seeing each other with enchanted gear: spiderman pointing meme

Gwaine asks Lancelot where he got that enchanted sword, but Lancelot is tight-lipped about it, just saying he got it because he needed to protect Merlin. Gwaine chuckled and said that he understood.

After they finish slaying the beast together, Lancelot asks Gwaine if Merlin knows that he's the magic knight. Gwaine shrugs and says that he suspects that Merlin doesn't know, but wouldn't mind it if Merlin did know.

Lancelot, as soon as they get back to Camelot: So, did you know that Gwaine is actually the magic knight?

Merlin, spitting out his tea and having flashbacks to his conversation with Alator: HE'S WHAT NOW?!

Things get cleared up between Lancelot, Merlin, and Gwaine pretty quickly from there. Gwaine takes the magic reveal very well, excited at the prospect of going on magical adventures with Merlin and glad that his friend can actually defend himself, because he's rubbish with any type of weapon.

From there though, a sort of friendly competition sprung up between Gwaine and Lancelot, as both of them consider themself to be Merlin's best friend. Soon enough, there's two magical knights running around foiling Morgana's plans, and Arthur's ready to tear his hair out over it.

From there, more knights figure out about Merlin's magic and, if they're accepting of it, they also train with the Catha and receive enchanted weapons. It almost becomes its own secret society within the knights, all united with the sole purpose of protecting Merlin. They eventually have Elyan, Percival, and number one Emrys fanboy Mordred join their ranks.

Arthur eventually finds out approximately where the magical knights are hidden (their meeting spot when they need to meet outside of Camelot), and he sends Leon in disguise to infiltrate them, not knowing that they are knights from Camelot. Being the knights of the round table, they of course recognize Leon immediately and give him the full story, and Leon joins them and just tells Arthur that he "couldn't find the magical knights."

Gwaine laughs his ass off at every round table meeting where Arthur becomes more and more frustrated at not being able to catch the magical knights, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin having a good laugh over it too.

And I'll cut it off there for now! I had lots of fun writing this, I feel like I should write about Gwaine more often!

Let me know if you would like me to write a continuation for this au!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin au #merlin prompts #emrys #lancelot #gwaine #sir gwaine

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bwat5-blog · 1 month ago

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No Matter How The World Tries To Break You: Revisiting Vi's Loss

** Spoilers for all of Arcane**

"Vi is such a crap sister"

"Vi let Jinx die"

"All she had to do was move, she refused to listen to Jinx even after everything she did!""

"Jinx is gone because Vi couldn't let Vander go"

**This is sort of a return to one I've already done but with some updated thoughts and more of a complete picture, so if you read my stuff you have probably heard most of this**

In the weeks since the show ended everyone has been sharing their reactions, fan-art and fiction, trading theories and asking questions. It has been truly wonderful to be a part of. And my understanding and appreciation of these characters and their story has only grown thanks to this community.

However, certain things have also persisted. Things that I simply cannot wrap my head around. One of which, is the amount of people suggesting that in that last moment between the sisters and what used to be their father Vi failed. She faltered, "letting her trademark refusal to let go of the past cost her sister her life" (hypothetically)....

They dismiss or disdain her heart and refuse to consider it in their judgement. But to dismiss Vi's heart is, first of all to dismiss a massive part of her story, but it also to dismiss her humanity. And it is the humanity of Arcane that makes this story what it is. And so as I have in bits and pieces across other posts, we are going to take another very quick look at what she has been through, and keeping that in mind, discuss that tragic moment between the former family and why she can't move off of that platform.

A Barebones List of Vi's Suffering: No discussion of blame or right or wrong just what happened.

Age 9-

Witnesses the death of her birth parents and several of their people at the hands of Enforcers

Age 15-

Has spent years living in harsh and dangerous Undercity (think back to the fight with Deckard if you need reminding.. "wanna see how that ends")

Witnesses violent deaths of Mylo, Claggor, and Vander. All after coming so close to saving them and fighting off armed thugs all on her own.

Parted from Powder in way that leaves massive amount of guilt and fear for her little sister's well being

Kidnapped and thrown into prison with out cause

Age 15 to Age 22-

Seven years in Stillwater prison. Abused, assaulted, completely deprived of love and kindness and hope.

Age 22-

Stabbed and beaten by Sevika after being told her sister was Silcos daughter

Narrowly escapes Silco's ambush in her old child hood home, having to bring it down to get away

Reunited with sister to find she is unstable and dangerous, taken from her after barely any time together when Vi is knocked out

Almost killed by sister on same bridge where their parents died. Surrounded by victims of her sisters bombs

See's Zaunite boy killed during she and Jayce's raid on shimmer plant

Almost killed by Sevika again during fight, knocked out and abducted by Jinx after she wins

Her long lost beloved sister who has clearly become someone very different, offers to be who Vi wants her to be if Vi will just murder the innocent woman she has come to have feelings for. Vi stops Caitlyn from shooting at Jinx trying desperately to keep them both safe, sees Caitlyn violently knocked out, is then almost killed by Silco before Jinx saves her, but kills Caitlyn's mother.

She is willing to hunt Jinx down, but Caitlyn asks her to wear the uniform of the people who killed her parents

Survives the memorial attack in which Caitlyn was almost killed as well.

Agrees to become an Enforcer: Compromises her principles, doing violence in the streets of her home. Readies herself to kill her sister.

Realizes after giving up on and almost killing her sister that she IS still in there.

The woman she loves, who she put on the uniform for, tells her she is no different than her sister, hits her, and leaves her.

Age 23-

Spends several months totally alone in self-destructive spiral in which she has given up

Gets Vander back but he is in mutated form

Loses Vander in extremely violent fashion only a short time later

Loses Isha violently

Almost killed by explosion saving Jinx's life

Left behind by Jinx after going to free her

Fights in terrible battle in which for just one example of the death she saw Lorris riddled with arrows

Okay. that brings us back to the incident in question. Now, I don't know about all of you. But I read that list, and then look at the twenty-three year old woman trying to hard to protect the people she loves, and my heart breaks for her. That amount of trauma and loss is staggering. So when Violet stands over the prone body of what was once her father, she doesn't respond to jinx calling about the platform failing. She doesn't speak... she doesn't respond.... her whole world is centered around Vander's prone form, and when she falls to her knees we see what she is seeing.

Her father, the man who raised them when Felicia and Connal were killed. She sees the night he died in her arms the first time. When she was only fifteen... It has come be my belief, that Vi was experiencing what is sometimes called a "Dissociative Flashback" related to PTSD born of the horrific life she has lived.

** DISCLAIMER: I AM IN NO WAY A MEDICAL HEALTH PROFFESIONAL. THESE ARE THE OBSERVATIONS OF A FAN BASED ON RESEARCH AND BELIEF ONLY***

At the very basic layman's level, (because that's all I understand anyway) all of this trauma has culminated in a flashback where Vi is not able to process what's going around her, because her mind is locked in that terrible night all those years ago where she lost her entire family. She can't see the platform crumbling, she can't hear her sisters desperate calls. And it's not until what used to be her father tries to kill her, that her mind is ripped back into the present moment. And it's not the Vi we know... it's the Vi we knew. She blocks his first hit, but then.. she doesn't fight. She crawls back confused and afraid, and when she calls his name she sounds for all the world like a young girl who doesn't understand why her father is hurting her. This is a terrible, tragic moment in which we are seeing this incredibly resilient young woman just finally have enough. It's heartbreaking, and it is in that moment when she is more vulnerable than she has ever been, that the little sister she found her way back to saves her life.

As I said it my discussion on Caitlyn earlier tonight, this is not about favorite characters. This is not about liking or disliking Vi's arc either. This is about empathy and understanding. It is about seeing the humanity in this twenty-three year old woman who has been so strong for others her whole life, laid low and needing someone to stand for her. And so to those of you who feel targeted by this post, I am not questioning you for not liking Vi. That is your right. But perhaps if you cannot see the heartbreaking humanity in this moment, you should begin to ask yourself some questions.

Keep standing up for the stories that matter, because that my friends, is how they endure. Thank you for reading, see you all next time.

#arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 1 #arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi #media literacy

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cookiescribble · 1 year ago

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Show Me How To Be Whole Again

A/N: hi everyone! This is the fic I've been working on for eight months 😮‍💨. I hope it came out as well as I hoped it would 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer is abducted, you rush to the team to make sure you're there when they find him. After you get home, Spencer's behavior starts to get more and more concerning, and you're desperate for answers. (based on 2x15 and the aftermath of that episode)

Word Count: 7.1k

CW: Mentions of abduction, violence, drug addiction, withdrawal, arguing. some angst in the middle but i am incapable of writing something without a happy ending.

~~~~~

The call came early in the morning. They said they called you as soon as they could.

If you were thinking rationally, or if you could stand being alone for 5 minutes after hearing the news, maybe you would’ve stayed home. But you couldn’t stay put knowing Spencer was in trouble.

You quickly threw a few days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag and took the first flight out of the nearest airport. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and not break down crying on a crowded airplane, but the thoughts just kept rushing in your head. You were so worried about him.

When you landed, you called the team and told them you were going to the police station and you were going to stay there until they found him. You wouldn’t let anyone argue with you. You wouldn’t be able to calm down until they found him anyway, so being anywhere else didn’t make sense.

You didn’t really think of what you’d do when you got there. You’d just been on autopilot since you got the call. You were hoping someone would meet you there.

When you frantically burst through the doors of the police station, JJ was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag and hugged her tight.

“It was my fault,” she choked out, sobbing. “We were together and… we split up… I shouldn’t have split up…”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not the one who abducted him. It’s not your fault.” You were also sobbing now. You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but all you could think about was what could possibly be happening to Spencer right now.

You calmed down enough to ask, “Where is everybody else?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath herself. “We set up at the unsub’s house. He took Spence to a secondary location, and Garcia set up there to get to his computers.” She looked down. “I really should be getting back there.”

You nodded while she talked. “I’m coming with you,” you announced.

She looked at you, concerned. “We can’t risk you-“

You cut her off. “I am coming with you. I’m staying with you until we find him,” you stated forcefully.

She didn’t argue further. She could see the desperation in your eyes, you’re sure. Even someone who didn’t analyze behavior for a living could see that. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

You arrived at the house. You couldn’t tell how long the car ride took; every second felt like an hour.

When everybody saw you, they took turns giving you a hug. You could tell they were concerned that you were here, but they could see how devastated you were. You think they understood.

You hung around while they all did their jobs and tried to find Spencer. You sat next to Penelope and watched as she tried to do whatever she could to help find him.

Time passed. The team was coming in and out of the room as they needed to. Derek was probably in here the most, giving his moral support to Penelope.

Suddenly, the monitors in front of you lit up.

“What‘s happening?” Derek asked.

“I… don’t know,” Penelope answered.

Your heart dropped as an image popped up on the screen.

It was Spencer. He was sitting in a chair, his hands tied together. He was wearing the clothes you watched him pack on the morning you last saw him.

He looked so scared.

“Guys! Get in here!” you heard Derek yell.

You couldn’t look away from the screen.

The rest of the team rushed in, faces dropping as they saw what was happening.

Someone was talking in the background of the stream. You couldn’t hear them. Your heart was thumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. Spencer was replying to whatever they were saying. Through your loud heartbeat, you could hear his trembling voice. Your eyes started to water.

After a few moments, you heard someone near you say something and suddenly you were being pulled away from the screen and into another room.

When you realized what was happening, you looked up to see Hotch holding your shoulders, pushing you away from the horrific scene unfolding on the monitors.

You started sobbing. “I have to see him,” you tried to say, but your voice was cracking.

“No. You saw that he’s alive. That’s all you need to see.” he said firmly. He was protecting you from seeing something that would truly break you.

You couldn’t argue. What you saw shook you to your very core; you couldn’t go back in there. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “You’re going to find him and bring him back safe.” It wasn’t a question. You knew they’d find him. They had to.

You took a step back, telling Hotch he could go back to the team in the other room, and that you were okay out here.

You sat at a table, laying your head down and covering it with your arms. You had started crying, and you couldn’t stop. How could they do this to him? He’s never done anything to hurt anybody. All he does is help people. How could someone look at him and feel anything other than warmth, comfort, and love?

You heard footsteps come into the room. The girls came in and sat around you. You picked your head up to look at them, your eyes already swollen from crying so much.

“What happened?” you asked frantically. Your heart was racing again.

“He’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “He’s alive. The unsub… made him choose a victim to keep alive, but there’s going to be more victims… and then the camera cut off.” She took a deep breath. “It looked like making that decision let him live.”

You buried your face in your hands. This was so cruel. you knew he dealt with bad people every day, but… this was so heartbreaking. How could someone feel so little remorse for other human beings that they force an innocent person to decide someone’s fate?

You took deep breaths to try not to cry again. “I can tell he’s in so much pain right now… He’s going to blame himself for all those people’s deaths. The guilt is going to eat him up inside. He’ll feel horrible even if he does make it out of this.”

Everyone took turns patting your back to reassure you. “He is going to make it out of this. He’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to believe it. You had to believe it. If you didn’t believe it… you would break down more than you ever have before.

…

You stayed in that room for what felt like an eternity. The team took turns keeping you company when they weren’t busy. They gave you vague updates to let you know that Spencer was still alive. They didn’t tell you details of what they saw. You didn’t ask. Seeing the somber looks on their faces told you all you needed to know.

Eventually, everyone came rushing out of the room, putting on their coats and practically running out the door. Penelope came to sit with you, her eyes wide and full of hope. “They found where he is. They’re going to him now.” She hugged you tightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes again. This time they were happy tears. The immense rush of relief you felt was enough to render you speechless for a while, until you finally choked out, “They’re going to call us when he’s safe?” She nodded eagerly and you let out a huge sigh of relief.

The wait felt like forever. You were still nervous. What if they don’t get to him in time? What if they’re just barely too late?

Finally, finally Penelope’s phone rang. She answered quickly, nodding at what she was hearing. Eventually she hung up and looked at you, smiling. “He’s with them now. The unsub is dead. They’re rushing an ambulance but his injuries seem minor considering… what’s been happening.”

You closed your eyes and took another big sigh of relief. “I’m going to meet the ambulance there,” you declared.

Penelope looked at you quizzically. “I don’t know if-“

“You said the unsub is dead,” you cut her off. “There’s no more danger. I’m going to him.” You saw keys to one of the FBI vehicles that was left over since they had multiple people to a van. You picked them up and tossed them to Penelope. “You know their coordinates. You drive.”

She caught the keys and nodded at you, unable to argue with your logic. You both rushed out to the van and sped over to the location.

You saw the ambulance as you arrived there. You barely waited for Penelope to put the car in park before you were running out the door to where the ambulance had parked.

You saw Spencer sitting at the edge of the back of the ambulance with a first aid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beaten up, but he was still conscious and alert. You were relieved his injuries weren’t worse.

“Spencer!” you shouted as you ran towards him. He looked your way, his eyes widening as he saw you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. His shock quickly turned to something softer as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nestled your face into his neck for a few moments, unable to stop your sobs of joy. “Oh, sweetie…” you cooed into his ear.

He moved so his forehead was touching yours. Tears were streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…” he started.

You shook your head vigorously. “No apologies. You’re okay now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently and threaded your fingers in his hair “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and tightened his grip on you, kissing you firmly. He kissed you for a long time before finally pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled warmly, whispering back to him. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before everyone started pushing Spencer to get in the ambulance so he could go to the hospital. You rode with him, of course. You held his hand the whole way there.

He wasn’t in the hospital for too long. They were able to treat his wounds relatively easily. The team waited in the waiting room while you followed him into the examination room.

When you came back to the waiting room, hand in hand, everyone rushed to greet you before you all headed to the jet.

You sat in the corner of the couch to the side of the other seats, motioning for Spencer to lay his head in your lap. He followed eagerly, curling up on his side and nestling his head in your lap.

You ran your fingers through his curls as he began to fall asleep. He must’ve been exhausted. You couldn’t imagine him sleeping during any of that.

You stayed like that the whole ride home, him asleep and you petting his hair softly.

You gently woke him up when you landed. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. You kissed his cheek before standing up, taking his hand as you went to the parking lot. He obviously wasn’t in any condition to drive, so he handed you the keys to his car and let you drive home. You insisted on stopping and getting some food on the way back. He said he didn’t feel hungry, but once he started eating, it seemed like he’d never stop. He must’ve been starving.

When you walked into your apartment, he grabbed you and hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relaxing into him.

“I missed you so much.” He was crying again, sniffling softly. “I thought about you every waking moment. I knew I had to make it through because you were waiting for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes with a soft expression. “I knew you were going to make it back.” You hugged him tight again. “I didn’t see everything. The team… made sure I didn’t see anything that was going to hurt me.”

He nodded, leaning down to stroke your cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see me like that.” He touched his forehead to yours. “What matters now is that I’m here with you.” He kissed you slowly, pushing your hair out of your face.

You kissed for a long time, slowly making your way to your bedroom. You smiled up at him after a while. “As much as I would love to continue this…” You gestured to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

As if to prove your point, he let out a quiet yawn. You smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his pajamas from the drawer and helped him get changed and settled into bed.

He lay his head on your chest and you stroked his hair gently, just like you did the whole way home. “Go to sleep, baby,” you whispered as his eyes closed. After a moment you heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head before relaxing to fall asleep yourself.

…

After that night, things got… bad.

Spencer wasn’t acting like himself anymore. He was… distant. Cold. He had never acted this way towards you before. Or anyone, for that matter.

You had never had a problem with intimacy before, but suddenly he refused to touch you. Any time you would reach for his hand, or try to put your arm around him, he’d just shrug you off of him and move away from you. It always ended in you mumbling an apology and putting some space between you.

He never explained why he didn’t want you to touch him. In fact, he didn’t talk a whole lot anymore. You often sat in silence, completely apart from each other. You always used to be able to count on him to fill these silences, but now he just stayed quiet.

When he did talk, he was a lot more cold to you than he used to be. You had never fought before, but now it felt like any time he talked it was to argue with you about something. It felt like he was always angry lately.

He didn’t even like to sleep in the same bed as you anymore. Most nights, if not every night, he slept on the couch. You started begging him, telling him that you would never cross over your side of the bed, but he shrugged you off saying he just needed to be alone.

All of this was really taking a toll on you. You tried not to show it, because you knew he was going through a hard time, so you only let your feelings out in places you could be alone. Which meant you spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom.

This went on for months. You thought that, surely, he had to tell you what was going on eventually. He had never hidden anything from you before, so you didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle this. You didn’t want to push him into talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, but something was very clearly wrong.

After a particularly bad argument one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go to someone about this. For Spencer’s sake.

The next morning, you set an extra early alarm, quietly getting dressed and tiptoeing past Spencer, who was asleep on the couch, and silently leaving your apartment.

As you got in your car and started driving, you started arguing with yourself in your head. Part of your brain was trying to say that this wasn’t going to help, and that this was just like being a little kid and tattling to a teacher. But the emotional part of your brain was saying that just telling anyone would be able to help Spencer. And that little shred of hope was all it took to convince you to do this.

You shoved open the doors to the BAU, hoping that Spencer’s stories about his boss barely leaving his office were true. When you looked around, you saw an office with a light on, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

You bound up the stairs, knocking on the office door, a little more forcefully than you had intended. Hopefully it would help get your emotions across.

“Come in,” a familiar voice ordered.

You took a deep breath before opening the door, seeing Hotch sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork in front of him. You wondered just how much paperwork this job required, and if he was always here hours before everyone else.

He looked surprised to see you. He would probably be surprised to see anyone at this early hour, but considering you don’t even work for him, he probably wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of you coming here. “Is there something I can help you with?” He asked.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn’t really think this far; you just figured that surely someone who works so closely with Spencer had to know something, especially since he was a profiler.

You thought about everything that had happened in the last few months, trying to find the right words to properly articulate your concerns. But all the thoughts about Spencer pushing you away and refusing your affection, mixed with remembering what your relationship was like before that fateful night of his abduction, overwhelmed your mind so much that you just couldn’t stop your emotions flowing out. Tears welled in your eyes before starting to streak down your face. Here you were, in Hotch’s office, completely unannounced and uninvited, and you were just standing there crying.

After a few moments of crying, and of Hotch looking very concerned at this scene playing out before him, you decided it didn’t matter that you couldn’t form the perfect words. You just needed to say something.

Through choked sobs, you finally managed to blurt out, “What’s wrong with Spencer?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, too emotional to think about how you shouldn’t be saying all of this to your boyfriend’s boss. The words just started coming out in a rush. “Something’s wrong. We had never had a single argument before, and now the only time he ever talks to me is to pick a fight. He’s never present, he barely speaks, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is very strange behavior for Spencer. He never smiles anymore, he won’t let me touch him anymore, he won’t sleep in our bed anymore, he only sleeps on the couch…”

You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Finally, after some shaky breaths, you finished by saying, “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you could tell me about this. If you know why he’s acting this way. If there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Hotch hesitated before gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Do you want to take a seat?”

You looked at the chair, and you noticed you were shaking. You nodded, and sat down in the chair, trying to calm down. But you couldn’t help being extremely restless, your leg bouncing rapidly while you sat.

Hotch leaned forward, moving some paperwork out of the way and placing his hands on his desk. His expression was slightly softened. “Working in this field, you go through a lot of traumatic things. Reid’s abduction was one of the worst things an agent can go through.” His voice was low and steady, which was a welcome contrast to how frantic your own words had come out. “Anyone would struggle after that.”

You sighed. “I know, but-”

He raised his hand to cut you off. “That being said, we’ve all been able to tell that Reid has been a little off.” He saw you raise your eyebrow and added, “Okay, a lot off.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have some… theories, but we can’t know for sure what’s happening with him unless he tells us. And since he’s already struggling, we didn’t want to make it worse, especially since he’s technically just a subordinate or coworker. But if he’s not telling you either…” He looked at you sympathetically. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “... Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I came here out of the blue.” You stood up, taking a step forward as if you were going to hug him, but for once your rational thoughts took over and you stayed where you were.

He stood up after you. “You’re welcome. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and talk about this.” He reached out to shake your hand, and when you shook his hand back he put his other hand over yours and spoke softly to you. “I’m going to try to get through to him. I promise.”

His gentle hands and soft-spoken words were enough to reassure you, at least for now. You nodded, thanking him again before leaving his office. You were able to leave with a lot more composure than you came here with.

It was getting late by the time you left Hotch’s office, and there were a lot more people here now. As you came down the stairs, you looked up to see Spencer staring at you. He wasn’t angry, thankfully, but he looked… kind of dumbfounded. Which made sense. You had no reason to be here at all, let alone a reason to be talking to his boss.

As you walked towards him to get to the door to leave, he turned to you. “Hey…” he started, his voice soft.

You didn’t know what to say, his soft voice sounding nothing like what you’ve been hearing these past few months. So you just kind of waved to him awkwardly, pointing to your watch to indicate that you had to get to work, and you left the BAU.

When you got back in your car, you took a few minutes to process everything that had happened. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay. You believed Hotch when he said he’d help. It felt like Spencer was in capable hands.

…

Later that day, you had been in the bathroom when Spencer came home, and you didn’t hear the door open and close. When you came out, you saw him standing awkwardly in the front of your apartment. It made you jump a little bit. “Hi… I didn’t know you were home,” you muttered awkwardly.

He stood there looking at you, his eyes moving a little as if he was thinking of what to say. After a few moments, instead of saying anything, he walked over to you and hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You just froze for a moment, not sure how to react. But he kept his tight hold on you, as if you were the only thing keeping him up right now, and you finally started to hug him back just as tightly. You both just stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

Finally, he spoke up. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he sounded so fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was starting to cry now, making soft sobbing sounds into your shoulder.

Hearing him cry broke something in you, and shortly you were also in tears. “Oh, Spence…” You squeezed him a little tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay…”

He sniffled and shook his head, pulling back a little so he could look you in the eyes. “My behavior has been abhorrent lately. I’ve been struggling, and I’ve been bottling everything up. I didn’t realize just how much this was hurting you.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep up with his thoughts. “I guess I figured, if I didn’t tell you about my problems, then they couldn’t affect you. But I was wrong. It just made it worse.”

You looked at him sadly, one of your hands moving to gently stroke his hair. “You can always come to me with anything. I’ll always try to help you. You know that.”

Some more tears started falling down his cheeks, and you started to wipe them away with your thumb. “I guess I felt like… I didn’t deserve the help.” He took a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm down. “Like I didn’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

“Spencer…” you started, trying to make your voice sound as soothing as possible. “What’s wrong? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know if I can talk about it yet. But I promise I’ll tell you soon.” He looked at you determinedly. “Until then, I promise I’m going to try to be better to you.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face and captured your lips in a soft kiss, making your heart flutter.

After years of dating, you didn’t think you’d feel that flustered, shy feeling of butterflies in your stomach again. But, after these past few months of having no physical contact, this kiss almost felt like it was your first kiss all over again.

You couldn’t help but hold the back of his head to try to bring his face even closer to yours. You were craving his touch, and you needed his affection. On the off chance that this was a one-time thing, and that he would start to distance himself again after this, you figured you had to make it last.

He showed no signs of letting up, though, moving you both so you were laying on the couch, with him hovering over you. His lips never left yours the whole time, and his hands were moving around your face as if he was trying to remember what it felt like.

He broke the kiss to look at you, before closing his eyes. His hands trailed from your face down to your neck, moving slightly under your shirt to your shoulders. He wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you. As if feeling your skin would jog his memory of you. His breathing was soft and even as his hands moved down to your hips, his fingers gentle and slow on your waist as he started to lift your shirt up.

Your breath hitched when you felt cold air suddenly hit your stomach. “Spence…” you spoke quietly, a soft blush on your face.

He looked at you, his voice quick and reassuring. “I don’t want to do anything like… that. It would be a little too much for me right now.” He quickly flashed you that awkward little smile he had sometimes. “I just want to see you, to feel you.” His voice went a little quieter when he added, “I missed you.”

You looked at him sadly, reaching up to touch his face. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in to kiss him again. “I missed you so much.”

The soft, slow kissing resumed, and Spencer very carefully pulled your shirt over your head, his hands gently gliding over the newly exposed skin. You let out a dreamy sigh. You hadn’t realized just how touch starved you had been over these past few months. This is exactly what you had been needing.

You just stayed on the couch like that for a while, his lips and hands on you, the gentlest of touches. After a little while longer, you started to unbutton his shirt, because you wanted to do the same to him.

He completely froze, sucking in a breath. You immediately pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, worried that you just ruined any progress that had been made tonight.

He shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “It’s okay, I just… I don’t want you to see me with my shirt off.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was begging you not to ask about it.

You hesitated, but instead of asking about it you tried to be a little more lighthearted. “I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, Spencer.”

He gave you a slight smile before the worried look came back to his face. “I just…” he started, “I can’t right now. Please understand.”

You nodded, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze. “I understand.” You stroked his hand gently with your thumb. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can trust me.”

He squeezed your hand back, giving you another little smile. “I know you won’t. I do trust you.” He let out a little yawn and started to rub his eyes.

You looked at the clock, not realizing how late it had gotten. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You leaned over to kiss his forehead. “You should get some sleep.”

You worried he would still insist on sleeping on the couch, but he just nodded, his hand still tightly holding yours as you both stood up and walked to your bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change.

You sat on the bed and watched him for a few moments before he closed the door. You started to get dressed yourself, wondering what this problem was about. He had been a little shy around you when you two first started getting intimate, but you thought he had gotten over that. Had these past few months apart made the shyness come back?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer coming back into the room. You stood up so he could get in bed. He looked so tired; you could see just how bad the dark circles under his eyes were.

He crawled under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. You got in the other side of the bed, gently rubbing his back to soothe him. You didn’t want to push any boundaries, so you pulled away after just a moment.

He turned around, looking at you with those big eyes of his, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, as if soothed by your touch. You smiled softly. He looked more peaceful than you had seen him in a long time. It made it easier to close your eyes and relax.

It was silent for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep. But then, you heard him speak very softly. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes to see him looking back at you. You squeezed his hand gently. “I love you too.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead, making him smile. “Get some sleep. I can tell you need it,” you whispered.

He nodded and closed his eyes again, moving a little closer to you before wrapping his arms around you and nestling his head in your neck. You hesitated for a moment in shock before cradling him in your arms. You kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered to him. Soon, you could hear his breathing soften, and you just listened to the quiet sounds of him sleeping for a few more moments before falling asleep yourself.

…

Things didn’t magically get better after that, but they did improve.

Spencer went back to sleeping in your bed, though he seemed to have a hard time sleeping nowadays. He was always tossing and turning, and you usually woke up in the middle of the night to either try to soothe him to sleep or to keep him company when he couldn’t sleep.

There was a lot more talking, and a lot less fighting. You could have more comfortable conversations, and he would politely tell you when he didn’t feel like talking. It was a lot better than him yelling at you to leave him alone.

There was still some arguing, but usually only when you were trying to get him to eat. He was always saying he wasn’t hungry, and you had to try to push to get him to eat, saying he needed some kind of nutrition. Sometimes he would snap at you, saying he would eat if he was hungry and that he didn’t push you when you didn’t want to eat. He’d always apologize, though, and try his best to explain that he was either feeling nauseous or he just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. It seemed to get a little better after a few days.

He didn’t mind a little more physical contact. He wasn’t always up for it, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much. It was always trial and error, almost like trying to pet a skittish cat. You’d start by putting a gentle hand on his, and he’d tense up for a second, and he’d either pull away and explain he didn’t want to be touched, or he’d take your hand and hold it gently. A big improvement. It was just little touches: holding hands, an arm around his shoulder, a hug… it never went past that.

He didn’t talk about what it was that was bothering him at first, but you trusted that he would tell you when he was ready. After about a week, he was finally ready to talk about it.

…

You both were sitting on the couch, in one of your quiet moments. You were reading a book, like you usually did when Spencer felt like being quiet. The silences were starting to get more comfortable, making it easier to just do quiet activities next to each other.

After a few minutes, Spencer cleared his throat, making you look over at him. You bookmarked the page you were on and turned to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts together, before opening them again to look at you. He spoke very softly.

“When I was…” he started, swallowing and taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing, “... When I was abducted for those few days back in February, a lot happened. The man who took me had dissociative identity disorder, and dealing with all his personalities was difficult. But there was one of his personalities that was… nicer than the others. More helpful than harmful.” He closed his eyes again, and you knew this was really hard for him to talk about. You placed a gentle hand over his, and he let out a breath, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. He continued on, his voice still soft and sad.

“Unfortunately, one of the ways that he helped me was to… give me something to help numb the pain the others were causing.” He closed his eyes again, and he slowly rolled up his sleeves for you to see his arms.

You stared in shock. His arms were covered in needle marks. You covered your mouth. “Oh, Spencer…” You looked back up at his face, but his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to face this. You squeezed his hand to let him know you were here to support him.

“He would come to me saying Dilaudid helped with the pain, and after a few times, it started to feel… good.” He took another deep breath, his eyes still closed. “After he died, I took the bottles he still had. And when things started getting hard to handle… all the flashbacks and memories of what happened to me, I just needed to numb myself. And it worked, for a while. But eventually, I just… couldn’t stop.”

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentle. “You could’ve come to me, I could’ve tried to help you-”

“I didn’t want that,” he cut you off. “I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. That it was just medicine that was helping me. But, obviously, I knew that wasn’t the truth. And I knew that if I told anyone about it, they would say I needed help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted to live in this unrealistic world where everything I was doing was fine.” He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “That’s why I was lashing out. I didn’t want anyone to help me, and I also felt like I didn’t deserve anyone being nice to me.”

He looked at you very seriously. “I thought, if I didn’t tell you any of this, it couldn’t hurt you. I know how sensitive you are to other people’s emotions and problems, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t worry about me. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was a naive way of thinking.” He reached out and gently touched your face. “When I saw you at the BAU, I knew it was because you were worried about me, and I saw that you looked like you had been crying. And it just snapped me out of this false reality I had created for myself. And that’s when I came home and apologized, because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

You listened to him silently while he talked, letting him get out everything he needed to say before responding. “Why didn’t you tell me that day? Or the few days after that? Why did you wait until now?”

He nodded as if he was waiting for this question. “I read that withdrawal symptoms peak within 12-48 hours, and that it usually takes 5-7 days for the symptoms to resolve. So I wanted to wait out those 7 days just to make sure.”

You gave him a sad look. “But if I knew you were having withdrawal symptoms, I could have helped you. I really wish you would have told me.”

He sighed. “I wanted to do it on my own. To prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn’t just going to quit halfway through and relapse.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m really glad you told me now. We can get through this together.” You gave his hand a little pat. “You know this isn’t the end of it, right? It’s not just over when withdrawal symptoms stop. You still need to work out these issues that made you start this in the first place.”

He nodded. “I know. I want to try to get help now. I… I think I’m ready. I want to look into going to therapy, and maybe some support groups if I need them.” He squeezed your hand again. “I know I can make it through this, because I know you’ll be by my side.”

You smiled softly at him. “I’ll always be by your side.” Your hand trailed up his arms, looking back at the needle marks. “Do they… hurt?” you asked softly.

He shrugged. “Only when they first appear. They don’t hurt right now.”

You nodded, and you gently touched the marks on his arm. You looked at him, and you slowly brought his arm up so you could give every little mark a gentle kiss, to let him know that everything was going to get better soon.

He looked at you with big, loving eyes, and he started tearing up a bit. He pulled you in for a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he said with a shaky voice.

You held him tight, rubbing his back to comfort him. “I love you too, Spence. Everything is going to be okay.” Your voice was calm and soothing. “I’m here now.”

…

Things started to get much better after that. Spencer was way more comfortable telling you when things were feeling more difficult than usual. Typically, it would be when he came home from a particularly emotional case. You were always there to hold him and to soothe him. There was no more aversion to your touch or need for extended silences. He felt comfortable in your arms, and he knew he could talk to you when something was bothering him.

He started seeing a therapist, and you always went there with him. Usually, you just sat outside the office for his sessions so he could have the one-on-one help he needed. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly rough week, he would bring you in with him for extra support. And you were always there when he needed you.

It took a bit of time, but you learned how to help with whatever he needed you for. If he needed a distraction, you could always come up with some activity to get his mind off of things. You played a lot of board games, and started learning to bake so you could just pull out a new recipe to try and he could focus on getting everything just right. When he just needed someone to listen to him, or a shoulder to cry on, you didn’t mind being that person for him. And sometimes he just wanted to be held, saying that the physical touch grounded him. You were always happy to hold him.

Over time, things got easier and easier to deal with. Eventually, things seemed to be fully back to normal. You both knew that this was always going to be a struggle that could come back, but you knew how to handle it now, and you were certain that you could get through any struggle that ever tried to get in your way.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #mod angel

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hoe4hotchner · 2 months ago

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Chapter 9 - Sectionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 12.4k

Warnings: Tense atmosphere, explosion, anxiety and uncertainty, protective behavior, law enforcement taking charge, mentions of potential danger, team coordination, emotional reassurance, crisis response.

A/N: I've been so busy lately that this chapter took way longer than expected, but here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

Masterlist

The drive to the arena was tense, the silence between you and the rest of the team hung heavy in the air. None of you dared to break it, knowing any conversation would inevitably turn to strategizing — and a discussion that could mean the difference between life and death for you. The silence was only broken by the steady hum of the SUV’s engine as Hotch drove closer and closer to the arena.

The city blurred past in a haze of neon signs and glowing streetlights, muted by the darkness of the tinted windows as the sun started rising out in the distance. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, while Hotch remained focused on the road. His grip on the steering wheel was tight. It occasionally became tighter, you noticed his knuckles whitening, his expression was unreadable, but the faint crease in his brow betrayed the weight of his thoughts — you wondered what exactly he was thinking about, although you could probably imagine what it was.

Behind you, the team followed in two other SUVs, their presence both reassuring and unnerving. You couldn't see them, but you could almost feel their concern for you and their focus on the job at hand. Because that was what it was to them — a job. Despite how close you'd grown to the team, situations like this would always just feel like a job to them, while to you it could mean the end.

As the arena came into view, its massive structure rose against the skyline, the glowing display flashing the name of the event. You could sense the crowds of people flowing through the open entrance, their excited chatter muffled by the glass of the SUV. Competitors lugged their gear, some laughing, others stone-faced, and some with pre-competition nerves, while spectators bundled in scarves and coats hurried inside, eager to escape the cold outdoors.

Your chest tightened as your gaze lingered on the doors.

Hotch glanced over at you briefly. His steady presence had been a constant since the case began. He didn’t need to say much to steady you; his composed and authoritative demeanor spoke volumes. “We’re almost there,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence and the jumble of thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the road as Hotch turned to enter the parking lot at the back of the arena, meant for staff only. You drew in a deep breath. The moment settled heavily on your chest, but you found enough strength to murmur, “Thank you, Hotch. For… everything. I know I haven’t made it easy at times.” The words felt awkward as they left your lips, catching slightly in your throat, but they were true.

“Don't worry about it," He put a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it again. "You’ve been handling more than most people could,” he replied, his voice was low. His eyes flicked toward you again, and this time, a small, reassuring smile softened his features. “You’re stronger than you realize. I’ve seen it, and I know you’re going to get through this.”

Those words lingered in your mind, they were reassuring to you as the SUVs pulled into the designated area that had been blocked off by the arena’s back entrance. Staff waved the vehicles into position, their movements efficient and practiced — they had clearly been trained to do so, you thought. The low rumble of the engines faded as Hotch shifted into park and shut the car off. You opened the door, and the moment you stepped out, a burst of crisp air greeted you — it was nice.

You adjusted your jacket, the motion almost instinctive, and drew in a steadying breath, letting the cold air settle your nerves. Behind you, the car door shut with a solid thud as Hotch stepped out as well. Straightening your posture, you turned to face the scene ahead.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement as the rest of the team approached from the second SUV. They closed the distance quickly, their expressions reflecting a shared determination to do whatever it'll take to keep you — and to some extent the other skaters — safe and hopefully catch the unsub if he decides to show up.

“You ready to show everyone what you’re made of?” JJ asked, her voice was gentle. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder.

You met her gaze and forced a small smile, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest but not breaking you — not like it would've without them. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, your voice was steady, even though your heart raced.

They didn’t press for more. Their quiet support spoke volumes. You felt the strength of their presence in the air.

Hotch stepped closer, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. His grip was brief but firm, and before he let go, his words followed in its wake. “We’ll be here the whole time,” he said. “If you need anything, just let us know.”

With a deep breath, you nodded, hiking your gear bag up on your shoulder to get a better grip — Morgan had offered to carry it, but you declined, wanting to feel the weight of your stuff. The moment was still heavy but it felt more manageable. Together, you walked toward the arena’s entrance, the team moving seamlessly as a shield around you. The sound of your footsteps mixed with the distant hum of voices.

The crowd inside was thick, a mix of families, coaches, and fellow skaters, each group immersed in their own world of preparation and excitement. The backstage area was alive with chatter, the buzz of anticipation rising, and you could feel the collective energy as people moved around, some barely noticing the presence of the FBI agents at your side. But others — more curious — turned their heads, whispering amongst themselves, eyes briefly falling on you and the imposing figures accompanying you.

The whispers felt distant, and detached, almost as if they were happening to someone else. You tried to focus on the competition at hand, but despite the support surrounding you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly alone in the face of it all, especially with Branson missing — he was supposed to be here.

The familiar scent of the ice and the competition hit you the moment you walked past an open door into the rink — a mix of cold air, buttery popcorn, and the faint, metallic scent of blades. It was a smell that carried memories, memories of countless hours spent on the rink at home, memories of minor competitions that held no weight now, of dreams that had once seemed without reach — but now were closer than ever before. For a brief moment, you paused, standing still trying to ground yourself. The sound of the crowd was distant, and it felt muted.

You could almost feel the echoes of your younger self, the excitement, the determination, the hope. You took one last, steadying breath, letting the familiar air settle in your lungs before turning back to the team. Their faces were set in stoned expressions waiting for you to be ready to move on.

Hotch met your gaze and gave you a nod — a small but powerful gesture. It was the kind of nod that said he trusted you completely, that he believed in you unconditionally, that he gave you the time that you needed, even in the face of the unknown where his constant command would've been safer than letting you take breaks — but your well-being was just as important as your safety. That belief, so clearly reflected in his eyes, gave you strength.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Each step forward felt like a small victory — each step you were still alive — you were reclaiming your story, the dreams you had held so tightly when entering the skating world.

As you moved down the corridor, the team led you to a locker room that had been specially reserved for you. Hotch had insisted on this extra security measure, making sure you had a private space to prepare, away from the prying eyes of the crowd and any potential threats.

The tension was thick as Hotch and Rossi stopped just outside the locker room door, their expressions unreadable. They exchanged a quick glance and a nod — moving completely in sync — before stepping inside. You stood in the corridor surrounded by the rest of the team, your hands fidgeting in front of you, the nervousness spilling over despite your best efforts to suppress it.

Inside the locker room, Hotch moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless of times before. His eyes swept across the space, gun held ready at his hip as he methodically checked every corner, every shadow, his steps silent. Rossi, just as meticulous, crouched to inspect the lockers and checked the hidden crevices. Their movements synchronized. It was a routine they had perfected over the years, and while its necessity was unsettling, it was also a source of comfort, knowing that they did everything in their power to ensure your safety.

Outside, the seconds dragged on, stretching the silence between being reassured that you would be okay. You caught JJ’s hand briefly, grounding yourself. Even Garcia’s energy had damped for a moment as she reached over to give your arm a squeeze, her eyes brimming with her usual unshakable belief in you.

Finally, the door opened, Hotch and Rossi stepped back into the hallway. Hotch's gaze met yours immediately, the edges of his expression softening just slightly. “All clear,” he said simply, moving away from the entrance to give you the clearance to enter.

As his eyes lingered on yours, he gave you a brief nod, and in that moment, it felt like more than reassurance — it felt like a promise.

With a grateful smile, you stepped into the locker room, the door closing softly behind you. The space was quiet, the kind of stillness that magnified every sound — the faint flicker of the overhead lights as the fluorescent tube lights popped a little, the rustle of your bag as you set it on the bench. Normally, this room would be alive with chatter, nervous laughter, and the hurried sounds of skaters making last-minute adjustments to their costumes. But today — today, it was just you. The solitude felt daunting, you'd much rather have peers to hang around. Despite the competitions between you, you knew that being around the other skaters would've helped you calm your nerves.

You unzipped your bag, pulling out the elegant black costume you’d packed. The fabric shimmered as it caught the light, the rhinestones adorning the bodice and forearms glinting like stars. It was stunning, a dress meant to command attention on the ice, and as you slipped out of your warm clothes and into the costume, it felt like an armor. The fabric against your skin was grounding, the tulle part of the skirt barely covering your upper thighs. The costume was a reminder of the hours you’d poured into perfecting every move and every detail of your performance.

Adjusting the dress in the mirror, you smoothed it over your shoulders. You paused, your hand brushing against the rhinestones as you took a steadying breath, letting the reality sink in — you had made it this far, surely you could make it a couple of hours more.

Sitting down on the bench, you pulled your skates on and laced them tight. You snapped the blade guards into place, the sound of each click echoing in the room. When you stood, the tiles beneath your blades felt foreign for a second, but you balanced yourself easily, the muscle memory of years of practice kicking in.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, and for a moment, you simply stared at the reflection. The girl looking back wasn’t just a skater. She was strong and resilient, someone who had weathered unimaginable storms and emerged on the other side stronger than before. You took a moment to meet her gaze, finding strength in her determination.

This was it. The culmination of everything you’d fought for. Straightening your shoulders, you gave yourself a small, confident nod. You weren’t just walking out there to compete — you were reclaiming a piece of yourself, reclaiming your own narrative.

With a last anxious sigh, you walked to the door and cracked it open, your heart pounding as you signaled to the team. The moment they saw you, their expressions shifted, their faces lighting up as they took you in.

Emily reacted first, her eyes widening as they swept over your costume. “You look incredible,” she said, her voice carrying a mixture of awe and pride as she grabbed both your shoulders and leaned back to take your beauty in. Her smile was infectious, and you quickly found yourself smiling back at her as a little of the tension in your chest started melting away.

Garcia was the next, she let out a soft gasp, clasping her hands dramatically over her mouth for a moment to prevent herself from screaming. “Oh, honey,” she squealed. “You’re a vision! They’re not going to know what hit them!”

Hotch lingered at the back for a moment before stepping forward. He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze spoke volumes. His eyes softened as they met yours, his expression filled with belief and encouragement, knowing that you were strong enough to do this. When he finally did speak, his voice was more monotone than you had hoped. “You’re going to do great,” he said, a simple statement. The way he looked at you — it felt like a mix of pride and trust — but it was words you knew he'd never speak out loud, although no matter what you wanted to hear or feel, you knew he was in your corner.

You straightened your shoulders — your back cracking a little as you did — and managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” you said, your voice was quiet. “It means a lot to have you all here.”

Emily grinned and nudged you playfully. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now go out there and show them how to win.”

Standing in the doorway to the locker room, you stared at the team, gathered together in a circle around. Months of preparation, countless grueling hours of training, and the ever-present threat that had loomed over you leading up to sectionals were settling in your stomach. It all felt like it was catching up with you now, making each breath harder to take.

You’d faced competitions before, even high-stakes ones early on in your journey where the pressure had been almost unbearable, but this was different. This time, it wasn’t just about winning. It wasn’t just another event to check off a list — it was everything. The culmination of every sacrifice, every setback, every late-night practice, and every moment you’d fought to get to this place. And with it, a vulnerability you couldn’t shake, a sense that so much more was riding on this than you’d ever allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

Can I do this? The question echoed in your mind loud enough to make your body tense up. The nerves were so overwhelming that you had to fist your hands so you wouldn't shake. The anticipation was almost suffocating, and it felt like there was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation.

As if sensing your internal turmoil, Hotch stepped in. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty in him. His authority radiated, drawing the team’s focus back to the mission as he began to address the group.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Hotch began, his tone was sharp. “While she’s on the ice, we’ll be operating in two key positions: interior and exterior monitoring. Emily and JJ, you’ll be stationed at the arena entrance and rinkside doors. I want both of you on high alert for any unusual movement or non-ticketed entries. We’re not taking any chances. If anyone looks out of place or tries to slip by, I want eyes on them immediately. You’ll have comms linked directly to the rest of us on the interior.”

His eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone was absorbing the information. “Maintain clear visual contact at all times — especially if large crowds are entering or exiting. Don’t let anything slip under the radar.”

Emily nodded quickly, her hand already reaching for the comm device on her belt to place it in her ear. “Got it, Hotch.” Her voice was confident.

Hotch’s gaze briefly shifted between the two of them, a subtle nod of approval in response to their readiness. But he didn’t linger; there was no time for that. His focus sharpened again as he continued to lay out the plan. You could feel the shift in the room.

Hotch turned to Garcia next. “Penelope, you’ll be monitoring security feeds in the surveillance room with stadium security. I need real-time video feeds on all arena exits, the main rink, and the locker room corridor. Any gaps in the footage — no matter how small — need to be flagged and investigated immediately. If anything, even remotely suspicious comes up, I want to know about it. We’ll have a secondary comm channel open for you, in case you need to escalate something right away.”

Garcia’s eyes lit up with her usual enthusiasm as she slipped her earpiece in. “Consider it done, boss-man. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. If anyone so much as sneezes suspiciously, I’ll catch it.” Her voice was light-hearted and confident with the sharp focus that always defined her when it counted.

Hotch gave her a quick, appreciative nod before his gaze shifted to Morgan and Reid. His posture remained alert. “Morgan, Reid — I want you both covering the back entrance. Ensure no one slips in unauthorized. You’re on backup detail in case there’s any movement that needs immediate attention.”

Morgan nodded firmly. “We’ll keep a close watch, Hotch. Nothing’s getting past us.”

Reid, who had already started analyzing the arena layout in his mind, added with his usual systematic accuracy, “We’ll also do a sweep of the corridor near the locker rooms.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked to both of them, he had trust in their abilities. “Good. Make sure you’re ready for anything. The moment something’s off, I want to know about it.”

Finally, Hotch turned to Rossi. “Dave, you and I will stay rinkside. We’ll be the first point of contact if anything happens, and we can coordinate directly with the rest of the team from there. We’ll be covering her from every angle.”

Rossi met his gaze with a nod. “You got it, Aaron.” There was no hesitation in his voice, just the confidence of someone who had been in countless high-pressure situations before — and had made it out alive every single one of them.

Lastly, Hotch turned to you, his gaze softening slightly, though his tone stayed constant. “You’re going to be in our constant sightline while you’re on the ice,” he said. “If anything feels wrong, don’t push through it. You signal to us, and we’ll handle the rest.”

You nodded, comforted by the structure and clear plan Hotch had concocted. He’d thought of everything, and accounted for every possible risk, ensuring that you wouldn’t have to shoulder anything if it was up to him. It eased a fraction of the tension that had coiled in your chest. They weren’t just here to watch; they were here to protect, each one stationed like a wall around you. That clarity, that assurance — it was your lifeline.

Around you, the team moved into their positions. Emily’s quick nod, JJ’s reassuring glance, Morgan’s confident stance, Garcia’s friendly smile — all of it steadied the nervous energy threatening to overwhelm you.

As you stood there, letting their presence anchor you, you took a deep breath — a very deep breath.

As everyone began filing out to their positions, Hotch’s hand came up, a subtle but unmistakable signal for you to stay back for a moment. You froze mid-step, glancing up at him in surprise. He motioned toward the locker room, away from the door and prying eyes. It was just the two of you now, the buzz of the arena and the team’s footsteps fading into the background.

He’d noticed the telltale signs — the way your fingers fidgeted with the rhinestone-laden sleeves of your costume, how your teeth pressed into your bottom lip during his briefing, the way your shoulders seemed to sag under invisible doubts. His instincts were always attuned to the smallest details.

“Hey,” he began, his voice was low like he was carefully choosing every word. “Before you go out there, I want you to know something. You’ve got this. You’ve put in the work, and we’re right here with you. Nothing’s going to happen that we aren’t prepared for.”

The warmth in his words was unexpected. But even as his reassurances settled over you, the lingering weight of your fears refused to be fully silenced. Swallowing hard, you found yourself speaking before you could second-guess yourself. “Hotch, I know it’s irrational, but I feel… I don’t know, like I’m not ready, or maybe just not strong enough to do this without him.” The words tumbled out faster than you’d planned, more vulnerable than you'd expected and that surprised even you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. Instead, you focused on the intricate pattern of the tiles, moving them to your skates, tracing the laces with your eyes as if they held the answers. “Every time I’m about to step on the ice, there’s this voice in my head,” you admitted, your fingers gripping the edge of your sleeves a little tighter. “It keeps telling me I’m not ready… that I don’t have it in me.”

Hotch’s hand reached out, resting firmly yet gently on your shoulder. His touch wasn’t just grounding; it kept you from drifting too far into your spiraling thoughts.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You’ve already proven your strength by coming this far. I know losing Branson has made this feel impossible, and I understand that. But what you’re doing — going out there, honoring all of the victims by competing despite everything — takes more courage than most people will ever know.”

His words hit you like a wave. He spoke with such conviction, as though he could see something in you that you couldn’t.

“But what if — what if I mess up?” you whispered, your voice trembling. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “What if all of this training and everything I’ve done just… falls apart?”

The fear had been gnawing at you for weeks, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind that no amount of practice or preparation had been able to silence. Saying it out loud as if naming it might make it real.

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened. “Then you’ll keep going,” he said, his voice was layered with emotion, but he quickly snapped out of it, “just like you’ve done every time before. Messing up doesn’t change what you’ve accomplished or who you are. And it certainly won’t change how proud everyone is of you. Mistakes don’t define you; what you do next does. And right now, I see someone strong enough to face this, no matter what happens.”

His words cut through the doubt. It wasn’t just what he said — it was the absolute certainty in his tone, the way he delivered like it was fact. You could feel his belief in you.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you murmured, your voice was soft as you looked up at him. Your lips curved into a smile — a genuine smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, his own expression softening slightly too. With a firm nod, he released your shoulder, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Now go out there and show them.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly and it felt like a spark igniting in your chest. You were ready.

The energy in the arena buzzed, and the hum of the audience seemed to seep into your skin as you stood in the narrow waiting area just off the rink. Your fingers twisted the fabric of your costume, an unconscious attempt to tether your thoughts as your eyes locked on the skater gliding effortlessly across the ice.

Natalia Ivanova.

Even the name carried weight — she was a rising star whose performances had already sparked whispers of greatness within the skating world. She wasn’t just good; she was extraordinary. You’d known that before today, had watched grainy footage of her routines — that Branson somehow had gotten his hands on through some dodgy Russian website — during late-night study sessions, dissecting her artistry and precision. But seeing her in person was an entirely different experience.

Natalia’s presence on the ice was magnetic and held a refined grace. Every movement she made was deliberate, every step part of a larger, perfectly choreographed narrative. Her coach’s reputation preceded her — a great figure in Russian skating known for a ruthless dedication to perfection. The rumors of severe training schedules and discipline seemed to manifest in every controlled motion Natalia delivered. She wasn’t just skating; she owned the ice, bending it to her will.

As she launched into a series of jumps, each one higher and more precise than the last, your breath hitched. Natalia’s triple Lutz was perfection, her spins faster than you'd ever managed, and it blurred into a vortex. Her footwork was sharp and fluid all at once as if the ice itself answered only to her. Watching her was both inspiring and daunting, and it was a reminder of the sheer level of competition you were up against.

The crowd erupted as Natalia neared the end of her routine, their cheers swelling into a roar of approval as she struck her final pose. Arms extended, chin lifted, she held her position for a fraction longer than necessary, commanding the spotlight on her even as the music faded. The applause was deafening.

You exhaled slowly, willing the tightness in your chest to ease. The reality of Natalia’s skill loomed over you. She’d set the bar impossibly high, and now it soon was your turn to step onto the ice, you were scared that competing after such a talented skater would be your certain doom.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, delivering Natalia’s score, it made the crowd erupt once again. It was an impressive number. She was undeniably talented, her performance near-flawless, and now she stood at the top of the leaderboard as the skater to beat. The thought gnawed at you. Could your routine, no matter how tirelessly you had trained, truly stand up to hers? The crowd’s energy seemed to affirm Natalia’s dominance.

Your mind wandered, replaying every hour of practice, every late night spent refining your choreography until the music and movements felt like second nature. You knew you’d worked hard — relentlessly hard — but the small, insidious voice of doubt whispered that maybe it wasn’t enough. That no matter how prepared you thought you were, someone like Natalia was more talented.

Your gaze dropped to the ice, searching for something — focus, courage, clarity? The polished surface reflected the arena lights in fractured glints, as the Zamboni made its way across, preparing the ice for you. You felt the storm of "what ifs" building in your chest until you sensed him behind you. His presence wasn’t loud or invasive, but it was a constant amidst the chaos. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Hotch. His aura was unmistakable.

You could almost sense the picture of him, towering a little over you. The mental picture of a Doberman popped into your head — alert, loyal, fierce — and the image almost made you smile despite the tension coiling in your chest. If Hotch was the guard dog, you were the kitten, small and vulnerable but you were protected. Somehow, that strange picture settled your nerves just enough to let you breathe a little deeper. Hotch had been that way since the night you first met him: a silent guardian who didn’t have to do much to remind you that you were never truly alone in anything you faced.

Natalia glided off the ice with a satisfied attitude as she passed by. Her presence lingered maybe even taunting you, to match what she had just delivered. The weight of it threatened to send you spiraling again, but before it could, Hotch’s voice cut through the noise.

“You’re going to be incredible,” Hotch said, stepping a little closer until his chest was nearly brushing against your back. His voice was calm — maybe a little too calm given the situation. “You’ve got this, no matter what anyone else scores. Remember, this isn’t about them. It’s about you and what you’re here to do.”

You nodded, drawing in a deep breath. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his tone, and somehow that steadiness seeped into you, pushing back against the nervous energy buzzing in your chest. Hotch didn’t offer more words, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, calling your name, and the atmosphere shifted as the crowd’s attention swung toward you. A murmur rippled through the stands, accompanied by polite applause, but it all blurred into background noise as you took a step forward. The bright lights bore down on you, and the cold, crisp air prickled against your skin, heightening your senses. For a moment it all swelled, threatening to overwhelm you — but then you glanced back.

Hotch was still there, rooted in place, his eyes meeting yours and with a firm and steady gaze, he gave you a small nod. It wasn’t overbearing; it was just enough to remind you of everything, of the people who believed in you and the work that had brought you here.

That nod was all you needed.

You turned toward the ice, exhaling. This was your moment, and you were ready to claim it. As your skates touched the ice you glided to your starting position, the arena’s energy wrapping around you.

The announcer’s voice carried on, introducing you, but just as you reached the center of the rink, his tone shifted. It grew softer, more solemn as if hinting at something — you weren't sure if he would announce it, but you sure hoped he didn't. The slight change sent a surge through the crowd, quieting the murmurs as anticipation settled over the audience.

"And now, representing Quantico, Virginia," the announcer's voice carried through the arena, "a brave young woman who, not long ago, suffered the tragic loss of her longtime coach in a heartbreaking incident that has no doubt deeply affected her journey here today."

The words struck, rumbling through the arena. You froze, the announcement cutting through the confidence you’d just pieced together. It wasn’t just the mention of your coach’s death — it was the way it was framed, so public, so intrusive, as if your grief were a narrative for the world to consume. You hadn’t prepared for this, for the raw wound to be laid bare before thousands of spectators.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the team’s reactions. Morgan’s jaw clenched, JJ's mouth parted in shock, her eyes narrowing in disbelief as she turned sharply toward Hotch from the door. Reid stood just behind Morgan, his brows furrowed, his face carrying a sense of sorrow that spoke to his own experiences with loss. He looked like he wanted to say something, to object, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

Hotch, however, was unreadable. His body was taut with control, his expression carved from stone as his eyes stayed locked on you. There was no visible anger, no outward sign of the frustration he undoubtedly felt, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable. His jaw tightened ever so slightly and his hands locked on his hips were the only signs of his frustration with the announcement.

Instinctively, your gaze sought his. Your eyes, wide with disbelief as you silently pleaded with him to do something. Why did they say that? What does this mean? The once-excited hum of the arena was replaced by a heavy and stiff silence. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once, your thoughts colliding as you tried to process what had just been said.

When Hotch met your gaze, his response was immediate. He didn’t break eye contact, slowly, he gave you a single, deliberate nod. It wasn’t dismissive, nor was it overly reassuring. Instead, it was an unspoken promise. I’ll handle this, his eyes seemed to convey. But right now, I need you to focus. I’m here.

The crowd’s murmur began to rise again, unsure, but you held onto that connection, that lifeline Hotch had silently extended.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of your routine, your hard work — nothing, and no one could take that away.

The arena settled into silence as the lights dimmed, and a single, piercing spotlight illuminated you. For a fleeting moment, the world outside the ice disappeared. The crowd, the noise, even the ache of loss — it all fell away.

You pushed all doubt aside. This was your moment, your chance to honor everything you’d worked. The cold of the ice seeped through the delicate fabric of your costume. It wasn’t uncomfortable — it was nice.

Another breath. Deep, steady, intentional. And then you moved into your starting pose. As the first haunting notes of your music filled the air, the stillness gave way to motion. You stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The sharp sound of your blades cutting into the ice echoed softly.

The spotlight followed you as the rest of the rink faded into shadow, casting the rhinestones on your costumes into sparks of light. They glittered like fragments of a starry sky, transforming you into something otherworldly under the glow. The shimmering stones caught the light with every subtle movement.

The music flowed soft and melodic, carrying you forward. Each turn, each spin, flowed effortlessly from the next, the choreography imprinted in your muscles from endless repetition.

You leaned into the music, letting it guide you. Your arms arced gracefully through the air as you performed a series of elegant steps, each more intricate than the last. The swish of your blades cutting across the ice was almost hypnotic.

The crowd’s reaction was lost to you — at least, for now. You were no longer aware of anything beyond the ice and your own movements. There was only the rhythm of the music, the glide of your skates, and the rush of adrenaline that propelled you forward.

You felt the audience’s eyes on you, but it didn’t matter. The whispers of the crowd faded away. This was your stage, your moment. You were more than the grief. You were strength, determination, and resilience personified. As you launched into your first jump, the air seemed to hold its breath.

Your legs extended gracefully, kicking high as your body twisted through the air, weightless for that perfect second. Then, you landed, cleanly, your blades biting into the ice with a satisfying sharp The crowd’s gasp of awe rippled through the arena, but you barely registered it. Your focus was unshakable, channeled entirely into your routine.

From that first jump, you flowed seamlessly into the next sequence. The choreography demanded a balance of strength and elegance, a challenge you had spent years perfecting. Each turn, each spin, held power, telling a story that words and pictures never could.

Yet even as you lost yourself in the rhythm of the music and the beauty of your performance, one constant remained. Hotch.

He stood at the far end of the rink, a dark figure blending into the shadows. His eyes were locked on you. But his focus wasn’t just on the grace of your movements or the artistry of your routine — it was on everything. The arena, the audience, the exits, the subtle shifts in energy around the room. He didn’t stop calculating, didn’t stop scanning, his mind constantly processing potential threats and outcomes.

Even in stillness, his posture radiated control. He didn’t draw attention to himself, but there was no mistaking the command he held over the space around him. To the audience, he might have been just another spectator. To you, he was so much more.

As he watched you glide across the ice, his expression softened in a way that most people would never notice. But you would. He saw the fire behind your performance, the resilience you poured into every spin, every leap, every graceful line you created on the ice. He knew the depth of your struggle.

And still, he couldn’t let his guard down. As you moved, so did he, his tall form cutting a purposeful path around the rink’s perimeter. His sharp eyes swept the crowd, assessing every face, every possibility. He wasn’t here to enjoy the show. He was here to protect you.

But even in his attentiveness, his heart wasn’t untouched. With every flawless element of your routine, something entirely different swelled in his chest. He wasn’t one to dwell on sentiment, but watching you out there, defying the odds, he couldn’t help it. You were doing it. You were proving to everyone — and, most importantly, to yourself — that you were unbreakable.

And as you skated through the crescendo of your routine, the crowd held its collective breath, captivated by your story and your skill. Hotch remained on edge. You might have been performing under the bright spotlight, but in his eyes, you were the brightest light of all.

The end of your routine drew near. You could feel the intensity mounting in the air, every note of the melody urging you onward. This was the final stretch, the moment you’d trained for, the pinnacle of everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. Your heart raced, adrenaline flooding your veins as you propelled yourself into the final series of moves.

You spun with unrelenting grace, the rhinestones of your costume catching the spotlight in dazzling bursts. The rink was your stage, and you commanded it with every turn of your body, every subtle shift of your weight.

And then came the moment you had been building toward — the most difficult element of your routine, the leap that required every ounce of your strength, focus, and courage. With a deep inhale, you pushed off, your legs kicking powerfully as you launched yourself into the air. The arena seemed to hold its breath as you soared — knowing fully well the danger of your element — your body twisting in a perfect arc.

When you landed, the ice met your blades with a satisfying slice. The momentum carried you smoothly through the final steps, your movements slowing as the music swelled to its last note. With a fluid motion, you struck your final pose at the center of the rink, poised and frozen in a picture of perfection. The arena was silent.

And then, like the shattering of a dam, the applause erupted. It started as a ripple before surging into a roaring wave, filling the arena with deafening sound. The cheers, whistles, and stomping feet seemed to shake the very ground beneath you. You stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exhilaration of your performance, your mind struggling to grasp what you had just accomplished.

From the shadows, Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you. To the untrained eye, he appeared calm, but inside, pride swelled in his chest. He had seen every step of your journey the past few weeks, every struggle and triumph, and now, he watched as you stood victorious.

The applause still echoed around you as the announcer’s voice cut through the air. The crowd hushed slightly, their attention shifting toward the scoreboard. You remained at center ice, your body still, though your fingers twitched at your sides. The adrenaline still coursed through you, making the moment feel both impossibly long and achingly brief.

Your eyes locked onto the scoreboard, the only thing in your line of sight now. Time seemed to slow as the numbers flickered, the world holding its breath alongside you. Your chest rose and fell steadily, but inside, your heart pounded. Waiting, hoping, believing.

Then, the numbers appeared.

"Total Score: 147.56," the board lit up, and the individual breakdown of your program components appeared underneath it:

- Technical Elements: 72.34

- Program Components: 75.22

It was a great score — a strong one, especially when measured against the competition in the competition. The crowd reacted with scattered applause and murmurs of approval, but your gaze instinctively flickered toward the scoreboard again, scanning for context. Just moments before, the Russian skater's score had flashed onto the board. She had also received a 147.56, but with a slightly higher technical mark and a lower program component score.

Your heart leaped in your chest as the realization sank in. The tie, the near mirror image of your scores, seemed almost impossible given how flawless her performance had been. The breath you had been holding came out in a shaky exhale. This was more than good; it was remarkable. You had stood your ground against one of the most highly praised skaters of the season — the one glorified as the "rising star" and "unbeatable." And here you were, matching her score.

But a flicker of doubt pushed its way into your mind. Your eyes darted back to her, standing by the sidelines, her posture rigid as her score glowed next to yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her body language betrayed a hint of frustration.

It wasn’t a perfect victory — there was no gold medal being handed to you just yet. But this wasn’t about medals or rankings anymore. This was your moment, your proof that you could rise to the occasion, even without your coach.

The numbers on the board seemed to glow brighter. A faint smile crossed your lips, hesitant at first, before blooming. You had done it. You hadn’t stuttered, you hadn’t stumbled. You had poured every ounce of your heart and soul onto that ice, and it had paid off.

The applause began to swell again as your name was announced, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced up at the crowd, your chest rising and falling as you took in the moment. For all the loss and grief that had brought you here, for all the challenges you’d faced in your training, this was your triumph. Not just because of the score, but because you had proven something to yourself.

You stepped off the ice, your skates leaving faint, sharp lines in their wake, and allowed yourself to feel the mix of emotions swirling inside you — relief, pride, and a lingering ache for the absence of your coach. But even that ache was quieter now, overshadowed by the sense of accomplishment. You had competed, and you had competed well. That was what mattered.

But before you could fully bask in the moment, a loud bang shattered the atmosphere of the arena. It wasn’t a celebratory sound, nor the kind of noise you might expect in a place like this. It was sharp and deep, thundering through the air like an explosion. The echoes seemed to cling to the walls, leaving behind a strange silence that pressed down on everyone present.

It didn’t belong here, not in this arena meant for elegance and artistry. It was utterly wrong.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sound sending a jolt through your body. Instinctively, your head snapped toward the direction of the noise. Your muscles tensed, and a cold wave of unease rushed through you. Around you, the crowd, which had moments ago been alive with applause and cheers, seemed to freeze. Confused murmurs began to rise, growing louder and more urgent as the initial shock faded.

Your eyes darted to Hotch. He was already moving, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. His piercing gaze swept across the arena, narrowing on the source of the disturbance. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching as his mind worked quickly to assess the situation. He stood rigid yet poised, every part of him ready to act.

Even in his intense focus, he glanced toward you. It was just for a moment. But the moment didn’t linger. His expression hardened again, his attention snapping back to the task. Whatever this was, he was already working through it, calculating every possibility.

Without hesitation, Hotch moved toward you, his steps deliberate and controlled. He reached out, his hand clasping your arm firmly but gently. It wasn’t just a touch — it was a message. His grip communicated a silent directive to stay close and follow his lead.

You didn’t need him to speak. You trusted him, knowing that in situations like this, he was the one person who could bring order and keep you safe.

Around you, the murmurs in the crowd grew louder, some voices rising in alarm. Hotch’s sharp gaze flicked back to the arena’s perimeter, his body tense as he scanned for any signs of further danger. His hand remained on your arm, anchoring you to him, his protective instincts driving every movement.

The silence of the arena was breaking, but your focus stayed on him. Whatever was about to unfold, you knew he would take care of it.

Parents clutching their children, coaches exchanging uneasy glances, spectators craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Yet, amid the chaos, one thing was abundantly clear: something was wrong. The rest of the BAU team was already moving, their training kicking in. Eyes scanned exits and entry points, steps purposeful, bodies coiled and ready for action.

Hotch’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, drawing your attention back to him.

“Stay close. We’ll get you to safety,” he said, his tone firm and edged with an urgency that matched the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. Around you, his team moved into position. JJ was speaking quickly to a nearby event organizer, while Morgan and Rossi spread out to survey the crowd. Emily and Reid were already coordinating with security and checking sightlines. No one was leaving anything to chance.

The atmosphere in the arena shifted further, tension thickening like a storm cloud about to break. Your stomach twisted as you watched the judges exchanging concerned looks, the skaters huddled near the edge of the rink, and the crowd fidgeting in their seats. Whatever had caused the explosion remained a mystery, and the not-knowing only made it worse.

You felt your thoughts scatter, your pulse pounding in your ears.

People remained seated but shifted nervously as if preparing to flee once getting the go-ahead.

“Everyone stay where you are,” Hotch barked, his voice roaring over the noise. The authority in his tone was enough to quiet the murmurs in his immediate vicinity, though the tension in the room didn’t reduce. His gaze flickered back to you as if ensuring you were still steady under his protection. Even as his body remained composed, you caught the tightness in his jaw and the subtle way his shoulders squared — he was ready for anything.

In one fluid motion, Hotch pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed. His voice turned cold and precise, each word clipped and efficient as he relayed the situation to the local police.

“This is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We have a potential security threat at the Sectional Skating Championship. Requesting immediate assistance. Unknown cause of disturbance — a loud explosion-like sound—followed by unusual crowd behavior. My team is securing the area. Lock the building down — no one in or out until further notice. I’m on the ground. We need a full investigation.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd once more as he listened to the dispatcher’s response. When he spoke again, his voice was even sharper, cutting through the noise around you.

“Yes. Multiple agents on-site. We’ll hold until local law enforcement arrives.” There was a brief pause as he listened to the other end, and then he added, “Send an officer to every exit and have them check for anything suspicious. I want the building swept. No exceptions.”

The brief crackle of static from Hotch’s phone was drowned out by the rising noise of the crowd, but you could still catch the exchange between him and the dispatcher. Even after the call ended, the residual weight of his authority lingered. Hotch wasn’t just standing beside you as your protector — he was assuming command, his focus split between ensuring your safety and piecing together the origin of the threat.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Hotch turned toward you. Though his posture remained stiff, his expression softened for just a moment.

“Stay close,” he instructed, his tone low but firm, just audible over the murmur of the crowd. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as he began issuing orders to the team.

“Morgan, Prentiss,” he called, his voice sharp as a commander's. “Check the perimeter. Sweep the hallways and backstage areas. We don’t know if this was an isolated incident or the beginning of something larger. Make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

Morgan’s response was immediate, his posture tense with readiness. “On it,” he said, already scanning for exits as Emily moved in tandem.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward one of the arena officers, who was fumbling to coordinate with staff. With his usual efficiency, Hotch strode over and handed off a series of rapid instructions, his tone leaving no room for question. It was clear to everyone that he was taking control.

Then, his attention was back on you. He closed the space between you, stopping just short of crowding your personal space. Even now, as chaos brewed around you, Hotch was attuned to your needs, knowing exactly how to make you feel secure without overwhelming you.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said softly. This was Hotch at his core — methodical, persistent, and entirely focused on the task while ensuring you remained his top priority.

Strategically, he moved to position himself near the entrance to the locker rooms, creating a barrier that no one could pass without confronting him first. His protective stance made it clear: you were his responsibility, and nothing was going to slip past him.

“JJ, stay with her,” Hotch directed, nodding toward the blonde agent, who was already on her way to your side. Her movements were brisk but deliberate, and her warm smile was meant to comfort, even though the tension in her eyes mirrored the unease in the room.

“Got it,” JJ replied, standing close enough to reassure you without adding to the weight of the moment.

Meanwhile, Hotch’s focus returned to the broader scene. He continued issuing orders. “Dave, you and I will manage the investigation at the main entrance. Coordinate with the local PD and security. Stay in contact with the team — if anything changes, I want to know immediately.”

Rossi gave a sharp nod, already moving to carry out the directive. Around you, the team dispersed like clockwork. Yet even as they moved, Hotch’s eyes flicked back to you intermittently.

His movements were quick, sharp. Rossi gave him a firm nod before he walked off toward the entrance. Meanwhile, Hotch turned back to you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder once again, the gesture offering reassurance, though you could see the tightness in his face.

You swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgement, though a lump had formed in your throat. The scene before you had turned from a competition into something far more complicated, far more dangerous. Hotch, though, was steadfast in his focus, ensuring that everyone had a role to play in securing the area, keeping everyone safe.

"You'll be fine," Hotch said again. "We’ve got this under control, but I need you to stay right here with JJ. Don’t go anywhere. I won’t be far."

You glanced at JJ, who offered you a comforting, gentle smile, and you felt the small knot of anxiety in your stomach begin to loosen slightly. The team had it under control, but even still, the looming threat and the lingering chaos left you feeling a little off-center.

He moved to take his place at the front of the arena, ready to address the situation head-on, but with a glance back at you — just a quick look, to make sure you were still safe.

The tension didn’t ease, not by a long shot, but for the moment, you had the protection you needed.

The air was thick with tension as Morgan and Emily moved through the backstage area, their footsteps silent but quick. Every corner, every shadow, was a potential hiding spot for the person behind the explosion sound. The buzz of activity and officers calling out orders had begun to fade as the pair zeroed in on their search, their movements precise.

“Here,” Morgan murmured, motioning toward the steel door at the end of the hall. The hum of machinery echoed from within the room — the Zamboni room, where one of the two ice-resurfacing machines was stored when not in use. A room that, until moments ago, had been nothing more than a utilitarian part of the rink’s operation.

Emily’s hand was already on the door handle. She pushed it open, and they both stepped inside, their eyes quickly adjusting to the low light. At first, the room appeared as it always did — rows of machinery, a place for storage, a place for repairs. But then, their gazes locked on the destruction in the center of the room.

The Zamboni was in pieces.

The giant machine had been obliterated. The frame had been crushed, twisted metal hanging off at odd angles like the remnants of a wrecked car. Bits of shattered glass and chunks of the vehicle’s undercarriage were scattered across the floor, the machinery was unrecognizable. The cause of the explosion was now painfully clear — someone had sabotaged the Zamboni with a destructive force designed to do one thing: send a message.

"Jesus," Emily breathed, her voice low but laced with disbelief as she tried to think of exactly how the Zamboni had been destroyed like that. Her hand instinctively reached for her gun, though there was nothing left of the machine to be worried about anymore. The force of the explosion had left a crater of destruction in the middle of the room, the walls and floors marred by scorch marks.

Morgan’s jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed. He surveyed the wreckage, his gaze flickering over every damaged piece. But it was something on top of the destroyed Zamboni that caught his eye.

There, resting on the crushed metal, was a small, unaffected object — something that, at first glance, seemed almost out of place amid the wreckage. It was a plain, seemingly unmarked CD.

"Is that...?" Emily began, stepping forward cautiously as she pulled her flashlight from her belt and cast its beam on the CD. "No way."

Morgan approached the machine slowly, his hand never far from his weapon as he reached for the CD. He gingerly picked it up, his fingers brushing against the surface. The words scrawled on it in thick, bold Sharpie were specific: Play Me.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered under his breath. He turned the CD over in his hands, checking the back for any other markings or labels, but it was just the words.

"Whoever did this... they want us to listen," Emily said, her tone dark, as she stood back from the wreckage. "But why? What’s on it?"

Morgan glanced over at her, his eyes flashing with the usual resolve. "We need to get this to Hotch. He’s gonna want to see this right now. Whatever’s on this CD, it’s tied to all this." His voice hardened, knowing that this wasn't just a random act of destruction; it was part of something bigger. A message. A warning — and it was all for you.

They exchanged a brief look — silent, but their thoughts aligned. The situation was escalating, and they needed to act quickly. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Morgan pocketed the CD in his vest and turned to leave the room, his focus sharp. Emily followed close behind, and as they made their way out, she glanced back at the destroyed Zamboni. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be good.

They moved through the hallway with urgency, heading straight for Hotch, who was already coordinating the investigation. The ominous CD in Morgan's pocket felt like a ticking clock. The message had been delivered. Now, it was up to them to decode it before everything spiraled out of control.

Morgan and Emily hurried back to Hotch, the tension between them noticeable as they moved quickly through the hallway. Morgan had the CD tightly in his grip. As soon as they arrived at the part of the area where Hotch was, Morgan handed over the disc without a word, his expression tense.

Hotch glanced at it before his sharp gaze snapped back up to Morgan. "What do we have?"

Morgan answered, "It's a message. We found it at the scene — the Zamboni room. Whoever did this... they're taunting us."

Emily added, "There's no label on it, just the words 'Play Me' written on the CD. We knew it was important, so we brought it straight to you."

Hotch nodded, his face hardening as he took the CD. Without wasting a second, he led them to a nearby office — one they'd set up as their temporary command center. Inside, he sat down at the computer and inserted the disk into the drive. The monitor flickered before the video began to load.

The figure that appeared on the screen was cast in darkness — his face obscured by shadows, the low lighting ensuring his identity remained hidden. He spoke with an eerie calmness, his voice laced with a mix of confidence and amusement, as though he were already in control of the situation.

“You really thought you could stop me, didn’t you?” His voice was low, calculated, and filled with an unsettling arrogance. If he had had him in his interrogation room, Hotch was sure he would've needed to step out before he let his anger overtake him. “You thought Branson’s death meant the end. But I’m always one step ahead. I'm always ahead." He repeated

The video flickered, and images began to appear on the screen. First, a photo of you, being led to Hotch’s SUV the night Branson was murdered. The image was clear, documenting the aftermath of a tragedy, and the protectiveness in Hotch’s gaze as he escorted you away from the crime scene.

The next photo was taken from a distance — again, it was of you, practicing alone on the ice at the rink, completely unaware of the watchful eyes on you. Anderson who had been there to keep an eye out for you, stood off to the side, watching intently. Fire bubbled within him — Anderson was supposed to look out for you, yet he had let the unsub get close enough to take pictures that day.

Then, another image — you again, this time accompanied by the girls, laughing with them during your night out, a moment of lightheartedness in the midst of everything that had been happening. It was a candid shot, but it held the terrifying realization that you had been watched the entire time.

You had been followed. And you hadn’t known.

The room was dead silent as the images flickered across the screen. It was clear now — this wasn’t just a stalker. This was someone who had been tracking your every move, every breath, for who knows how long. And now, he was making sure you knew it.

The last image hit them hard — a photo of you, surrounded by the team, smiling during your celebration after a long practice, completely unaware of the danger that had been stalking you. You had been followed everywhere, and it was more disturbing now than ever before.

The man’s voice returned, his words dripping with amusement. “You’ll learn soon enough who’s really in charge. This is only the beginning. I will get to her sooner than you think”

The screen cut out abruptly, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

Hotch stood still for a moment, absorbing the implications of the video. His jaw was clenched tightly as he took in every detail. The fact that this man had been following you, watching you from the shadows — it wasn’t just disturbing, it was personal — he took it personally.

Morgan and Emily exchanged a look, both now fully aware of the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just about stopping a random killer. This was a calculated, dangerous individual who had been in control the whole time — more than they had thought he had been.

Hotch finally spoke, his voice steady but firm. “Lock down the perimeter. Every exit, every corner, needs to be checked. We need to find out who’s behind this — and we need to do it now. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re with me. We’re going through all the footage from tonight, starting with the security cameras. We need answers, and we need them now.”

He paused and turned to you, his eyes softening just slightly. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Stay close. We’re going to handle this.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of both dread and relief. The man behind the video had been watching your every move, but you weren’t alone. The team was here, and they were going to make sure he didn’t get away with it.

Hotch’s jaw was set tight, his eyes dark with fury, but he didn’t let it show outwardly. He was a master of control, and right now, his focus needed to be on the team and you. The anger simmered beneath the surface as the weight of the situation pressed in on him, but he couldn’t afford to let it slip — especially not now. The lives of the people in this arena, particularly yours, depended on him remaining calm.

Still, he couldn’t help but make a mental note, his mind already ticking off the necessary steps. Anderson was next on his list of reprimanding, he had failed to notice, or worse, ignored the warning signs while protecting you. If there was even the slightest chance that Anderson could've prevented this by pulling his head out of his ass, Hotch would make sure he was held accountable. Anderson was going to be in for one hell of a reprimand the moment they got back to the office.

He turned his attention back to the screen, his gaze darkening as the images flickered in his mind. The unsub had been planning this for so long, watching and waiting. And now, Hotch was furious that he’d let this slip under his radar for so long. The thought of you being followed, the pictures of you taken without your knowledge, without your permission... it gnawed at him.

But this wasn’t the time for personal anger. This was the time for action. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. First, he needed to make sure everyone was safe. Second, he needed to find out exactly who this man was and put a stop to him, once and for all.

As his mind ran through the next steps, he made a note to himself: once they were back in the office, he would need to pass the disk over to Garcia. She would be the key to deciphering this he thought — she would find something, maybe a code, in the data hidden on the disk, that would lead them to more answers — maybe she could find the origins of where the disk had been purchased. The words used in the video were no accident, and Garcia’s knack for digging into digital trails was exactly what they needed.

“Take this back to Garcia as soon as possible,” Hotch said, his voice sharp, as he looked at Morgan. “Make sure she checks it from every angle. I want to know who’s behind this, and I want to know now.” He almost growled.

Morgan nodded quickly. “Got it, Hotch.”

Emily, standing by his side, glanced at you briefly. She had a similar, unspoken understanding as Hotch. Whatever was happening now, it was becoming more personal by the second. The killer wasn’t just playing games — he was making his presence known, and he wasn’t going to stop. Not unless they made him.

Hotch turned back to the group with that same steely focus. “Once we have the answers, we move fast. No hesitation. We clear out every area of this arena. Every single corner gets checked. And keep your eyes on the crowd. This man might be hiding in plain sight.”

You, still shaken but determined, met his gaze for a split second, offering him a silent nod. It wasn’t just about safety now. It was about stopping a person who had been lurking in the shadows for far too long. And you were done being the prey.

Hotch’s hand flexed into a fist for a brief moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it, ready to lead his team with the precise command they needed. He couldn’t afford to let the personal emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not when it was all on the line.

“Let’s move,” Hotch said quietly, his voice still calm but filled with that unmistakable urgency. “And remember — stay close. We don’t take any chances.”

They all nodded, shifting into action, and Hotch stayed close, positioning himself as a protective shield between you and the unknown danger that was closing in around you.

And when the case was over, he would deal with Anderson. But right now, there was only one priority: keeping you safe.

The air in the arena was tense as the team waited for the all-clear. Hotch had done everything in his power to ensure the security of the building and those within it. The bomb threat was real, but after a thorough sweep, there was no sign of the unsub inside the arena, no lingering danger. The decision to continue the competition was made with careful consideration, but Hotch wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

The FBI had taken over perimeter security, local law enforcement assisting with the sweep of the area, and all competitors were closely monitored. Hotch made sure the team was in position, watching the exits, the crowd, the ice, and each other’s backs. They’d gone over the plan several times already, but the weight of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Even though the threat was seemingly neutralized, Hotch wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. Not while you were so vulnerable.

As the final skaters took the ice, Hotch kept his eyes on you, watching you from a few feet away as you sat in the designated area, the bright lights of the arena casting sharp contrasts across your expression. He noticed you were still tense, though you did your best to hide it. Your body was still tightly wound, the nerves from earlier lingering, but you were focused — your eyes intent on the ice as each skater performed their routine.

Hotch had made it clear earlier that the team was staying close, and he kept that promise. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight — not now, not ever. He stationed himself just behind you, standing protectively, while the rest of the team remained nearby, their eyes scanning the crowd and the rink, ensuring no one would get too close.

Morgan was just a few feet to his left, standing with Emily, both of them making sure to keep watch of the area around you, while Reid sat a little further away, his eyes flicking between the skaters and the crowd. Garcia, on the other hand, was in constant communication with Hotch, eyes glued to the security feeds on her laptop, making sure there was no sign of the unsub reappearing.

You glanced up at Hotch and offered a small, thankful smile. You appreciated the support, even if you weren’t sure you could perform at your best with everything going on. The fear that had been gnawing at you earlier was still there, buried under layers of nerves and adrenaline, but you could feel a little of it slip away with Hotch’s presence so close by. It was almost like he was your rock.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, sensing your unease. His voice was calm, yet it carried assurance.

It was that voice that reminded you that he was there for you — not just as an agent or as a protector, but as someone who cared deeply about your safety and well-being. You nodded, grateful, and looked back to the ice, your mind still swirling with the weight of everything happening around you. You focused on your breathing, trying to steady yourself, trying to find that quiet place where your mind and body could align.

The announcer called out the name of the last skater, and you turned your focus back to the ice as the young woman glided out with perfect form. Hotch’s hand subtly touched the back of your seat, the smallest gesture that was somehow grounding, reminding you that he was there — always within reach.

It was almost surreal, the calm after the chaos. The atmosphere was still electric, the energy of the arena humming with anticipation. The competitors were giving it their all, but your mind kept circling back to the moment that had nearly destroyed everything. You didn’t want to think about the danger anymore, but it lingered just beneath the surface.

The final skater performed her routine with grace, but there was something in the way she moved that didn’t quite have the same sharpness as the others. The audience cheered, but the applause wasn’t as thunderous as it had been for some of the earlier skaters. As she finished, the score popped up on the board — an impressive number, but nothing that would push her to the top.

“Okay,” Hotch muttered, giving a glance to Morgan. “Let’s keep it tight. No surprises.”

The last round of scores were being tallied. The scoreboard flickered momentarily as the announcer stepped up to call the final results. The crowd’s hushed anticipation was a thick tension in the air, and Hotch stayed standing by you.

Through the chaos of the competition, he had made sure to keep a cool, level head. His team was sharp, and they had done everything they could to ensure your safety. Now, it was your time to shine, despite the shadows still lurking in the background.

The results would soon be in. And no matter what the outcome, Hotch would stand by you, just as he had all along.

The competition had been intense, every skater pushing their limits, giving everything they had. You had performed your routine flawlessly, but the pressure and nerves still clawed at you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the eyes of everyone in the arena on you.

The announcer’s voice broke through the silence, echoing through the arena.

“The scores are in for the women’s singles competition. And moving on to regionals in the first place is Natalia Ivanova and Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted into applause, and Natalia stood tall, a proud smile on her face, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes.

The cheers were louder than before, but you didn’t fully register them. Your heart was still racing, the rush of your performance still lingering in the pit of your stomach. You had made it to regionals, but sharing first place still felt bittersweet. Natalia had set the bar high, and you’d come so close, but it hadn’t been enough to truly overtake her in your mind.

But there was a sense of pride too. You had done your best. You had stayed focused and resilient despite everything. And you knew that getting to regionals was still a massive accomplishment, despite sharing the spot.

Natalia turned toward you, her gaze locking with yours across the rink. She gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, a respectful gesture. You returned it with a smile, a silent understanding passing between you. You had been rivals on the ice, but in this moment, there was nothing but respect between you.

“You did great,” Hotch said, his voice low and reassuring. “It is an incredible achievement.”

You nodded, the words from him soothing some of the tension in your chest. But a part of you was still restless — sharing first place meant that the job wasn’t finished yet. Regionals were still ahead, and the road was far from easy.

“Let’s get to the locker room. You’ve earned some time to relax,” Hotch continued.

You let him lead you off the ice, the team forming a protective circle around you as you made your way through the arena. Morgan gave you a thumbs-up from the sidelines, a proud smile on his face. Emily flashed you a wink, and Garcia was quick to send you an encouraging smile as she checked her phone, likely already gathering intel for anything suspicious.

You reached the locker room, and Hotch gave you a moment to catch your breath. The adrenaline from the performance was still running high, but a small sense of relief washed over you. You had made it through the competition, and despite everything, you had succeeded. Natalia may have outperformed you technically, but you were headed to regionals with her and had a better storyline and components in your performance.

And now, with the competition behind you, it was time to regroup, refocus, and prepare for what was to come. The threat was far from over, but for now, you had made it to the next stage.

Hotch stepped closer, his tone serious. “We’ll be right here with you. Let’s keep our focus sharp, and get ready for the next round.”

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @ahotchnersreid @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black

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t-a-a-1 · 1 month ago

Text

The Darkest Hour

Ch.4: Guardian

Summary: After being labeled as crazy for trying to report that robot aliens exist on national television, you lose your job and move to Jasper City. In a drastic turn of fate, you meet Optimus Prime. You and Team Prime get together to find ancient relics that are vital to the Autobot's cause.

Along the way, you and Optimus start to develop feelings that go beyond comradeship.

But what happens when he discovers you've been lying all of this time?

For a better reading experience you can read this story on Ao3:

>>>

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60642838/chapters/157365316

Ch.4: Guardians

It was rather quiet at the base. Ratchet sometimes would look at the hangar's elevated floor. He thought he would see you there. He didn't find you as annoying as other humans. You were rather curious. Asking about all things Cybertronian. It was like talking to a child sometimes but he didn't mind explaining especially when you had questions about Cybertronian biology.

He didn't want to admit it but he-

Beep. Beep.

"Oh? I got a video from (Y/n)!"

Ratchet hears Jack exclaim from the sofa and this immediately gets his attention.

"I don't have enough time. I have been abducted by Decepticons. I'll lead them to the relic located in Fingal's Cave, Northern Ireland two days from now. Retrieve my cell phone from my house. I am sorry."

You didn't have time.

You rapidly click 'sent' before breaking your laptop in half. You know they were coming for you and as soon as you heard the doors open, you quickly grabbed one cigarette.

Two Decepticons dragged you across the Nemesis. You couldn't walk a lot, probably due to a broken bone or something else.

It took about three minutes to reach another door. Everything looked the same except for a few purple colors and other doors that had guards.

One of the doors opened and the two Decepticons pushed you inside, making fall to the floor.

"What is our status with the machine?"

"We still need to make modifications. The human mind is different from that of a Cybertronian," Knockout tried his best to figure out a way to make his machinery work. "Getting into her memories will be difficult without the proper materials."

"Then I trust that you will be making progress soon, Knockout."

The lights in the room blinded you. Not because they were too bright but due that you were deprived of light for two days.

Two Decepticons carried you by the arms, you were too weak to walk, your stomach hurts, your head too and your energy was low.

"Prisoner was seen scavenging on the vault."

"I was looking for food!" you muster all the strength you had to defend yourself. "I've been here for two days and haven't eaten a thing."

"Wasn't the Energon cup I left on your cell enough?"

The Decepticon was an automobile that you found a bit strange but you didn't have the right mind to question it. Things were just the way they were.

"Humans don't eat Energon, I'll die! Shouldn't you be smart enough to know that?"

A taller figure walks in front of you. His steps made the entire floor move but you had gotten used to the feeling of it. He studies you, walks around you and his optics pierce through your soul.

"The fact that you are still standing after yesterday's event is admirable. I wouldn't expect anything less from Optimus' pet."

You didn't like the sound of that but you were too tired to fight it. Your body is in pain from all the bruises and maybe a few other injuries. They had beat you up after you refused to speak. It wasn't for a long time, Megatron seemed to know that you would be a difficult one.

"What were you looking for in the vault?"

Megatron asks and you don't say a word. You look away.

"I won't ask again," he gets closer to your face. So close that you could see his optics and the mechanics behind it. There wasn't a single thing that didn't move as small as it seemed. Everything had a function and it fascinated you. "What were you looking for in the vault? Was it your bag? Anything of importance in there?"

You took a few seconds to respond and you raised a hand. You slowly opened it, putting one cigarette in front of his face.

"What is this ... artifact?"

Megatron takes the cigarette in his hand, inspecting it.

"I was looking for my bag ... because I wanted that. It makes me less hungry."

The Decepticon leader drops the cigarette on the floor and steps on it. Crushing your hopes.

"Pain may not be enough to make you speak," Megatron keeps looking at you and as much as you would like to keep the eye-staring contest, you struggle to keep your eyes open.

"But let's wait and see how you react after hunger takes over you."

"I won't talk."

It hurts to even do so.

"Oh, but all of this would be so much easier if you did," he turns around and walks towards a berth. One that is not completely functional. At least it doesn't work with humans. Yet. "Regardless, we'll get what we want. Talk or do not talk, the choice is yours."

...

It has been a couple of days since you had left the base. It has been quiet around here without you. The kids can be a bit nosey but nothing the Autobots couldn't handle.

Optimus wonders what you would do if you were here. Would you be on your laptop? Maybe have a conversation with him? If you wanted, he could talk to you for hours, giving you information about Cybertronian culture. In exchange, he could ask you about human traditions. After the talk you two had about the human process of creating life, he was particularly curious about the human body.

He had just come back from patrol duty with Bumblebee when he heard a lot of talking between his Autobot friends.

"Optimus!"

Ratchet's preoccupied voice was something he wasn't fond of. It could mean two things. One, someone had messed up with one of his experiments. Two, bad news.

"(Y/N) has been captured by the Decepticons!"

Or three. Horrible news.

....

Bombs. Guns. Granades.

Screams. Fire. Blood. Pain.

When you were told that you were going to report on the war in a faraway land, you were excited. This was going to be your big step. The thing that will mark your career forever.

And it did mark you. Forever. But in ways you thought unimaginable.

It wasn't until you saw men, women and children being killed that you truly realized how stupid the world really is. It's a war and no one ever wins. So why? Why?

"Will I ever stop ... being so useless?"

Another day of not eating.

You didn't know when you were going to start to hallucinate. Maybe you already were. You wished you could smell the outside air. You had not realized how different the air is when the majority of living creatures occupying the area are alien robots. It's a different type of smell. Clean and sanitized, kinda like the smell of a hospital but with a more metal element to it.

The doors from your prison cell open. You are thankful because you hated the dark. Not really a phobia but many thoughts cross your mind when there is no light around you.

Megatron slowly makes his way towards you.

He is not that intimidating. Are you afraid? Yes, of course. But if you had to compare, Optimus had a more menacing frame. Although Megatron's eyes could frighten anyone, the way he moves and presents himself does not imply any harm. You won't underestimate him. Not a bit.

"I won't say a word."

You say as you look at him. You sat in a corner, nothing was tying you down. Not like it matters, it's not like you could do much against giant robots.

"I did not come here for that," his voice is way less intimidating. In different circumstances, Optimus could very well have been the villain. "I have come for a small conversation."

"If you think you can manipulate me into talking-"

"I would rather like to call it ... convincing you with words."

You knew this was going to be an interesting conversation.

"Words are powerful."

You say as he stands in front of you. You don't stand up, having a nice view of his posture. You can tell so much by the way someone moves.

"Agreed."

You wait for a few seconds, keeping eye contact. The room didn't look so dark now as Megatron had this purple aura that surrounded him.

You didn't know what he wanted but you were waiting for him to speak. But he was also studying you, trying to find the best way to talk to you.

"Eons ago, I was a young gladiator trying to survive."

Out of everything, you didn't imagine Megatron to be a storyteller. Oh, but how much you loved a good tale. Especially the ones about myths and legends of great warriors doing the impossible. Even if it's a story about a bot becoming a destroyer of worlds.

"Every day, as I exited the pit after killing comrades, I would watch the upper classes cheer for me."

He seems to remember the cheers, the chanting crowds. But his optics had changed, for a second, he was lost. Going back to those moments. There is some fear in them and you didn't know if he was being honest or it's another manipulation tactic.

"But what was there to cheer for? I had massacred Cybertronians. Someone like me and them."

You didn't doubt his words. At least there is some truth to them, you could tell as much.

"I would kill as I watched them eat the best kind of Energon. Drink the rarest of oils and wear the highest of tech accessories."

Megatron gets closer to you but he never kneels. He still believes he is above you. It's comical. Telling you stories about the inequality he suffered when there will never be a time he will see you as equal.

"Do you know what that feels like? Being tortured if you failed? Your spinal cord breaking and have no spare parts to repair it? While I see others throw parts into the pit, like their lives meant nothing."

Rage. He is filled with it. Finally, an emotion you could sympathize with or at least recognize. You didn't break eye contact nor were afraid. If he wanted to kill you, he had done so a very long time ago. You are more curious and in awe at the being in front of you.

His metal was damaged and scratched, his tall figure and spiky demeanor. He appears to be fierce, he had to be, otherwise he wouldn't be here. But you can't help and wonder if he had been allowed a different life, would he be different?

"I don't fight for freedom," Megatron says. "I fight for my survival."

You sigh heavily and your eyes show nothing but exhaustion. You muster the strength to speak. You can't give him anything but your sympathy.

"... You must be so tired."

You must be hallucinating because for a moment you could have sworn you saw something else in those red eyes.

Megatron turns around, no longer allowing you to see his face.

"Optimus was just like those Cybertronians I hated and he continues to be one. The system I fight to break, he continues to fight to repair it."

He steals a glance your way and he notices your concern.

"He was part of the crowd. Enjoying every match, every death. Laughing as it happened. How did you think we met?"

He walks back towards you but you notice his steps have become slower. The floor didn't tremble as much as if he was being careful without knowing.

"Oh? Didn't he tell you?"

You part your sight away from his. After a heavy sigh, you take up the courage to look at him again.

"We've been looking for ancient Cybertronian relics," you don't have another option. You had to sacrifice a little bit of truth to survive. "We don't know their function yet but we believe that they might be parts of something bigger."

"And do you know the location of these relics?"

"Just of one, the rest of the information is on my cellphone."

He seems to be interested now or rather atypical about your wording. He probably doesn't know certain terminology.

"And where is this cellphone you speak of?"

You muster a smile. You know Megatron can be a great negotiator, but so are you.

"If you want to know, I'll have my bag. With my cigarettes."

....

Fingal's Cave, Northern Ireland.

The night is dark and full of mysteries. Especially in dark caves where the waves of the sea clash against the rocks. It would have been a perfect vacation, had you not been kidnapped by evil alien robots. This might be nothing for them, maybe just a nice bubble bath. But to you? It's a certain death. You don't even know how to swim.

You stand next to Megatron. Behind you, there are a few warrior Decepticons. It was cold and humid and your intrusive thoughts made you want to jump into the crazed waves.

"The relic should be right there," you point to one of the walls and Megatron quickly looks at his army. It took only one look for them to know what they were supposed to do. Excavate.

You waited for a few seconds and noticed how fast they were putting away rocks and dust. Soon they will reach the relic and once they have what they want they will take you back to the Nemesis.

Suddenly, a green moving circle appears on the other side of the cave. You are a bit relieved. For a moment you genuinely thought they wouldn't appear.

It's the first time you see a ground bridge. It's beautiful and even more the aliens coming out from it. Tall, big, strong. Everything you weren't and for a moment you feel guilty. They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be worrying about an insignificant life such as yours.

"Took you all long enough."

Optimus stands in front of his team. A battle mask covers half of his face, he looks fierce. You had never seen him like this before. He was intimidating and you were a bit scared of what he could do.

"Let (y/n) go, Megatron."

"Did you bring her cell phone?"

A shiver runs down your spine. You look up at him and he looks at you. Your eyes and his optics meet for a second. Unable to control your confusion, your voice betrayed you. With Megatron, showing emotion is a fatal mistake.

"What? How do you-"

"Nothing happens in the Nemesis without me knowing. Or do you think I was careless enough to leave your cell-door open?" his voice resonates within the containment of the cave. Not even the waves crashing could subside his voice. "I wanted you to contact them so they could do all the work for me."

"I am sure you must have led them to other relics. If they want you, they must turn them in as well."

You began to panic, your plan was crumbling. It was your fault for believing you could outsmart a million-years living creature.

"It's not true! They don't have them, I never-"

"We have one."

If looks could kill, your eyes would have killed Optimus. In fact, the Autobots have two relics. Optimus is lying and although a part of you is glad to know he could lie, right now you wish he had stayed quiet.

"Then you know what you must do."

Megatron suddenly picks you up, putting you a few meters above the water level.

You didn't know what to say. There was no guarantee that after receiving the relic, Megatron would let you go safely. Most importantly, you didn't understand. Why would the Autobots risk losing a valuable item over a human? There were many of you and only a few of those artifacts.

Optimus doesn't hesitate and uses his comm-link. Speaking clearly, he calls Ratchet, ordering him to bring one relic through the ground bridge.

Meanwhile, you see the Decepticons work on obtaining the other relic. They must be close as their excavation has become slower, maybe due that they do not want to damage the relic.

You try to find a way to break free but Megatron's grasp is too strong. Your body has started giving up, you haven't eaten in four days and your mouth tastes like cigarettes.

After a few tense minutes, Ratchet comes from the groundbridge, holding the white pot that contained the relic. You instinctively move your head from side to side. You didn't want to be the reason they lost it.

"Starscream, retrieve the relic and the cell phone."

You didn't notice the Commander before. Your senses must be failing you by now. He passes by Megatron and you know that if he could, he would push the leader of the Decepticons into the water.

"My pleasure, my liege."

And as he passes by, you can see Ratchet's disappointed face. All of their faces, as a matter of fact. You hated being useless and being used. You thought that staying quiet was the best option. But after seeing Optimus hand down your cell phone to Starscream and his cocky smile, you couldn't have it.

"Just go!" you scream, hoping that your voice is loud enough. "I'll figure it out! You don't have to do this!"

But it's like they weren't paying attention. Like your opinion didn't matter at all. Like you were a liability that had to be taken care of, not listened to.

Ratchet hesitantly gives the white ceramic pot to Starscream who aggressively takes it in his claws. He happily walks back to his Master as if he had finished completing the hardest of missions.

"You have what you wanted. Now let her go!"

Optimus threatens Megatron but it only amuses him. He looks at you, taking a few seconds to appreciate your face one last time.

"Lord Megatron, we have retrieved this place's relic."

Starscream says as the army of Decepticons had successfully extracted the artifact and that's everything Megatron needed to hear.

"A deal it's a deal," Megatron crossed optics with Optimus. "But this is for lying."

He opens his claws, letting you go and dropping you into the wild waves.

Megatron watches as Optimus jumps to save you. A selfless act, very much like him. What he was doing for you, he would do for anyone else. But there was something about it. Something that Megatron knew would catch Optimu's attention. Whatever it was, he would figure it out eventually. For now, he will let Prime have you. To let him enjoy his human pet as much as he can. Before taking you away.

"Next time, bring me all the relics you have, Prime. Or she will pay the price."

Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee didn't even hesitate to go after him. They focused on helping Optimus and it was too late regardless. Megatron was already one step inside the groundbrige, ready to go back to the Nemesis.

"How did you know they had more relics?" Starscream walks behind Megatron, curious about his actions.

"I didn't," he says. "It's all a bet. Besides ..."

Megatron stops walking and quickly glances back. Getting a glimpse of Optimus coming out of the water, holding your fragile body.

"She's not half bad."

....

The first thing that crossed your mind after waking up was ... work.

Fowler told you to not worry about it and that things had been taken care of.

You didn't want to ask any further.

Especially after learning that you could no longer go back to your home.

It took you a couple of days to recover.

Falling into the wild waters of Fingal's Cave had done more injuries than the ones the Decepticons inflicted on you. Your body crashed a few times into rocks before Optimus rescued you.

But the pain in your body did not compare to the disappointment you feel.

You couldn't even look at the Autobots without feeling ashamed.

Now you can't even go home now.

"I apologize as for you now have to remain here. But it must be in your best interest to stay since the Decepticons know of your home location."

You didn't hear Optimus come through the rooftop door. Even with his massive steps and weight. Maybe you had gotten used to the sound of walking bots too fast.

"You may not be too fond of sharing a home but I promise you we are not too loud."

The top of the hangar gave you the best view of the Nevada desert. With sad rocks and a few cacti... alright maybe it wasn't that visually appealing.

But the night sky made up for it.

"I don't do good with people ... and bots," you pull out a cigarette from your jacket's pocket and light it up. Hearing Optimus coming closer and sitting down on the cliff with you.

You immediately move away for a few centimeters, feeling uncomfortable at the closeness. You didn't notice your body had acted this way but Optimus did.

"I can sense some hostility emitting from you."

Optimus optics lay on you but you wouldn't spare him a look.

"Optimus was just like those Cybertronians I hated and he continues to be one. The system I fight to break, he continues to fight to repair it."

You didn't know if you should bring up the matter or just keep it to yourself. But after the events at the Nemesis, you find yourself unable to look at Optimus the same. Not like it matters much, but deep down, a part of you wanted to trust him ... to believe in him.

"If there are any concerns-"

"Megatron told me," you interrupt him, the act feels disrespectful but you hope he didn't feel like that. "That you used to enjoy watching him fight and kill others in the gladiator's pits. That you fight to bring the caste system back."

"While is true that I used to attend such activities, I never supported it," subconsciously, Optimus wanted you to look at him. He needed your acknowledgment, something you refused to give him at the moment.

"Megatron and I used to share similar ideologies. But he believed that equality could only be obtained if the other classes were eliminated."

"And you?"

"I believe that every sentient being has the ability to change."

You let out a subsided laugh, looking down at your lap and then up again at the desert night.

"So what? You were hoping to change a whole social class with pretty words and inspiring speeches?"

"We cannot build a new world founded on violence."

"And where has that led you? To a strange planet and your race almost extinct."

He had good sentiments, you admired that but at some point you consider naivety to be stupidity.

"Cybertron will be rebuilt on tragedy," you say.

"And what am I supposed to do? Let him have his way?"

You have noticed that Optimus speaks less formally when he finds himself in a tough spot. Now, it was one of those moments. Your words had hit a circuit but you didn't want for this to turn into an argument. Not when you wanted to gain his sympathy.

"I am not saying I know what's best. What I am saying is that I thought you..."

You couldn't continue with your sentence. Because what you wanted to say was stupid and based on old ideas. Maybe deep down, you wished Optimus was that hero the world needed. But he was a leader. The leader of a war where there is no winner. He could only do what he did best. And that was making the hard decisions no one else could.

You had put too much expectations on his shoulders. He can't be a hero and a leader at the same time. If he were to be a hero, he would have been dead long ago. But his team needed him alive, he couldn't afford to die a martyr. He must know that.

"Listen to me Prime," you called him by his first name. Now more than ever, you believe there will never be a time when you will call him by his first name. "Everyone is a slave to something. Even you are enslaved to your own stupid ideologies of hope."

You were always precausious to never show your beliefs. Maybe years ago, you shared similar sentiments as Optimus. You saw yourself in him and you wanted to save him. Save him from the disappointment of the real truth of your world.

"But let me tell you this; you have those views because you lived through better times. You have tasted peace and solemnity," you had no stand to be lecturing him. Yet, you didn't see it that way. You were just speaking your feelings.

"But them? Working as miners, being gladiators just for your entertainment? They never had what you did. This is their hope to have better times."

You sigh heavily and feel your lungs struggle to breathe.

"And you just took that from them."

Seconds turned into minutes and you thought Optimus would stand up and leave you alone. But he instinctively got closer to you. He probably didn't notice his actions.

"I used to really enjoy watching your old reports."

The leader of the Autobots looks back fondly at the younger version of you. A few years back you had done a story about a small town that had been struck by a tornado. Many died and homes were destroyed.

But instead of focusing on the downside of things, you talked about how the community came together to help each other build back their town. The resilience and strength. Optimus was inspired by how such small things could build things bigger than themselves.

"Even when the report was about a catastrophic event, you always ended things positively."

"In the days where I had doubts, where I thought I couldn't do this anymore, I ... "

He pauses, he can't understand the feeling in his spark but his voice box struggles to process words.

"I would watch you on TV and you would give me inspiration to continue my mission."

His formality had dropped drastically and you wonder if this was his way to let his guard down and open up to you.

"But now that you are telling me this ... I think you are right," his voice cracks and your world crumbles. "What is left worth fighting for?"

You didn't know Optimus could feel doubt and hesitancy. You are reminded of the power of words. How you, a small insignificant human could make a robot full of wisdom question the truth of his life? It was too much power and you didn't want it. You didn't want Optimus to view life the way you do. So pessimistic, so gloomy.

You didn't believe in any of it, hope, love. None of that was enough to change the world. But Optimus didn't have to know that.

You wanted him to keep believing. To belive he could change the world with just words.

Fuck the truth.

"Megatron is full of rage," you say. "And sometimes rage allows us to live. To survive."

You decide to overstep boundaries and you put a hand over his servo. But you don't look at him, too shy to do so.

"But faith does too."

You were no one to question his beliefs. If you were completely honest, you would like to keep enjoying the company of this Optimus. The optimistic one, resilient, strong with unbreakable morals.

But in the back of your mind, the question still remains. There's no victory without sacrifice.

What if to win the war, to give meaning to the lives of fallen ones, he has to sacrifice his ideologies and beliefs?

What would you do ... Optimus?

"(Y/n)," Optimus calls your name so sweetly you feel your body shake up a little.

He holds your hand, so delicately, so softly as if he is afraid of hurting you. As if he is afraid you might break. You had never been held so fondly, your heart feels like melting.

"I have failed miserably in protecting you," He looks at your body and you feel like his optics pierce through your soul. You feel seen but you didn't mind it one bit. "The injuries in your body are proof of it."

"I am aware we are strangers to titles but I would like to establish a new relationship."

You didn't understand how he could make you feel in such a way. In a state of warmth and peace. How his presence alone was enough to comfort and heal wounds that go beyond physical pain.

"If you accept me as your guardian, I'll protect you and no harm shall ever find your way. I'll give my life for you if necessary. I'll do as you ask and have your safety as one of my purposes for living. Under these stars as a witness, I swear this to you."

Like the stars above, there were many mysteries you didn't understand. You thought that maybe Optimus was one of those mysteries as well. Otherwise, you didn't understand how such a beautiful creature would ever put your life above his own. Does he see you as a bothersome being? Probably. But you don't mind. A part of you wanted to be protected by such a powerful creature. A righteous one at least. Maybe he does see you as a pet to be taken care of.

But now that you think about it ... You don't mind devoting yourself to him either.

"I accept but under one condition," you wish you could be closer to his face, you feel a need to look closer at his optics. "If you protect me ... then I'll take care of you."

"Care for me?"

"If you ever have doubts, if you feel lonely, or if you just want to talk," all of a sudden you feel shy and you quickly part your sight. You didn't have the time to think the reason why. "I want to share the burden of your decisions with you, please."

"You will do that for me?"

He blinks multiple times, unsure of your words and you find this cute.

"You are willing to give up on your life for me," you make a small pause before continuing. "It's the least I can do."

Looking at a desert wasn't fun. But talking always was. Especially with an alien robot with millions of years' worth of wisdom. It's strange how you always felt better after talking to Optimus. He doesn't seem to be the type to judge and that's what you appreciated the most about him.

"(Y/N), You have proven to be more than meets the eye," you hear his voice closer and immediately turn. He had slouched significantly to be able to see you face to face. It must be an uncomfortable position but he still made the effort to see you at an eye level.

Maybe he also had a certain need to be as close as possible to you.

"I am glad the universe allowed us to encounter."

And before you could have the time to blush again, your brain replayed his words.

"Don't you mean optic? You guys don't have eyes."

Optimus straightens his back, no longer looking at you. This time he looks up at the sky, he looks curiously at them. Putting a servo on his chin, he looks to be in deep thought.

"That is true. But that is an ancient saying of my people."

"If it's an ancient saying then can we assume your kind and mine have met before?" You tilted your head, imagining the possibilities. You move your feet into a yoga position, feeling more comfortable.

"That is an interesting theory although I don't remember reading such things back at the archives. Maybe it's something worth investigating."

Optimus also thought of the possibilities, maybe this could be tied to the relics.

"Oh! Do you want to investigate it together?" this could be an important piece to your report. It would also be more credible if you had an actual Transformer help you write on what is probably one of the greatest discoveries in human history.

"We could write a report on it and give an informative presentation to the kids and the Autobots."

You put your hands up and them move them slowly in a parting motion.

"Cybertron and Earth: A Deeper Look Into Cybertronian-Human Relations and Why Our History Is Longer Than We Think."

The topic sounded more interesting to Optimus and the archivist in him started to show. You knew this by the way he would blink more often. It happened whenever something excited him.

"That sounds like a remarkable and revolutionary subject. I could try to look into Cybertron's' old archives and see if I can find something related to the topic."

If Optimus could always be excited like this, you wish you could hear him talk forever. Could he tell you all the stories and tales of his people. But would it hurt him to speak about them? To reminiscence the past may open old wounds and you didn't want to be the cause of it. You won't push it but you'll wait until he is ready.

"And I'll interview Fowler and see if he knows something or knows someone that knows more of the topic." That will be a challenge but there hasn't being a single person who never gave you an interview. Of course, you find your way. Ethical or not, it didn't matter as long as the truth was revealed.

"I am looking forward to hearing about your findings."

"I am excited to look at your research too!"

That night you learned many things. About Optimus especially. About how he would blink a lot whenever something got him excited. About how he loses his formality in words when he gets comfortable, excited or angry. Things like this made him feel closer to you as if he wasn't from an alien race but rather just another living creature existing in the same universe. And that's exactly what it was.

One hour turned into two, then three, four. Time passed by so fast, just talking and enjoying each other company. You smoked a few cigarettes and promised Optimus to buy a few gallons of oil for him to enjoy next time.

Although you were still downhearted for being unable to return to your home, you tried to look at the bright side of things. It was something you weren't used to do. But being with Optimus, his optimism rubbed off on you.

You two talked endlessly until you fell asleep on his servos. Optimus watched the sunrise; grateful to have met you, thinking how beautiful it was to love the ordinary. For at least, and with all the certainty in the universe he knew ... he was worthy of this.

A/N: This chapter took longer than I expected and I think after this one I am going to work on another fic (from another fandom) because I am so close to finishing that story and I just haven't uploaded in sometime. But! I'll be writing one shots for tumblr. I'll start working on a one shot for Christmas! The poll is over and we have a winner. Thank you to everyone who voted and all the comments, notes and likes. I'll take my time to respond to each of you :) My inbox is always open for any comment, ideas, concerns or prompts ideas.

I definitely want for Reader and Optimus to have chemistry. I think it's very important to show interaction with each other and show why they are attracted instead of them just having them fall randomly? Like I want to show Optimus and Reader have similar interest and passions but having contrasting ideas. I'll probably have them dancing and being silly together at some point.

On the next chapter I'll have Reader do some actual work. She's gonna be undercover (she has to dress seductively to fit into the world of car racing where she meets a hot mechanic who teaches her a lot about cars and Optimus has to follow her around cause that's his job as his guardian. His circuits go crazy cause he can't understand why all of a sudden he finds a human attractive-)

I want Optimus to feel like he has something of his own, something only he can protect and take care of because he can and wants (by choice) and it's not forced upon him nor a responsibility to bear (like the matrix) and that lovely thing being you ofc.

Sorry for an errors and grammar mistakes, I don't proof read.

I also feel like I haven't used much of the other bots so I'll make sure to use them more often now if the plot requires it.

I think that's all for now. Thank you so much for reading and see you in the next chapter!

Previous Chapter:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/768513873838030848/the-darkest-hour?source=share

Next Chapter: Soon

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danielleargentino · 27 days ago

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blackbright stuff + rant for todayyy!!!! happy holidays everybody :))

christmas blackbright . hell yeah

silly doodles for a twitter thing.

ms paint thing i did in 10 minutes based on a song i really really like (luna roja by soda stereo). please listen to it i'm begging youuuu. if you do tell me your thoughts on the tags pleasepleaseple

very quick aziracrow gomens thing . not a fan but felt like sharing you know. whatever man. i might edit it later though

blackbright body hcs andd the little rant!! i've been thinking about them and how i want to interpret their relationship . so i've decided that my drawings will feature an au where bobby was kidnapped and rescued a short time after turnabout for tomorrow. very important warning i need to do research and stuff for this, these are just my initial thoughts on the matter. stuff will probably change.

he and simon reunite, they had worked together 7 years ago on some cases and met again much later a week before bobby's abduction (which was a bit before the events on dual destinies). now that they're meeting once more, feelings are weird and complex.

the phantom has affected them both a lot, the trauma is fresh and simon didn't even get a chance to process his feelings of betrayal before bobby appears again and now he's feeling so many things at once he thinks he might die. they have a slowburn that also goes super quick ? how do i explain it.

after a month or two, they impulsively move in together because they can't stand how lonely their respective houses are. they're pretty much the only ones who can understand each other, they need each other a lot; but they also feel like running away and from the other and hiding forever.

simon needs constant reassurance that bobby is himself and not the phantom; on occasions he can't look at him in the eyes, he feels unsafe with him at times and has to leave and look for other's company and comfort. still, he also wants to cling to bobby and never let him leave again, to know him properly, to learn to love him healthily.

bobby on the other hand feels horribly guilty, responsible for the things the phantom had done and the damage he'd caused simon even before taking his form. the way simon looks at him sometimes makes him feel dangerous, but because of that he needs to be there for simon, to help him heal, to give him all the love he's been deprived of.

they have to work a lot on their problems, attend a lot of therapy and take some time off work, and, slowly but surely, learn to trust and love each other.

aaghdhs whatever these are just sketchy thoughts please don't be mean if you don't like them i will cry a lot and die

same au, three years after aa5 just like in the previous picture because. i like to draw them healed and happy. but i will draw more of their process.

...about that, however, i won't be able to draw on my computer for like two weeks starting this saturday, since i'm going on vacation. i really hope i can buy a new drawing tablet when i come back, tho!

thank you if you read everything <3 wishing you all a happy new year in advance too!

#ace attorney #bobby fulbright #simon blackquill #blackbright #my art

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yanderes-galore · 11 months ago

Note

Fandom: JJBA

Character: Jotaro Kujo

Pairing: romantic

Type: alphabet

Honestly part 3 Jotaro being yandere over crusader darling is making me go crazy🗣️ darling could be related/a close friend of polnareff, avdol, or kakyoin to up the stakes of jotaro lol

And darling's gender is up to you I'm fine with whatever :D

- 🥝 anon

I usually do a general take for Alphabets so I hope you enjoy :D Rusty with writing Jotaro, feedback is appreciated! Not fully proofread, may have mistakes.

Yandere Alphabet - Jotaro Kujo

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Using stand for affection, Stalking, Possessive/Protective behavior, Violence, Blood, Manipulation, Jealousy, Death, Murder briefly mentioned, Threats, Controlling behavior, Kidnapping, Isolation, Restraints mention, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Jotaro isn't a character that expresses emotions very well. He's mostly stoic and even seems disinterested all the time. However, he isn't disinterested towards you in the slightest.

He's quiet around you but tries not to make it seem like he hates you. He mostly shows he cares through curt praises or maybe something physical like a pat on the back. Although, you no doubt feel ghostly touches of affection due to Star Platinum being capable of showing Jotaro's hidden emotions.

He's slow to do anything intense, but Jotaro could probably be one of the most intense yanderes. He may start subtle or hard to read... but as his obsession grows he tries to be more affectionate. He struggles with it at times though.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

I imagine if someone drove him to snap, he doesn't mind using Star Platinum to take them out... or maybe his own hands if it's personal. Jotaro has no mercy for enemy Stand Users targeting you. When it's rivals... that's more complicated.

He'd have trouble harming the other Crusaders because they're close to you. In that case he may rely on threats or just dragging you off.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Jotaro may seem like a cruel yandere, in fact that's an interesting way to go about it in some plots, but in reality he'd most likely be very caring. He has trouble expressing emotions... not like he doesn't have them. (I've been guilty of this in the past)

He wouldn't mock you, in fact if it ever came to kidnapping he would make sure he takes care of you. He hates others around you at times... but he never really likes to hurt you. If he's taken you in like this, he's going to make sure you're cared for.

Even if he's the only one you can see now.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yes, but he tries not to do it often. He respects you, even if he locks you away.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Jotaro doesn't seem like a very vulnerable yandere. He's mostly stoic but does show some anxiety or bursts of emotions when things catch him off guard. So most of the time, you can't read him. Other times... suddenly he has you in a tight hug, catching you off guard.

He makes no noise during said sudden affection... but by his grip you can tell he's conveying some sort of emotion towards you (Anxiety, Stress, Adoration, Etc.)

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Irritated and impatient. He shows some annoyance towards you if you did fight him. He'll say his usual "Yare Yare Daze" before scolding you and holding you off. He won't hurt you... just tire you out.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he hates it.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Seeing him snap. When Jotaro snaps a lot can happen. He may get violent with the person who set him off (not you). By the end of their altercation his hands are covered in red stains.

Afterwards he picks you up, either by himself or his Stand, and carried you off. He doesn't care if you struggle or not. He can't deal with you being so close to others anymore...

Which leads to you being locked away.

Honestly, he doesn't think about it now... but as an adult he probably thinks of marriage (Part 4). Maybe even a kid (Part 6). Part 3 Jotaro mostly just thinks of dating you after Dio is defeated.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Yes and Jotaro could really go either way. He may lash out and threaten the person who caused the issue. Maybe even use Star Platinum if they really did something wrong (Showing physical affection while Jotaro is around is an example).

Other times he may try to hide how much he truly feels about it. Although said emotions end up being vented by Star Platinum, said Stand never taking his eyes off of you. Star Platinum may even show affection towards you while Jotaro tries to distract himself.

Protective, Clingy, Observing, Manipulative/Controlling, Possessive, Subtle, Hard to read, Caring, Loyal.

Jotaro's yandere type is like a dormant volcano it seems. He seems harmless towards you... but who knows what might set him off.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Going based off what you gave me, you're a fellow Stand User and Crusader. That's how you meet Jotaro. At first Jotaro seems disinterested in you. But you couldn't be further from the truth.

As you proceed through your quest to take down Dio, Jotaro grows interested in you. You could be a friend of one of the others... or even a sibling of one of them. Jotaro doesn't really care about that... he just cares about watching you.

He'd stalk you by using Star Platinum and would appear extremely protective of you. Jotaro is skilled in fighting and can be volatile in fights. Especially if it's to protect you.

By the end of this trip... safe to say Jotaro isn't planning to leave your side or lose you to anyone.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really, no.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Jotaro doesn't like the idea but he may try restraints or isolation to make you rely on him. He seems like he'd be physical about it, but he isn't really. He does scold you... but at the same time he doesn't like blaming you for the mistakes of others.

He doesn't want to take a lot, but if he feels you've wronged him then he will take most of your freedoms.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He can be patient. He has limits, but he is surprisingly very patient.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

The effect it has on him may not show, but it does affect him. He gets snappy with others and much more moody. But over time it becomes a dull ache within him that he never forgets.

If someone took you from him... he may just kill them....

Sometimes and maybe (most likely no).

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Childhood and trauma.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Jotaro usually just gives you your space. He keeps his distance until you calm down. Occasionally he may use Star Platinum to check on you before approaching to hold you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Not many I can think of except trying not to make him snap.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

He tries not to, he hates the idea... but it may just happen.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere but would sacrifice everything to see you alive, happy, and safe.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I imagine he can pine awhile. He probably won't snap until after Part 3 (hopefully)... meaning any abduction might be a Part 4 era Jotaro thing.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

#yandere jojo #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jjba #yandere stardust crusaders #yandere jotaro #yandere jotaro kujo

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ray4hotchner · 1 year ago

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Reckless

❀ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: aaron hotchner x reader

❀ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Y/N, a team member of the BAU, faces her past during a challenging case. Struggling to cope, Y/N's impulsive actions strain her relationship with Hotch.

❀ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 5.5k

❀ 𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Hi everyone, I finally caved in and wrote something on my own. This is my first fic, so let me know what you think

❀ 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕔: @iyv-ray24

On Ao3

Normally, Y/N was one of the last people to board the jet after a case. Not this time though. She didn't wait for the team and drove straight from the sheriff's station to the airport once the case was wrapping up. It had been a couple of stressful days, and everyone was exhausted. However, Y/N was not only exhausted but also very, very pissed – pissed at the team, pissed at herself, but most importantly, at Hotch.

This case was not easy for any of them. Three girls between the ages of 9 and 13 were abducted, horribly abused, and killed before their bodies were dumped in different local parks in the city. The BAU was called in when the third child was missing, but unfortunately, they arrived way too late. Now, the fourth girl, Casandra Johnson, an 11-year-old, was missing.

Most of the times, Y/N wouldn't have problems with distancing herself emotionally from cases, but this one just hit too close to home. Her little baby sister was abducted from their front porch when she was 9. Y/N herself was only a teenager at that time, and she was the one babysitting her sister. Just a couple of minutes of distraction, and her baby sister was gone forever. They found her body a week later, and the man who killed her luckily got caught, but Y/N never forgave herself and lived every day with the guilt of letting her sister down.

Yep, the team knew all about this stuff. They were familiar with each other's messed-up pasts and traumas; they were like a close-knit family, after all. So, when Penelope started laying out all the details about the case, she could feel her teammates' eyes on her. Sure, it wasn't easy to stare at pictures of innocent little girls and remember what happened to her own sister, but that wasn't going to stop her from getting her job done. She was a pro at this, and as far as she was concerned, this was just another case.

She found herself in the tiny kitchenette of the jet, pouring a cup of coffee, when Hotch walked over.

"Hey, want some coffee?" she offered, but he just shook his head.

"You doing okay?" he asked, standing close because the kitchenette was so darn small.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replied, knowing exactly why, but she wasn't about to show her feelings to him.

"You could sit this one out, you know.”

"Hotch, no way! Please don't even suggest that! These girls deserve justice, and I've got to see it through."

"I get it, but if things start getting too heavy and overwhelming, promise me you'll give me a heads-up," he said gently.

"You bet," she nodded.

They hung there for a few more seconds. Hotch's presence always had a calming effect on her, and she felt more grounded when he was around. He saw the tension on her face and he probably wanted to reach out and offer comfort, but he held back. So, he turned around and went back to his seat. She watched Hotch walk away and caught eyes with Emily, who gave her a knowing look. She was the only one on the team who knew how Y/N felt about Hotch. To this day, she regretted telling Emily, on a drunken night, that she had a crush on their boss. Emily had persistently encouraged her on more than a few occasions to confess her feelings, but she had consistently declined, fearing the potential embarrassment and awkwardness it could create between them. Emily smirked at her, but she only mouthed "Don't" before also returning to her seat.

The case was progressing as usual – examining the crime scene, talking to victims' relatives and potential eyewitnesses, and creating the unsub profile. Throughout the investigation, the team noticed Y/N becoming increasingly agitated. However, things took a sharp downward turn after Casandra was kidnapped. Y/N grew moody, neglected sleep and food, and immersed herself in reexamining the same files and evidence over and over again.

Y/N and Spencer found themselves back at the last crime scene, as Y/N insisted on revisiting it, when new information arose. Penelope added them to the group call and informed everyone that her research had led her to a man fitting the unsub's profile. She sent over his last registered address.

"We're nearby. It's not far from the last crime scene," Y/N informed the team.

"We'll meet you guys there," Derek said before they ended the call. Y/N and Spencer then drove to the address.

They parked in front of the house and awaited the team's arrival when Y/N spotted movement inside. She immediately called Hotch.

"Hotch, there's someone in the house. Maybe he's holding the girl in there. We need to go in. Now!"

"We'll be there shortly. You can't go in there without backup," Hotch cautioned.

"Spencer is here too."

"Agent Y/L/N, I said wait. That's an order!" Hotch's tone was stern.

"I'm sorry, I have to," Y/N replied, and with that, she exited the car and headed toward the front door of the house. Hotch heard Spencer shouting after Y/N before the call ended. Cursing under his breath, he instructed Derek to speed up.

In under 5 minutes, the team reached the unsub's address. The front door had been kicked open, and the team could hear Y/N yelling at someone.

"Where is he? Tell me! Where is your brother?" She was shouting, pinning a young man facedown on the carpet. Y/N's knee was pressed into his back, immobilizing him as she held his hands behind his back.

"Agent Y/L/N, that's enough!" Hotch's order rang out, and he turned to Emily, gesturing for her to take over. Emily walked over, cuffed the man's hands, and assisted him to his feet. The officers and the team exited the house. As they were leaving, Hotch turned to Y/N and said, "We will discuss this later."

Upon arriving at the station, Hotch instructed Derek and Rossi to interrogate the suspect's brother regarding the unsub's whereabouts. He told the team, except for Y/N, to leave the room the sheriff assigned to the BAU upon their arrival. Facing her, Hotch clenched his jaw, in order to stay calm.

"You are off the case," he stated in an unwavering voice.

"Hotch, no, I'm—"

"You. Are. Off. The case. Agent Y/L/N."

"That's not fair. We have the guy's brother."

"That's not fair? That's not fair? Are you really talking back right now?" Hotch's anger escalated.

"I said I'm sorry! But what if we would have lost our chance? That guy had his things packed; he was leaving!"

"I don't care if he was leaving or not! You can't act on your own in situations like this! You put yourself and Spencer in danger."

"We're fine!"

"Yeah, luckily! But you didn't know what awaited you behind that door. Both of you could have been injured or worse. Your actions were selfish and unprofessional. I don't want you anywhere near anything related to this case until we're back in Quantico. Do you understand?"

Y/N didn't even respond; she simply stormed out of the room. She headed straight to the bathroom, seeking some privacy to calm down. Splashing her face with ice-cold water, she leaned over the sink, taking deep breaths while still seething with anger. Just then, JJ entered the restroom. Like everyone else at the station, she had heard the heated exchange between Hotch and Y/N and came to check on her.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm off the case."

"Maybe it's for the best, don't you think?"

"Not you too, JJ," Y/N replied, releasing a heavy sigh as she dried her hands and face. She walked past JJ and left the restroom, unwilling to argue with her as well. Although she was banned from anything related to the case, Hotch hadn't instructed her to leave the station entirely or return to the hotel, so she remained. In the breakroom, she sat, observing and straining to catch any updates. She watched as Derek and Rossi emerged from the interrogation room, but they refused to share information due to Hotch's orders. Naturally, Spencer and Emily also followed Hotch's directives, all for Y/N's own well-being.

Suddenly, there was movement as the team geared up, putting on their vests. Clearly, they had a new lead. Y/N swiftly rose, walking toward the team to grab her own vest, but Hotch halted her immediately.

"I told you that you're not allowed anything related to the case."

"Hotch, come on! Punish me with paperwork or anything else, but not like this, please!"

"No."

"Hotch, maybe you should—" Derek attempted to intervene.

"I said no!" Hotch's tone was firm as he locked eyes with Y/N. He could see the anger in her eyes and how she was holding back tears of frustration. With Hotch's final words, the team exited the station and drove away. Unable to hold back, Y/N retreated to the bathroom, shedding a few tears of anger. She knew she had made a mistake and was in the wrong, but the frustration and sense of being left behind lingered. Hotch should have been the first to understand the weight of guilt from not saving a loved one. Yet, he treated her as the issue, disregarding the missing child who might require the help of every agent for her rescue.

She let out a deep breath, a release that felt like she had been holding it in for days, as the team returned to the station with the little girl in Emily's arms. Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the heartwarming scene of the girl reuniting with her parents, embraces and kisses shared all around.

Mistiness gathered in Y/N's eyes once more, her mind drifting to how it might have felt to get her own little sister back all those years ago. Lifting her eyes from the heartwarming family reunion, her gaze locked with Hotch's, and it was as if he could read her thoughts. He took a step towards her, but she promptly spun around and walked away.

Hotch was not surprised by her reaction; he didn't even know why he had attempted to approach her. He did know, deep down, but he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, especially not at this moment. A few minutes later, he noticed Y/N storming out of the station, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"She said she'll be waiting by the jet," JJ informed Hotch as they both watched Y/N leave.

That was why she found herself being the first to arrive at the jet, a rarity. Normally, she'd take the seat in front of Hotch, and they'd dive into their paperwork during the flight back home. It was an opportunity to talk and maybe even steal glances at his handsome face. But now, she didn’t even want to hear his voice.

Instead, she settled onto the broad couch, the same one where Spencer often napped, and attempted to drift into sleep. Exhaustion from the past days quickly pulled her into slumber. She faintly registered the team entering the jet and briefly woke at takeoff, but she promptly turned away and slipped back into sleep, determined to avoid everyone, especially Hotch.

The jet's interior was dimly lit, and most of the team dozed off in their seats. Hotch occupied a couple of seats away from the couch where Y/N was deeply asleep, while Rossi sat directly in front of him. He observed her for a moment, noticing her curling up into a ball – she must be cold. The realization prompted Hotch to stand up promptly. He opened one of the jet's cupboards and retrieved a blanket. Quietly, he approached Y/N and draped the blanket over her, observing as she snuggled into the soft fabric. With the exception of Rossi, everyone else was already asleep, so his actions would likely go unquestioned by the team. Besides, he was merely helping a colleague, right? He lingered by her side for longer than necessary; her relaxed face was undeniably beautiful, and he wanted – no, needed – to savour it for just a little while longer. He was painfully aware that the only expression he'd encounter in her eyes when she woke would be resentment toward him. He would give anything to reach out and caress her cheek at this very moment. Eventually, he returned to his seat, and Rossi's gaze immediately landed on him.

"You're hopeless, Aaron," Rossi chuckled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hotch replied, his gaze shifting to the files before him.

"You know, she kind of has the right to be angry at you."

"You can't seriously think that what she did was right."

"No, I do not. It was actually really fucking dumb, but you're sort of being a hypocrite here."

"How so?"

"Well, yes, she made a mistake barging into that house on her own, and she acted impulsively. But so did you. Every one of us has made stupid mistakes at some point, and hers at least helped us locate the unsub. If it were any other agent, you would have let them join the rescue and handed them a pile of paperwork as punishment later. But because you have an emotional attachment to her and feelings for her, you were afraid she'd act recklessly again. You couldn't risk her getting hurt, like, say, jumping in front of a bullet – which we both know she would have. So, you left her behind. Not to mention, you understood why she acted the way she did. This case was deeply personal to her. Needless to say, you both acted like idiots."

Hotch leans back in his seat and lets out a sigh. He knows Rossi's right, though sometimes he hates working with profilers.

"We all want to protect the people we love, Aaron. But remember, she's still an agent, and this is her job," Rossi adds before returning to his files.

Hotch glances over at her and ponders Rossi's words. He realizes he definitely overreacted because it was you who put yourself in danger. He knows she's a great agent and can take care of herself in these dangerous situations, but just the thought of something happening to her makes his stomach drops.

It had been a couple of days since the team had returned to Quantico, and as Hotch expected, Y/N was avoiding him at all costs. She submitted her reports well before the deadlines, left the office earlier than usual – a rarity for her, as she was typically one of the last agents to leave. Hotch even noticed her falling silent whenever he entered the break room or the bullpen, and she seemed to find excuses to distance herself from him. This avoidance was starting to irritate him more and more. He missed the late nights spent doing paperwork together in his office after everyone else had gone home. He longed to hear her laughter and engage in conversations with her. He just missed her. While she appeared to be getting along fine with the rest of the team, her anger toward Hotch still lingered. He knew he needed to talk to her and explain his actions; he hoped that she might understand once he did.

So, as soon as he arrived at the office the following day, he made it a priority. Upon entering his office, he noticed Y/N's completed report on his desk, finished once again before deadline. He was aware that she was completing her work ahead of time to avoid any interaction with Hotch about the report. Without even glancing at the report, he stepped back out of his office.

"Agent Y/L/N, a word, please," he said, his tone possibly more agitated than he had intended. The rest of the team exchanged questioning looks as Y/N ascended the few stairs to his office. She knocked on the door, even though it was already open, and announced herself before entering.

"Close the door," Hotch ordered, his voice firm as he removed his jacket.

He had initially only wanted to apologize and explain his decision on the case, but seeing that finished report again ignited a kind of anger within him. Particularly because he knew how much she despised working on it in the first place. Now, she stood in front of him, alone for the first time in days, yet she didn't even glance at his face.

"You finished your work early again, Agent Y/L/N?"

"Yes, sir." Sir... she never called him 'sir.' He really wanted to hear his name from her. He tried to catch her eyes, but she purposely looked away. There was a brief silence before she finally spoke up, "Is there something wrong with it, sir?"

His emotions were getting the better of him due to her distant tone, possibly amplified by the frustration that had built up over the past few days. So, he responded with unnecessary sharpness.

"Yeah, there's something wrong with it. Do it again," he snapped, tossing the file onto the desk closer to her. For the first time in days, she met his eyes, her brows furrowed in irritation, though her voice remained calm.

"May I ask what was wrong with it, sir?" she inquired, striving to sound neutral.

"You may not, Agent! Get back to your work," he replied, his voice unintentionally louder than he intended.

Y/N stormed out of the room, doing her best to restrain herself from slamming the door behind her. She settled back at her desk, aware of her colleagues' watchful eyes on her, though no one said a word. In his office, Hotch couldn't help but curse under his breath. "Why did I do that?" he wondered. This kind of pettiness was uncharacteristic of him, yet there was something about her that could evoke such strong emotions from him, both positive and negative.

He struggled throughout the remaining day to focus on his work, his mind repeatedly drifting to thoughts of her. Glancing at the clock, he realized that the workday was drawing to a close. He had planned to talk to her today, and he was determined to do it before she left, especially since she tended to head out before the others. Stepping out of his office and peering down into the bullpen, he noticed Spencer packing up while Y/N and Emily waited. Derek and Penelope were already on their way to the elevator, and Rossi had left hours ago due to personal matters.

"Y/L/N, to my office, please," he called out in his strong voice from the top of the stairs before returning back into his office. Spencer and Emily exchanged glances, and while Y/N was clearly displeased, it was inevitable that she had to have a conversation with Hotch.

"You guys go ahead. Don't wait for me. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, placing her bag back on her desk before making her way up to Hotch's office.

"Sit down," Hotch says as she enters his office, gesturing to the free chair in front of his desk.

"For how much longer do you plan to keep this up?" Hotch asks in a plain tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Hotch rubs his face and lets out a sigh before continuing. "Cut it out! This whole 'sir' thing. You haven't spoken to me in days. It's affecting the work environment."

"I don't think it's affecting anything. I've been working efficiently, and my reports are always on time."

"I don't give a damn about your reports, Y/N!" Hotch exclaims, standing up and slamming his hands on the table as he leans toward her.

She stands abruptly. "Then there's no reason for me to be here if this isn't work-related," she nearly yells, matching Hotch's intensity. She starts to turn around, indicating her intention to leave.

"You're not leaving before we talk about what happened and clear this up!", he said and walked around his desk to now stand infront of her.

"There's nothing to clear up!"

"How is there nothing to clear up? You've been avoiding me since we got back from the case. You won't talk to me, you won't look at me—hell, you leave the room when I walk in."

Hotch's frustration was palpable as he stepped closer to her. "You think you can just avoid me and everything will be fine? You think you can act like nothing happened?"

Y/N's voice trembled with anger. "I'm doing my job, just like I always have."

"Your job? This is more than just about your damn job. We're a team, and that means communication and trust."

Y/N shot back, her voice rising. "Trust? Is that what you call it? You completely shut me out during the case. You made me feel like I can't make decisions, like I'm incapable."

Hotch's eyes blazed with frustration. "I made a decision to protect you, to keep you safe!"

"By treating me like a child? By belittling me in front of the team?" Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her anger evident.

"You were reckless, Y/N! You put yourself and Spencer in danger!"

"I had a lead, I had a chance to save that girl!"

"By charging into a potentially dangerous situation without backup? You're lucky nothing worse happened."

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides. "You don't understand. You never understand."

"Oh, I understand more than you realize," Hotch retorted, his voice dripping with frustration.

The room seemed to crackle with tension as their argument escalated. Each word was a jab, a release of the pent-up emotions they had been harboring. The distance between them had grown from physical to emotional, and they were both struggling to bridge the gap.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the room, and JJ's head appeared in the doorway. "Oh, sorry for disturbing. I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave. Don't let me interrupt," she said, sensing the tension in the room, and then closed the door behind her. Throughout JJ's brief interaction, Y/N and Hotch's eyes remained locked on each other.

JJ's interruption seemed to inject a moment of calm into the charged atmosphere, allowing a slight easing of the tension in the room.

Hotch's voice broke the silence once again, this time with a calmer and more composed tone. "Believe me, I understand why this case held such significance for you. The entire team recognised that. However, that doesn't justify putting yourself in harm's way."

Y/N's voice softened, her frustration mingling with a touch of vulnerability. "I know it was reckless to charge in without waiting, and I've already apologized for that—I'm still sorry. But what you did was unfair. You left me behind. Aren't we supposed to be a team? How could you make that decision, Hotch?" Her eyes misted over, a mixture of hurt and confusion in her gaze.

Hotch's gaze softened as he heard the hurt in her voice. He took a step closer, closing the physical distance between them, and rested his hands on his hips. "Y/N, it's not about whether you apologized or not. It's about the fact that you charged into a dangerous situation without considering the consequences. In this line of work, we can't afford to act on emotions alone. We have to think logically, strategically. Acting solely on emotion can get people killed."

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears as his words sank in. She looked down at her hands, her voice choked with emotion. "I know that, Hotch. I do. But in that moment, all I could think about was finding that girl, saving her. It was like... I couldn't control myself."

Hotch took another step forward, his presence a comforting presence in front of her. He reached out and gently lifted her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His touch was tender, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Y/N, I get it. I do. But I was scared. Scared of losing you, of seeing you hurt. I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. His touch was a lifeline, grounding her in this vulnerable moment. "I... I couldn't save my sister," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was supposed to be watching her, and I let her down."

Hotch's grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. He leaned in closer, his voice tender. "Y/N, what happened to your sister wasn't your fault. You were just a child yourself. You couldn't have known."

A sob escaped Y/N's lips as she leaned into his touch, her tears falling freely now. Hotch gently wiped away her tears with his thumb, his touch soothing. "It's okay to feel the pain, Y/N. But you can't let it dictate your actions now. You have so much strength, so much potential. I just want to keep you safe."

She let out a shaky breath, her emotions raw and exposed. Hotch's presence and his words were a balm to her wounded heart. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice filled with remorse.

Hotch shook his head softly, his eyes never leaving hers. "There's no need to apologize. I should have handled things differently too. We both made mistakes."

They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked, and the air around them seemed to shift. Hotch took a step forward, his hand moving from her chin to her cheek, his touch gentle and caring.

"Y/N, we're a team. And I promise you, I'll always have your back. But I need you to promise me that you'll think before you act, that you'll prioritize your safety."

She nodded, her tears slowing as a small smile tugged at her lips. "I promise."

And in that moment, with their bodies close and their gazes intertwined, they found a connection that went beyond words—a connection forged in vulnerability, understanding, and the unspoken bond of a team that had weathered the storm together.

Y/N closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around Hotch in a tight embrace. Her face is buried in his chest, and he holds her close, his hand caressing her hair with utmost tenderness. In this vulnerable embrace, their walls begin to crumble, and the weight of unspoken emotions hangs heavily in the air.

Hotch's voice is barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to her ear, letting all the truths he had been holding back spill forth. "I was so scared, Y/N... scared to lose you. I can't bear the thought of ever losing you. Please, don't ever put yourself in that kind of danger again."

His words are a mixture of desperation and genuine concern, a heartfelt confession that had been weighing on him for far too long. He holds her tighter, his grip on her waist firm yet gentle. "I don't know what I would do without you. You've become such an important part of my life."

His voice quivers with emotion, each word carrying the weight of his feelings. "I missed talking to you, missed hearing your laugh. Even the complaints about paperwork, I missed those too. You mean so much to me, Y/N, more than you might realize."

Y/N's grip on him tightens, her tears soaking into his shirt as she listens to his heartfelt words. It's a moment of vulnerability, of raw honesty that they had both been avoiding. Hotch's whispers in her ear are like a soothing melody, erasing the tension that had been building between them.

Their embrace lingers, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that ties them together. Hotch continues to caress her hair, his touch a silent reassurance of his feelings. In this moment, surrounded by their shared emotions and the warmth of their connection, they find solace in each other's arms.

Y/N pulls away slightly, creating enough space to look up at him, her eyes glistening with sincerity. She takes a deep breath before speaking, her voice a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Hotch, Aaron... I became so upset about this situation because it was you who was disappointed in me. You mean the world to me. Your opinion, your feelings, they matter more than I can even express. Not just as my boss, but as a friend and... and maybe, just maybe, even more."

Her cheeks flush with a soft hue of pink as she admits her feelings, her gaze dropping to the floor as if overwhelmed by the weight of her confession. She's both relieved and terrified to have finally voiced her emotions, unsure of how he'll react despite his previous words of comfort.

Hotch's breath catches in his throat as he absorbs her words. His heart races, and a mixture of surprise, hope, and affection blooms in his chest. He reaches out to gently lift her chin, his thumb brushing against her skin as he tilts her face up to meet his gaze. His expression is a mixture of tenderness and warmth, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.

"Y/N..." Hotch's voice is soft, carrying a mix of emotions that mirror her own. He searches her eyes, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "I've been struggling with my own feelings, with the fear of crossing a line. But I want you to know... you're important to me too. More than I can put into words."

A gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his gaze locked onto hers. "I never wanted to push you away or make you feel like your actions don't matter. They do, because you matter. And I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

Y/N's heart swells with his words, and the warmth of his touch resonates deep within her. Her eyes well up with tears, but this time they're tears of relief and joy. Her lips tremble into a soft smile as she meets his gaze with renewed hope.

"I'm glad we talked," she whispers, her voice filled with sincerity. "I don't want to avoid you, Aaron. I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what happens."

Hotch's thumb continues to caress her cheek, his touch grounding her in this moment of emotional intimacy. "I feel the same way," he admits, his voice a mere breath against her lips. "And I promise, from now on, we'll face things together."

Their proximity becomes charged with a newfound understanding, their unspoken connection now verbalized. And as they stand there, gazing into each other's eyes, they both know that this conversation is just the beginning of a deeper and more meaningful journey ahead.

As the weight of their emotions lingers in the air, Y/N takes a small step closer, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. Hotch's gaze softens even further, and in that moment, they both feel the pull of an unspoken desire.

Without any more hesitation, Y/N tilts her head slightly, her lips brushing against his in a tentative yet gentle kiss. It's a kiss filled with the tenderness of their shared feelings, a silent promise of everything they've both been longing for.

Hotch's arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss with a mixture of longing and affection. His lips move against hers with a slow and deliberate rhythm, their connection intensifying as their bodies press against each other.

The air between them grows warmer, their shared emotions igniting a spark of passion. Y/N's fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as the kiss becomes more heated, a reflection of the desires they've kept hidden for so long.

Their breath mingles, the world around them fading as they lose themselves in the intoxicating sensation of their lips moving together. The kiss becomes a dance of emotions, each movement a declaration of their feelings.

Finally, they break apart, their lips still lingering just millimeters away. Their breaths come in ragged gasps, their eyes locked in a heated gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and bliss.

A soft, love-drunk smile tugs at Y/N's lips, and she brushes her thumb against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. Hotch's fingers continue to caress her back, his touch a silent affirmation of his feelings.

"Wow," Y/N breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart still racing from the intensity of their kiss.

Hotch chuckles softly, his forehead resting against hers. "Yeah, wow," he replies, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and contentment.

Their smiles mirror each other's, and in that moment, they both realize that this is just the beginning of their journey together. The walls that once kept their feelings hidden have crumbled, replaced by a newfound connection that's deeper and more meaningful.

As they stand there, breathless and gazing into each other's eyes, they know that they're embarking on a path of honesty, vulnerability, and love. And with their lips still tingling from their kiss, they share a quiet understanding that whatever challenges lie ahead, they'll face them together.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaronhotchnerissuchadilfandIwoulddieforhim

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starsfic · 3 months ago

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Grandpa and Great-Uncle AU: The Beginning

Summary: An hour after Shermie agrees to go to Gravity Falls, his son asks him to take his grandchildren.

AO3/ Ko-Fi

-_-

An hour after he hung up the phone, it rang again.

"Hello?" Shermie said. He wondered if it was Stanley, wanting to hammer out some last details or canceling the plans. "This is Shermie-"

"Uh, hey dad," Mark didn't sound as steady as he usually did. In fact, he sounded on the verge of tears. Shermie straightened up, concern rising. Mark calling upset was so common by now that his back didn't hurt after two years. "Uh, it's Mark... something happened..."

Ah, shit. With the state of his son's marriage, Shermie had to guess. "Did you or Ariel leave with the kids?"

"No," His daughter-in-law spoke up, her voice muffled. There was a sob in her voice that made Shermie want to hang up and drive over. However, it was ten in the evening and Piedmont was an hour away. "I fucked up and I said something really nasty to Mark and Mason..." There was the faint sound of her blowing her nose. "Mason overheard me saying something nasty about him and Mabel to Mark."

Oh. Oh boy.

"This is why I told you-"

"I know, Dad," Mark said before Shermie could start on again about marriage counseling and divorce. Everyone in the family knew that this relationship was a ticking bomb that would hurt the twins. "We know. That's why we called."

"We were hoping that you could take them for the summer," Ariel said, sounding much calmer now. "We don't want them to get caught up in the middle of us being shitty about each other." The foul language made Shermie raise a brow, but he stayed silent. At least they were taking responsibility and getting the twins out of the blast radius. "I- We know it's a lot to ask..."

"But, I would say yes," Shermie had to interrupt. "But I'm actually staying the summer with Uncle Stanley."

There was a pause. "Really?" Mark said, sounding baffled. "I thought he didn't want any of us visiting because of how dangerous the supernatural stuff could be." That decision had been made after the one and only visit to Gravity Falls that Mark had when he was three and nearly got abducted by fairies. It hadn't solely been Stan's decision, but Shermie had agreed.

"He...He said he needed backup because of how old he's getting and how busy the Shack is, plus how the portal's coming along," Shermie tried not to tremble at the memory of Stanley's voice, thick with so much regret and anguish that he was tempted to drive to where Filbrick was buried and smash his gravestone. "But, he's not doing well mentally. He didn't say it, but I know he's having a hard time, especially with how long it's been." It would be thirty years tomorrow. "I'm going to go to see what I can do, if I can maybe talk him into walking away."

Probably not, but he had to try. Stanford Pines wasn't worth this.

"Maybe the twins might help?" Ariel said, interrupting his thoughts. "You know how excited he got when he visited them in the hospital."

Oh, yeah. At the memory of Stan's elbow in his face, his nose ached.

But Stan had been delighted when he realized that there was a second pair of twins in the family. Shermie's favorite picture was of him holding the twins, their mom hugging him.

"I'll have to ask him. Give me a second." He hung up and his fingers trembled as he typed in Stan's number. Shermie wasn't sure if it was hope or anxiety, but he held his breath as it rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Stanley, um...Here's the thing. Mark and Ariel want Mason and Mabel out of the house during the summer," Shermie said, trying not to panic as he said it all in one breath. "I told them that I was going to be visiting you and Ariel suggested I take them with me to-"

SMASH.

Shermie jolted at the noise, dropping the phone. He scrambled to grab it, his heart racing at an uncomfortable rate. "Stanley?!"

"Sure, bring them!" There was another smash. "I've missed the little gremlins. I can take them fishing." Another smash. "I didn't really get to do that with Mark when he visited."

"What are you smashing?"

"Oh, my beer." There was a thump. "Anyway, let me know when you guys are coming. I have to set up the attic and find the spare bedroom and find my cigars." And with that, the line went dead. Shermie blinked before he started dialling Mark's number.

Well, that was a hell of a yes.

"Hello? Dad?"

"He said yes."

#Shermie Pines #Mr Pines #Mrs Pines #Stan Pines #Gravity Falls #GF #Gravity Falls AU #GF AU #AU #Grandpa and Great-Uncle AU #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic #au

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system-to-the-madness · 1 year ago

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My Cards - Spencer Reid x Reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort Word Count: 2 916 Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence (abduction, murder), mentions of drug use in the past Summary: At the day that Spencer is clean for eleven years, he decides it’s time to show you his cards. A/N: I've got a few asorted fics that I've writen ages ago, and will publish one after another (might sprinkle some anime and soc in between). Sorry for that already. If you want to block a certain fandom: the tag to blog is #mad (fandom shortcut) for criminal minds, that would be #mad cm

13 years. That’s how long Spencer Reid was your colleague already. Actually – he would correct you – it had been 13 years, 1 month, 2 weeks, 5 days, 14 hours, 7 minutes and approximately 26 seconds.

You were not sure for how long he had been your best friend. Probably 12 years. Spencer would not have been able to answer that question if you had asked him. After all this time he still sometimes struggled in accepting that there was someone he could call whenever, literally whenever he needed someone.

You had been with him through thick and thin, had been there for him after he had been abducted by Hankel, had comforted him, when he had cried for Hotch and Jack after Hayley had been murdered, had talked until the early hours of the morning after Emily had supposedly died. You had never been further than a phone call away, had never complained when he called you in the late hours of the night because he had had another nightmare, had cooked him tea or watched trashy soap operas with him when he had felt down.

He wondered if he had ever paid you back enough. Whether the few times you had called him after a nightmare or a traumatic event or a bad case would ever be enough to make up for what you had given him. With you around, his flat felt like a home, with you on the other end of the sofa he did not worry about the shadows lingering in the corners of the room.

He felt like a pervert for the many times he had asked you to share a bad with him, so he could fall asleep more easily. Every time, without fail you had climbed under the covers with him, maybe even wrapped your arms around him and stroked his back, lulling him to sleep. He hated himself for all the times he had reached out a hand while you were sleeping, to feel if you were really there, if your skin was warm, your chest lifting and lowering with even breaths.

People often liked calling him a genius, but it had taken him many years to figure out that somewhere along the line he had fallen in love with you after you had prevented his complete self-destruction over Maeve‘s death. He felt guilty for it, for having fallen in love with you while you had helped him grieve another woman he had loved, and somewhere in his heart still did. One night you had told him, that he would always carry the people he had once loved in his heart. He had asked how it would ever be possible for someone to accept him if a part of him still loved someone else. You had shrugged at that and answered, that this person would have to understand that we are made off who and what we love, that this way Maeve had become a part of him, which this person would love too, if they loved him. He had nodded at that, and wondered if you could ever love him.

When he had first realised his feelings for you, he had thought his heart wanted to numb itself by making up emotions for you to forget about Maeve, but after years he felt just as strongly about you as he had back then, and he came to the conclusion that maybe he had always loved you, deep in his heart.

12 years. That’s how long you had been friends with Spencer. And yet you had the distinct feeling, that tonight was different, that tonight was not his usual call for comfort. He had been nervous, when he had asked you if you wanted to come back to his place after work, and he had never been nervous around you before.

Now you stood in his living room, your shoes kicked off next to the door, just like his, your jacket on the coatrack, half covered by his. Usually you had no trouble to make yourself at home, but Spencer’s behaviour, his nervousness, made you feel like this was the very first time you had stepped into his flat, so you stood in the living room, fiddling with your fingers, while Spencer was searching for something in his bedroom.

When he emerged back into the living room, he tossed you something, which you barely caught. Confused you turned a coin in your hands, the dim light not allowing you to read the lettering immediately, but then you made it out.

“10 years?”

You held up the coin to take an even closer look, but other than that, and a small symbol, you could not find anything else edged into it.

“Is that a sobriety coin,” you asked, handing it back to Spencer, who took the coin back and let it wander through his fingers.

“It is,” he nodded, letting the coin disappear into seemingly thin air, presenting his empty palms to you before he sat down on the sofa.

You tried thinking back to ten years ago, and what had happened back then. Somewhat over eleven years ago Hankle had kidnapped him-

Spencer seemed to have interpreted your focused expression correctly, because without further prompting he explained.

“Dilaudid. Hankel injected me with it repeatedly. I- I developed an addiction.”

For a long while you looked at him as he was fiddling around with the coin again. You had always suspected that there had been a phase soon after the Hankle incident in which something had been off. You had basically lived at his place for half a year, since he had called you every night, asking you to come over. You had never hesitated to do so, your desire to comfort your friend also driven by the worry he might do something stupid. Like give in to an addiction. You should have confronted him about it, should have asked. Actually, you had thought about it, countless times, but always come to the conclusion, that he would only deny everything and shut himself off. You had let him suffer on his own, he had never, until today, felt comfortable enough to tell you about it. Maybe you could have helped him. Maybe-

“Actually, it’s eleven years today,” he suddenly said, and lifted his head to look at you. The coin was, once again, gone. “I just… I wanted to spend today with you, instead of going to a meeting.”

“I-”

The voice died in your throat at Spencer’s soft, lopsided smile, the smile he always gave you when he knew exactly what you were thinking, but also knew it was wrong.

“You think you should have said something back then, don’t you?”

You nodded quietly and watched him lean back into the cushions.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you’re the person, who actually helped me to get clean?”

He chuckled at your furrowed brows and patted the space next to him on the sofa, but you remained standing, rooted in spot. You had no right to sit next to him, to be here in his apartment, to be anywhere near the man you had let down knowingly.

“You left a flyer here once, for the community centre,” Spencer explained.

You remembered the flyer. You had spent hours upon hours looking up drug addiction in law enforcement until you had come across a newly funded self-help group in a new community centre not too far away from his flat. After work you had driven by there and picked up a flyer, which a couple of days later you had put onto Spencer’s table, telling him you were interested in one of the pottery classes, and if he wanted to go with you. The advertisement for the pottery class had been right underneath that for the self-help group and been your boldest attempt at ever confronting him.

“Without that flyer, I never would have had the courage to get help,” Spencer confessed. “Other than you, of course.”

“What did I do,” your voice almost was not loud enough for him to hear, drowned by tears that now also blurred your vision. “I just left you alone, I-”

“You always came when you called,” he explained, “I wanted you over as much as possible so I wouldn’t have time for the next fix. I- well I practically used your compassion to get clean.”

“Why did you never tell me?”

Spencer’s smile slowly died, and he pressed his lips together, a clear sign that he knew the answer but felt uncomfortable sharing it.

After a moment of deafening silence, he answered. “I was scared you’d be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed? Spencer I could never-”

“It was easier to believe that than to accept the truth, that there really might be a person who would care for me either way, no matter how much I fucked up,” he confessed. “It’s still- I still struggle to accept sometimes that you are always here for me. Like… nobody ever really cared about me, other than my mum, and yet… you’ve been here every time I needed you, for years.”

“Not every time. I should’ve-”

“Every single time. And I just can’t understand why you would do that to yourself.”

“Because you’re my friend, Spencer. And I wanted to help you. Just like you helped me, too, when I needed help.”

“When did I help you?”

“You were the first one to check in on me whenever I had to shoot someone. You always make soup when I’m sick, you come over when I have nightmares, or am just lonely. You take me out to movies when I whine about not having a social life, you read me to sleep, sometimes for hours. Do you even realise how much you helped me all these years? Without you I would’ve quit the BAU a long time ago, but with you I can face the demons.”

Spencer looked at you, really looked at you. The soft orange light of the reading lamp beside the couch made his brown eyes glow like ambers. Neither of you turned away, just blinked occasionally. You wanted to tell him, then and there, that you loved him, that you had loved him for years, but you figured that there were some truths your friendship could not withstand. Maybe Spencer had felt that way about his addiction the whole time too. You wondered if there would ever be a time where you could tell him ‘hey Spencer, actually back then, I was totally in love with you and thought I’d spent the rest of my life with you’, and then you’d laugh about it. You blinked the thought away.

“Why did you tell me now,” you wondered, being the first to break the silence.

“I figured, after eleven years, it’s time to tell someone. So tonight I’m showing you my cards.”

“Cards? Plural?”

“There is one more thing.” Spencer got up from where he had been sitting on the couch, but did not step closer while your thoughts were reeling.

One more thing. Another secret he had never told you. Had he been diagnosed with schizophrenia? No, statistically he was too old for that. Dementia? His mother had it, and sometimes even young people got diagnosed with it. No, probably not, you would have noticed. Was he leaving the BAU? Did he have cancer?

“Whatever world ending scenarios you’re coming up with right now, it’s none of that, I promise you,” he spoke quietly. You hated how well he knew you. Well, not hated, but.. well.

“Is it bad,” you asked, watching how he started fiddling around with his hands again. He suddenly got nervous.

“I don’t know,” he answered, his voice a little higher than before. “It depends, I guess.”

“On what?”

“You.” His answer made your heart sink. “But things will be different, no matter what.”

“I don’t want things to be different,” you shook your head, silent panic rising in your chest. “I like the way things are now.” Quickly you took a few steps across the living room right to him and grabbed one of his hands. “I don’t want things to change!”

“And I don’t want to keep secrets, so please let me be honest.”

For a moment you looked at him, at his beautiful brown eyes, which had brought you comfort for so many years, at his wild, brown curls, at his dress shirt and the loosened tie, and the soft cardigan, and then his eyes again. If you allowed him to speak, you might lose everything you had had with him. He had been your anchor, long before you had developed feelings for him, but now that you had, you wanted to fight, so you did not have to give him up.

But he was his own person. Earlier or later, he would tell you. And he had said whether that secret was bad or not depended on you, so you needed to be ready to accept what he was about to tell you, just like that time your high school crush had confessed to you that he was gay and you had ended up with setting him up with his crush. They were married now. So, whatever it was-

Slowly you nodded, and Spencer’s previously tense features softened slightly. His eyes skipped over your face, making you feel strange self-aware, and his fingers tightened around yours, from where you had taken his hand; a comforting squeeze. Carefully he shuffled closer and bent down. For a moment you thought he might kiss you, but of course he would not do that. Yet he did not lean to your ear either. He just looked at you for a moment, making you hold your breath.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your lips hotly, “That’s my last secret. I’m in love with you and have been for the past three years. What you do with that information is now up to you.”

For a moment you did not move, did not dare moving, just stared at him with your heart hammering in your chest. You were an excellent profiler, had studied human behaviour for soon 20 years, had learnt to recognise what lying looked like. Spencer was not lying. Maybe you were dreaming, but even then-

A flicker of your eyes to his lips was all it took for Spencer to lurch forward and close the remaining distance between your lips. He was not gentle as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in, but rather desperate, desperate to finally feel you as close as he had always dreamt of, desperate to taste your lips and feel your breath. Hoping to find anything to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around him too, slid one hand into his fine locks, the other gripping tightly into his soft cardigan.

Kissing him was nothing like you had imagined it to be, but so much better. He was careful and yet demanding, and he slipped his tongue over your lips and into your mouth, gentle but unrelenting in the way he held you, walked you back to the couch, where he slowly lowered you down, before sitting down next to you, never breaking the kiss. Faintly you felt his heartbeat in his lips and under his skin, hammering hard, testimony of how much he had wanted this. And with each touch of his, your own guilt over the feelings you had developed for him slowly melted away and left nothing but hot, searing love in its path.

Only when you were out of breath, lips red and swollen, cheeks hot, did you pull away, gently shoved against Spencer’s chest, who was still trying to chase your lips. His eyes were wide and glassy as he finally met yours, still completely entranced, and yet confused as to why you had pulled away.

“Enough,” you commanded with shivering voice and a smile on your face, “enough, I need air.”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbled, and you could pinpoint the exact moment he started building up his walls, already searching for an excuse to explain what just had happened.

Not wanting to allow this, you quickly grabbed his face in your hands, and forced him to look at you. His cheeks were hot, and his eyes danced around uncertainly, before finally resting on yours.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whispered, and leant forward to peck his lips, before quickly hiding your face against his neck. You barely saw his look of doubt turn into that of surprise before a smile took over his face.

“Oh,” he repeated, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. He smelled divine. Like safety, like home.

“Can we just stay like this forever,” you asked, you voice muffled against his skin.

“Actually-” from his tone of voice you could tell he would doubtlessly tell you how long it would either of you approximately take, until one of you needed the bathroom or something to eat, but then he stopped himself. “Yes.”

You chuckled against his neck, causing a shiver to run through him and goosebumps to rise on his arms. Gently you brushed your lips against his skin, not getting enough of how soft it felt. Forever was probably not long enough.

You had been colleagues with Spencer for 13 years, his best friend for 12. But from tonight on you also were his lover.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x yn #tw: drugs #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: abduction #mad stories #mad cm

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