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lologoinsolo · 4 months ago

Note

Hello sunshine, i believe i was your first ask and having read the tags I love you more ♥️

I would like to make up for not actually having an ask with the suggestion of ‘lost kitten’.

Either Simon comes in panicking because Bailey has escaped, or Bailey has decided to adopt you and goes on a heist retracing Simon’s steps to the pet store. Maybe Simon walks in (looking for help) only to discover his cat safe in your arms (clearly also having a crush on you) or you have to find Simon to return her.

Ive just caught up on the two parts you’ve posted- amazing progress. Big love to you and Bailey x

I love this! Okay, this happens probably after Simon gets off his ass and talks to reader. I’m gonna put this under In Between Moments.

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

Days like any other, the store is busy though with the sales going around. You’ve been stuck on cashier duty the longest and you feel like your brain is leaking out your head. The constant “yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir, no sir, receipt? Do you want bags? Oh, your baby is precious, will that be cash or card?” Has become so normal with your work that sometimes you’ll have a nightmare that you’re back in store. At least you’re getting paid and you’ve been pulling doubles.

You managed to find enough time to talk a break, you get an hour since you’ve been working since 6 am… it’s nearly 4pm… your stomach growls loudly as you wave your manager goodbye and walk down the familiar streets. There’s a good sandwhich shop nearby but you’ve been craving potatoes. As you buy your well deserved meal and make your way back to your store you notice the bushes twitching.

You creep a little closer, there’s no way a persons in there. The bush is barely a foot tall but it’s prickly. You look at it, observing it when you see a familiar blue collar. You gasp, “oh my god!” You put your packaged potato down and get on your knees. “Bailey!” The kitten, not so kitten like now but still baby, perks up. Her ears flickering and she has a bug. In. Her. Mouth. “Bailey, spit that out!” You forgo the need for safety when you reach an arm in and grab her before she has a chance to scamper off. Your arms a little cut but you hold her close. “Oh you are in so much trouble,” fuming a little despite the fact that it’s not her fault she’s a curious kitty.

You grab your takeaway and haul yourself into the breakroom with a very unhappy meow from Bailey. You drop her in the breakroom along with your food and snag a salmon can for her. You’ll have to rip the plastic of your takeaway but it’ll be worth it. “Here you go,” popping the can and letting her smell it before you dump it on the plastic away from your warm potato meal.

You eat first, you’re sure her dad’s losing her mind but you are hungry as can be. Bailey seems to eat but comes over to you. “No, no,” you try to say but no use as she jumps on your shoulders. “Bailey,” you whine her name long and tiredly. She rubs her face against yours and you don’t have the heart to be mean. You eat your food in peace, surprisingly, and once done. You take your phone out and snap a photo. You finger through the tiny list of contacts you have and find him in there.

“Missing something?” You text with a photo of his girl sitting on your shoulder and the biggest, shit eating smile you can muster.

It’s read. Immediately. The tiny “…” forming as soon as it is read and he replies.

“Coming.”

You sit up a bit making Bailey shake as she tries to get used to the movement. You’re texting him that it’s okay for him to pick her up later. You’re sure he’s… working… right now. You don’t want to be a bother but he doesn’t reply or read any of your texts. You move your hand back and scratch under Bailey’s chin. “Should’ve called you trouble.” Grumbling as she starts purring and nudging more of her face against yours.

You slowly stand, he’s probably gonna be here in a matter of minutes. You’re still on break, thankfully, so you ease the breakroom door open and out you walk. Bailey’s nails dig into your shoulder and you have half a mind to pull her down but as you make your way to the front. In walks her daddy and he looks positively mad.

“I have her can of salmon.” You try to say as he barrels down your way. He must’ve come from the gym instead with that compression shirt of his. Goddamn, the size of his arms and his fitted shirt leaves little to the imagination of how strong he is. “She was chasing a bug in a bush.”

“Should’ve let her starve.” He says, rather harshly despite the fact that you know he’d never harm her like that. “Bailey.” There’s a command out his throat and you, unfortunately, stand a little taller. Bailey’s ears perk up and he steps close enough that you can smell his musk. She leaps from your shoulder to his and you’d take a picture of how adorable they look but he’s glaring too much.

“They’re curious creatures,” you try to say for her sake. “She probably got out when you left.”

He grunts and Bailey is rubbing to the best of her ability against his masked face. The familiar black that you hope he didn’t wear while working out. His hair looks more buzzed than you remember, maybe he shaved it a bit ago.

“She probably forced her way out of her car patio.” He mutters under his breath. “Stupid girl,” he finally pets her. “Won’t let you out till it’s fixed. You’re grounded.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, he sounds like a dad scolding a teen. Well.. Bailey’s probably a teen now. “I’m glad I found her first.”

“As am I,” he tilts his head down. A flex of his hand again when he looks at you. Your cheeks warm and you tuck your hair behind your ears.

“I uh…” you clearly your throat, “I gotta get back to work.” You step back from him and something flashes in those brown eyes of his. You’ve never been able to tell just what though. “See you,” you swallow a bit, “Simon.”

#lolowrites #in between moments #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost and his cat #and his cashier #wink wink wink #thank you for the ask!#i love you

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earpskeeper · 26 days ago

Text

Leaving London felt like breathing for the first time in months.

You leaned your head against the train window as the city blurred past, the weight of Arsenal’s crest finally peeling off your chest. For now, anyway. No more shared glances in the hallway at London Colney. No more questions about your grief or your family. No more being referred to as ‘mini mead’ or ‘Beth’s little sister’.

This loan was your shot. Your own pitch, your own squad, your own story. It wasn’t glamorous, rather the opposite. A struggling club in desperate need of cover after a spate of injuries, but it was yours. You could play ninety minutes without being compared to someone else. Without the ghost of England’s golden girl shadowing every touch.

You exhaled, eyes drifting to the half-empty carriage, to your phone screen lighting up with Beth’s name for the third time that hour. You let it go to voicemail again. The texts could wait.

You’ll smash it, Bubs. Just keep your head down and work hard. Proud of you.

Beth meant well. She always had. But ever since Mum died, her ‘love’ felt more like surveillance. Like a full-time job trying to prove you were fine. That she could stand on her own two feet and fulfil the mum role in the family now.

You tightened the grip on the handle of your kitbag, trying to shake the thought. That was London. That was grief. This was something else. This was the start of your real career.

You had talent, you knew that. You just needed minutes, space, and someone willing to let her be. At your best, you could make defenders look stupid, slice through the midfield like it was nothing.

The training ground smelled like damp grass and petrol fumes.

You stepped off the minibus the club had sent, your boots slung over one shoulder, her duffel bouncing against her hip. It was all a bit sad. The pitch was uneven, the gym barely more than a converted storage room, and the physio table looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Euros.

But you kept your chin up, shoulders square. First impressions mattered.

The manager, a wiry man with deep-set eyes and a permanent frown, gave you a quick nod as he pointed toward the changing rooms.

"You're starting Sunday. Left wingback. Don’t need you flashy, just need you fit. That alright?"

Though you knew it was not a question you could refuse, so instead you forced a smile. "More than alright."

He didn't ask about your fitness history. Just turned and walked away. You watched him go, the nerves in your stomach twisting, not from doubt, but something colder. A flicker of knowing.

They weren’t here to look after you. They were here to use you, but somehow you didn’t seem to care as much as you should.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of iced joints and tired smiles. You played every minute, made every sprint, even when your body screamed at you to slow down. The club doctor handed out painkillers like mints, didn’t ask questions when you winced putting on your boots, and barely blinked when your post match urine test showed signs of dehydration and a bit too much alcohol.

“Stress relief?” he’d ask, too casually, and you would just shrug before replying. “Something like that.”

The pills helped. At least enough to train. And at night, when the adrenaline wore off and her knee pulsed with fire, the drink helped more.

The loneliness, you didn’t talk about. The growing ache in your body, you ignored. The way the doctor’s hand sometimes lingered too long during treatment, you forced into a corner of your mind and locked it up tight.

You were playing. That was what mattered. You were scoring, assisting, making headlines - Bailey Mead shines on debut, loan youngster rescues point with late equaliser. For the first time, they were using your name, not Beth’s.

So when the stiffness in your knee got worse, you didn’t say anything. When the bruises didn’t fade, you covered them. When your body stopped feeling like her own, you told herself that this was what pushing through looked like.

You’d come here to be more than a shadow.

You just hadn’t expected it to cost this much.

The morning it finally happened, it didn’t come with a bang. Just a gentle shift.

A missed step in training. A sudden crack of pain through your knee like someone had taken a crowbar to the joint. You dropped to the turf, breath caught in your throat, vision spinning as the world tilted off its axis. For a moment, no one moved. Then shouting. Whistles. Hands touching you everywhere.

You waved them off.

“I’m fine,” you lied, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood.

The manager didn’t look convinced, but the doctor gave a slow, tight-lipped nod. “Rest tonight. Ice. I’ll give you something stronger to get through tomorrow.”

No scan. No second opinion. Just another pill shoved into your palm, no questions asked, and you swallowed it dry.

That night, the pain was unbearable. So you drank until it dulled, just like you always did. One glass turned into two. Two into four. You woke on the sofa, aching and disoriented, the TV blaring some late-night rerun, your phone buzzing nonstop on the table.

Five missed calls. Three from Leah and two from Beth.

You blinked, confused. Then remembered, England’s youth camp was next month. They were checking in.

Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t go back like this.

You couldn’t let them see you like this.

So you replied with a thumbs-up, a white lie, and took another pill.

Beth didn’t think much of it, not at first.

You’d always been a little moody. Hot and cold. Independent to a fault. She figured the space was probably good for both of you, maybe even overdue. And with the chaos that followed Mum’s passing, she had enough on her plate.

She was too busy sorting through various forms, trying to get Dad to eat something that wasn’t toast, remembering to cancel Mum’s old prescriptions, and chasing her own form after training to prove she was still sharp enough for selection.

Everyone grieved differently. That’s what people kept saying. Maybe this was just how you did it - away from home and away from her.

Still, Leah noticed.

It started with the little things. At first, nothing she could put her finger on. Just… changes.

You stopped replying in the group chat. Missed a couple of voice notes. Posted to Instagram but left Leah on read. When you did reply, the tone was clipped. Flat. Off.

Then came the matchday footage. A grainy stream Leah had half-watched on her phone during the car ride to St. George’s for camp. Your team got battered, but you looked good, technically sharp, decisive in possession. And yet…

Something wasn’t right.

You flinched after contact. Backed away from a challenge you’d normally snap into. Sat on the floor for longer than necessary after a foul. It was subtle - enough that most people wouldn’t catch it - but Leah did.

And the eyes.

Your eyes were empty.

So, she brought it up.

Beth had just sat down with her dinner at SGP when Leah sat down beside her and dropped the comment, casual but deliberate.

"Bailey okay?"

Beth didn’t even look up. “She’s nineteen, on her first loan and just being a little shit.”

Leah frowned. “I mean… maybe. But she’s not replying to me. She looked off in her last game.”

Beth let out a breath through her nose. “Leah, you’re overthinking it. She’s fine. Just finding her feet. She wanted to leave, remember?”

“She looks like she’s in pain.”

“She’s just dramatic.”

Leah’s eyes narrowed. “Beth…”

“Leah, I appreciate it, but I think I know my sister.”

And that was the end of it. At least, for then.

Leah didn’t push, but something in her expression lingered, concern etched just beneath the surface.

Leah didn’t let it go. Not really.

She sat with it, chewed on it during warm-ups and quiet moments in camp. Her gut wouldn’t settle. Something about the way Beth had brushed it off didn’t sit right - too quick, too defensive. It wasn’t like her. Not when it came to you.

So a few days later, she tried again.

She pulled up the old match footage on her ipad in the players’ lounge, the screen propped against her knee. She watched you chase down a loose ball, win it cleanly, then limp three steps before forcing yourself upright like nothing had happened.

Leah zoomed in on the way your left knee buckled ever so slightly every time you pivoted.

She didn’t imagine that.

Still, she didn’t send it to Beth. Not yet. She knew how it would go - another brush off, another tight smile, another ‘she’s just pushing herself’.

And maybe that was true. Maybe it was nothing. But she also knew what it looked like when someone was barely holding it together, and your eyes in that post-match interview, the ones that darted everywhere but the camera, looked too familiar.

She’d seen it before. In herself. In teammates. In friends who waited too long to say, “I’m not okay.”

You barely remembered the last time you didn’t feel like a zombie.

Not because of the pain, though it was always there, but because everything was starting to blend. The pills took the edge off, but they also blurred the world around you. Made everything feel ten seconds slower.

Like you were watching yourself play from somewhere outside your body.

It was an end of training 7 aside game when you had scored, again. A cut-in from the flank and a low drive to the far post. They’d cheered. Your teammates had swarmed you. The manager gave a rare thumbs-up from the sideline.

But you couldn’t feel it. Not really.

Your body hurt, your head buzzed, and all you wanted was for the noise to stop.

After training, the physio slapped some tape on your knee and told you to be smart. You nodded like you understood what that meant, then downed two more pills in the changing room when no one was looking.

Back in the flat, you cracked a beer to chase them. Then another.

Then something stronger.

When Leah finally confronted Beth again, it wasn’t calm this time.

They were walking back from a team meeting at SGP, the sun already setting, boots slung over their shoulders.

“She’s not just being dramatic, Beth.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jesus, are we still on this?”

“She’s injured,” Leah said flatly. “And hiding it. I’ve seen it before. She’s playing through something. Could be serious.”

“She’d tell me if it was.”

“Would she? When was the last time you had a proper conversation huh? When was the last time where she messaged you at a normal time of the day? I know you are busy taking care of everything but she is struggling too, and she doesn’t want to be a burden on top of your dad.”

Beth froze.

Leah knew immediately she’d hit too hard, but she didn’t back down.

“She’s slipping, Beth,” Leah said, voice quieter now. “I can see it. You might not want to, but I can.”

Beth looked away, jaw clenched. “I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“I know,” Leah replied. “But she’s your little sister. And she’s barely holding on.”

Beth didn’t respond. Just walked ahead, stiff-shouldered, like she could outrun the truth.

But later that night, she scrolled back through your messages. Looked at the gaps between your replies. The times of the texts - 2:41am. 3:56am. A photo from training with eyes that looked bright but vacant. A video from your last match with a wince she’d missed before.

And her stomach dropped.

She wasn’t sure when she’d started mistaking distance for independence.

But she was starting to realise, maybe she didn’t know you half as well as she thought.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #earpskeeper #beth mead x reader #leah williamson x reader

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scarletriddles · 8 months ago

Text

Lost in the fire ˚༄ | S.R

↳ in which the team’s newest case puts your life in jeopardy, at your own accord.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: angst, sprinkle of fluff

warnings: general cm gore/case discussion, fire/arson, injuries related to fire, swearing, references to religion + greek mythology, friends to…? (they’re in la-la-la-love, your honour), some possible inaccuracies (sorry!), small jemily mention because lesbian rights, hopeful ending, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, second person narrative.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: my first ever fic i’m very nervy🫣i’m not expecting this to gain any sort of traction, but lmk how you find it, i suppose!

“Haley Bradstone, aged twenty-five, and Laura Kilmey, aged twenty-seven, are the most recent victims in a series of murders in Detroit, Michigan. Both victims were discovered four days apart, and only five miles away from each other, their bodies disposed of in black FIBC bulk bags that were left in trash-sites.” JJ pauses, her gaze flickering between the team, almost hesitant as her thumb circles the silver remote. But, with a clearing of her throat, she continues. “Cause of death for both victims has been ruled asphyxiation…by smoke inhalation.”

You abruptly halt toying with the frayed edges of the case file, your eyebrows shooting up and head lifting to look at her, and then also at the rest of the team - who look just as bewildered.

“Sorry, did you just say smoke inhalation?” You ask, genuine confusion weighing down your tone.

JJ nods, her expression dismayed as she eyes the two beaming faces displayed on the board. “Yes, as laid out in the case files, high levels of carbon monoxide, hydrogen cyanide and hydrogen sulphide were found in both victim’s lungs. The coroner also noted soot around the victim’s faces, and TBSA burns, all of which are synonymous with death via smoke inhalation.”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning is actually the leading cause of death in smoke inhalation - causing approximately 2,100 deaths in the U.S each year.” Spencer adds, followed by his familiar flat smile, which he usually does when he doesn’t know what to do with his face - which happens to be always.

You blink, with a slight quirk to your lips, despite the circumstances. Trust your good doctor to know just about everything.

“Were there reports of any fires around the general area?” Hotch pipes up, his face set in his usual stony expression, though his eyes betray his pensiveness.

JJ shakes her head, adjusting her stance. “No, which is what makes this stranger. The DPD reported no calls about any sort of fire on the days our victims were killed.”

“What? So our unsub just…lit a bunch of fires in plain sight?” Derek questions, with a flick of his brow, his gaze alternating between the board and the manilla folder in his grasp.

You huff, turning to face him with a slight smile, musing. “Must be one hell of a magician.”

Derek smirks in general bemusement, his dark eyes swirled with mirth, his tone light as a feather as he shifts in his scratchy office chair. “Looks like it, lil mama.”

Ever the smooth talker.

“Or, he could be using a secondary location.” Emily chimes in, her narrow-eyed gaze set firm on the file in front of her, her slender fingers fiddling with a bullet-point pen, and her lips contorted into a reflective pout.

“That’s plausible, but you’d think at least someone would notice.” Rossi adds, with a slight huff of incredulity, his calculating gaze sweeping across the entire room before him.

The two smiling faces are quickly joined by two more, both just as radiant, both just as nausea-inducing. Those poor girls.

“We don’t know for sure. But, the most recent victims join twenty-eight year old Sarah Holloway, and twenty-two year old Jessica Bailey. Who, similarly, were found four days apart, five miles away from each other and dumped in black FIBC bags, also ruled dead via asphyxiation. However, Sarah and Jessica’s dumpsites were around 14 miles away from Haley and Laura’s.” JJ purses her lips faintly, eyes still fixated on the crime scene photographs of four similar looking women who didn’t even live properly yet, robbed of the chance to, just like Poseidon robbed Medusa of her autonomy, on the marble steps of her deity’s temple. The thought alone just worsens the crease between her brows.

“four victims…why are they only just asking for our help, now?” Spencer ponders, features frozen in contemplativeness. His fingers sweep up to push his black-rimmed frames back to their previous position on the bridge of his nose.

God, you love his glasses.

JJ’s face morphs into a faint grimace, as she replies in a reluctant tone. “Unfortunately, the media managed to connect the dots on this one, they’re dubbing our unsub ‘the smoke-killer.’ But, the DPD really needs our help with this.”

You sigh, eyes trained on the gruesome imagery displayed on the silver screen. No matter how long you’ve been with the BAU, the violence never quite gets bearable for you, though you can’t bring yourself to look away - like witnessing a car-crash. You understand the psychology behind it, shock rooting the human body in place as the brain tries to comprehend that what it’s processing is real.

But, guilt still flows around in your system like the Noachian flood. Maybe, if you thought about it hard enough, you’d feel the ark bashing against your innards as it tries to navigate the brutal waves.

You suppose the violence doesn’t get easier for the team, either. Perhaps that’s what keeps you all tethered to each other, bonded. After all, the Greeks did beat the Trojans in unity - and disguised as a large, ligneous horse, but you digress.

Hotch nods, solemnly. “Alright, we can discuss further on the jet. Wheels up in 20.” And with that, he abruptly stands up, striding out of the room with a sureness in his step that only he could possess, effectively putting an end to the briefing.

The screen then goes dark, the car-crash finally being attended to. The sounds of chairs scraping across the frizzled navy carpeted floor and paper rustling bounces around the small space, as everyone heads out and into the bullpen, all but the exception of spencer, who remains seated, brooding over his manilla file as though he’s a modern day Thomas Aquinas. always thinking. You muse to yourself, though your eyebrow still raises in question nonetheless.

“Reid, you coming?” You probe gently, standing in the doorway with a faint grin. Your eyes flickering like fairy-lights all around his hunched-over frame.

Spencer startles slightly, craning his head up from the file and over to you - a rosy hue creeping up the nape of his neck from the sight of you alone. He swallows, standing up suddenly, and pushing his chair out with his hip, as he breathes out. “Uh, yea-yeah i’m…i’m coming.” He collects his things quickly, scrunching up his case file as he slings his satchel over his shoulder. Though, it doesn’t really matter, he’s already memorised it from start to finish. Eidetic memory and all.

He flashes you his signature flat smile once again, as his muddy hues rake over your appearance. You look pretty today, well he thinks you always look pretty, but today especially. Your hair swishes around your face in wisps like cotton-candy, your frame adorned in your usual grey fitted slacks, paired with a pink striped puff sleeved button down and black leather boots.

He believes you’re the personification of an angel, and with the way the abnormally-harsh office lighting is dancing around your hair in a nimbus-like manner, he’s probably right.

“C’mon then doctor genius, we have an hour long flight to catch.” Your voice rolling out with a teasing lilt, a subtle smile curled around the edges of your glossed lips.

Spencer usually loathes being referred to as a genius, namely because it’s said with such obvious sneer and condescension, like he’s an abnormal form, like he’s still that twelve-year-old high schooler. But, you never say it with thinly-veiled disgust, no, you say it with such reverence- like it’s something to be admired.

Yeah, angel.

He mirrors your smile, eyes soft and starry eyed as he follows you out of the room. “one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 seconds.” He corrects softly, always keen for specifics, his satchel smashing against his upper-thigh periodically as he walks beside you.

You huff in amusement, rolling your eyes in jest. “Right. My bad, one-hour, 19 minutes and 45 second long flight.” Your head tilts up slightly to look up at him, your irises dipped in unsubtle gaiety,

Spencer lets out a huffy laugh of his own, shaking his head in amusement. He loved when you teased him, though he’d never admit that. At least, not to you anyway.

“Oh, forgive me for being specific.” He sounds out, airily, like a dish-soap bubble crafted by small exploring hands, as he places his own ridiculously large palm on his chest in mock-offence.

“more like particular.” You reply, just as you reach your desk, in faux-annoyance, the curl of your lips betraying that fact.

Spencer puffs out another slight laugh in response, as he leans against the edge of your desk, watching you comb through it. His gaze doesn’t settle, darting around the array of trinkets and just general stuff aligning the glossy oak, including the multiple pots of bright pens - some looking vaguely like the ones he’s seen scattered around Penelope’s ‘bat-cave’ - and even a stick-figure drawing of him scribbled onto a canary yellow sticky-note, featuring overly large glasses and converse, which are more akin to clown shoes, alongside an equally as dramatised stick-figure version of Morgan, complete with a badly scrawled out six pack and huge biceps.

He feels a warmth blossom in his chest as looks over the cluttered space. It’s just so irrevocably you.

“particular or not, i still believe everything-“ He begins.

“-everything should be accurate, wherever possible” You mock affectionately, with a barely hidden smirk, still rooting through your things like a squirrel digging for an acorn.

A slight pout forms on his face, bordering on more petulant than anything. “How’d you even know I was going to say that?”

A faint effervescent giggle slips past your lips, your head still firmly pulled down, as your hands continue their wandering through your desk drawers. “ ‘Cause you’ve said that line at least a dozen times now, doc.” You drawl out, still grinning to yourself.

He wants that sound to be his morning alarm.

He rolls his eyes, only half-seriously, a smile lighting the corners of his mouth up like a vegas ‘welcome’ sign. “I have not said that a dozen times!” He huffs out, with a shake of his head at the injustice of it all, his dark curls springing with the movement.

You just smile, continuing to rifle through your desk before you locate what you were looking for, quickly straightening up and collecting the rest of your things before turning to him.

“Well, I’m all set doctor, lead the way.”

“Is that just so you don’t get lost again?” he replies, with an overt teasing twinkle.

You groan, blowing out like a whistle “that was one time! i was still new, and the hallways are confusing!”

He just bellows out a laugh, pushing up off the edge of your desk and beginning to walk - more like stride - his way to the elevators. You in tow, but just barely. His legs are way too long.

“I can put a sign on my back that says, ‘follow me’, if needs be.” He throws behind his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up!” You bark out, not really with any bite. Never with him.

It had been about three days since you landed in Detroit, Michigan. Most of that time being spent cramped up in the tiny makeshift office curated for the team, downing copious amounts of coffee, reading files until the backs of your eyes burned and dodging the borderline leering looks from the mid 40-year-old, beer gut endowed cops.

In other words, it was hell.

The team had made some progress, though. Narrowing down the profile to a white male in his early to mid thirties, who works a menial job, of average height and build, and who clearly dislikes women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow down the ‘Where’s Waldo’ search by much. But still, you really just couldn’t shake the obvious question…

Why go through all the trouble of burning these women, but not completely, just to dump their bodies?

And it seemed that question floated around the backs of everyone else’s mind, too. It was bizarre, to say the least.

Currently, the team is all stuffed in said aforementioned makeshift office space, like sardines in a can, no less. Emily and JJ sat at the table together, as usual, Derek propped up against the wall, Hotch and Rossi stood brooding in the corner of the room, quietly discussing something between themselves, leaving you and Spencer situated in front of the board, where the geographical profile is mapped out.

“He’s operating within a 20 mile radius, dumping the bodies within an area he’s comfortable in. He’s either going to strike here.” Spencer points to a spot on the map with his finger, tapping against it slightly before dragging it across and towards another spot, “or here.” His features were swamped in pondering thought, his honeyed gaze encompassing the sight in front of him.

“Yeah, but i still don’t understand why he’d go through all the trouble of burning them till they die from smoke inhalation, and then discarding the bodies. jus’ seems a lil’ pointless t’ me” Morgan drawls out, his stance wide and his arms folded, one of his hands resting on his chin.

“well ain’t that the million dollar question.” You reply, with a sigh lathered in perplexity, your arms folded in a similar manner, but with one of your hands rubbing up the side of your arm, in a absentminded fashion.

“Morgan’s right, it doesn’t make any sense.” Hotch pauses slightly, contemplating - like everybody else in the room. His dark eyebrows stitched together, and his lips set in a taut frown.

“None of it makes sense, i mean, even the dumping method, why bulk bags and not just plain ol’ trash bags?” Emily questions, sitting back in her seat with an exhale, her legs crossed with her boot-clad foot tapping against one of the legs of the rickety table.

You blink, a thought coming to you at her question. “Theres a Hardware store in the middle of town, right?” You throw out, hands stuffed into the pockets of your black slacks.

Hotch’s brows furrow, as he regards you. “Yes, why?” He says simply, almost curiously.

You shrug, “so then he’d probably be getting the bulk bags from there, since it’s easily accessible.”

Everyone goes silent at your question, seemingly mulling it over, before Morgan responds.

“If so, why wouldn’t he just buy trash bags?” He says, with a cock of his brow.

“Because he wants the victims to be found.” Spencer states, plainly, piling onto your train of thought and rocking back and forth on his heels, as his tongue darts out, swiping his slightly dry bottom lip.

“Think about it, a bulk bag is much more conspicuous than a simple trash bag, he wants his handiwork to be seen - maybe not right away, but he knows at least one person would find the presence of a large plastic bag near a dumpster to be…alarming, whereas no one would bat an eye at seeing a trash bag. Same goes for his M.O, he most likely has some sort of access to an incinerator, perhaps due to his job, which allows him to discreetly ‘burn’ his victims, before dumping them in a way which derives notice.”

His hands flail around wildly as he talks, an endearing habit that makes it seem like he’s so excited to talk about what he’s discussing that, at the minimum, one part of his body has to move with the speed of his mouth.

You smile - more of a secret thing, really, just for yourself - you love listening to that man talk. It’s the eighth wonder of the world, to you.

Everyone nods, the notion seemingly settling into their psyche without much problem, as logically, it did make sense.

“If thats the case, then we have a problem.” Rossi scratches the side of his jaw lightly, his head tilted and his bronze hues directed at the table.

Emily raises her brow, in clear need of clarification. “What problem?” She murmurs out, her head cocked to the side, questioningly.

“We have an unsub who wants attention, and will stop at nothing to get it.” Hotch adds on, sharing a brief glance with Rossi, his expression more grave than usual, before he fishes out his phone, dialling a number and setting the onyx Nokia down onto the table. “Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

“Hello, my favourite crime-fighters! To what do i owe the pleasure?” The shrill cheery voice of Penelope Garcia rings out, immediately bringing a small smile to your face. She really was like bathing in sunshine.

“We were wondering if you could take a look at a hardware store’s sales within the last month, more specifically of FIBEC bulk bags.” Hotch drags out, his arms still folded and his face betraying nothing but his usual stoicism.

“Oh, that i can do upside down with my hands tied, sir! just…one…second.” Penelope’s voice hauls out, followed by the rapid clinking of keyboard keys. “What’s the name of the store?” She asks, her tone focused.

“Sally’s Shack” Hotch replies, his tone equally levelled.

After a few moments, and a lot more keyboard clicking, Penelope finally pipes up again. “Ah-hah! so, it appears that our shack in question has sold six FIBEC bulk bags within the last month, all to the same buyer - well, at least the same credit card was used, ending in 4678.”

Hotch looks visibly taken aback slightly, before he asks “Can you get a name, Garcia?”

“Already on it, sir.” Penelope replies, with her usual peachy tone.

A tense silence follows, only sporadically broken by the clickity-clack of Penelope’s rainbow pastel keyboard. Then, she pipes up again.

“Okay…looks like the card belongs to a 33-year-old, Mr. Eugene Humphrey, who currently works at…” Her words trail off, obvious hesitance behind them “…burns funeral home and crematory, and owns a residence just in the middle of town.”

Everybody seems to pause, then. He matches the profile - Mid thirties, works a menial job which would give him access to a ‘discreet’ burning method and just so happened to purchase the same material used by the unsub, whilst also owning his own property not too far away from the hardware store in which the material was purchased…yeah that can’t be a simple coincidence.

“Pen, does he have a criminal record of any kind?” Your voice floats out, drifting through the confined space like Thumbelina on her shamrock lily-pad.

“I will have a looksie for you now, my sweet sugar muffin, just hang on one second-“ Penelope cuts herself off as her fingers begin their ministrations again, the keyboard rumbling with every tap, a smile edging on your face at the absurd term of endearment.

“Alright…looks like our guy spent six months in juvenile detention when he was sixteen for lighting his girlfriend’s car on fire, claimed he caught her cheating on him with his best friend, youch!”

You can practically see the cogs turning in your teammates heads, looks like you got your guy.

“Okay, thats good garcia, could you-“

“-send his information over? already done, sir.” promptly interrupting the low voice of your unit chief, in a way that is so Penelope, that he can’t really object.

“Thank you Garcia, We appreciate it” Hotch replies in his typical authoritative tone.

“You’re welcome, my gorgeous gods and goddesses, now go and save lives.” Penelope chirps out, swinging on her swanky desk chair, her hands now preoccupied with a bright pink fluffy pen.

“You’re the best, babygirl.” Morgan calls out, his tone suave and a smirk illuminating his features.

Penelope lets out a giggle, replying in her token-teasing articulation. “Only for you, my chocolate thunder, now ta-ta!” Her sing-songy voice sounds out with finality, before the line drops, indicating that she ended the call.

“Alright, everyone, looks like we’re scoping a funeral home. I’ll go inform the captain, and i need all of you to gear up, as a cautionary, is that clear?” Hotch demands, his gaze expectant.

resounding murmurs of “yes” fill out the area, to which the dark-haired agent replies to with a curt nod, before swiftly exiting the room.

You let out a breath, turning to the rest of the team with a faintly reluctant expression. “Let’s get this show on the road then, guys.”

Morgan flashes an easy smile, coming up behind Spencer and clapping him on the shoulder, his smooth voice infused with teasing. “You heard her, pretty boy, let’s get moving.”

Spencer has to resist an eye-roll, his cheeks immediately flushing raspberry red, whereas you just let out a small confused laugh - clearly not in on whatever inside joke that seems to be playing out - turning on your heel and prancing out of the room, leaving the two of them to squabble like 10-year-old brothers.

Though, on your way out, you swear you saw Emily squeeze JJ’s hand underneath the table…

Something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

You don’t know how - hell, nobody on the team knows how, but Humphrey somehow found out you were coming. He might’ve gotten some frustratingly accurate in-tell, or maybe he just… knew. After all, bad news attracts bad news, right? And being arrested for the murders of four women sure seems like pretty bad news. Or maybe he was a paranoid fuck. Either thought seems plausible, but currently pointless.

Ironically, Burn’s Funeral Home and Crematory, was well…burning. The two-story high foundation, which you’re guessing was once a depressing waxen colour, is now engulfed in orange. Bright, blazing orange, and for a moment, you almost believe the sun crash-landed onto earth.

The ignited shades dance across your features , making you look like you’re almost glowing. You hear Morgan let out a few curses, and Emily mutter something eerily close to “Oh my God” under her breath. But, the rest of you remain silent, devoid of speech, heads lifted up and staring at the fiery wreckage. Drawn in, entranced.

You can’t pull your eyes away, Not even when Hotch snaps out of his own silent gazing and begins to talk around you, shooting out instructions like darts to your co-workers. Well, until you hear a fire-man trudge past you, in full PPE and carrying a winding anaconda-like hose, writhing along the gravelled floor with each step he takes, similar orders being barked out of his mouth to his team-mates. But, that isn’t what grabs your attention, it’s the information coming from his radio.

A mother and her child are stuck in there, apparently looking for a casket for her husband before the building went up in flames, and they aren’t even going to attempt to save them - something about the fire being “too large, too risky.”

A mother and her child. Her 8-year-old little girl who just lost her father, and now is going to lose her own life, trapped in a scorching maze.

Not on your watch.

You will not, cannot, let this sick bastard take another girl’s life.

Your legs move before your brain even has time to catch-up, darting straight past multiple fire personnel who all try to stop you, but you dodge each one. Not even the sounds of the team shouting your name halts you, your figure retreating straight into the raging inferno.

What’s that saying? Moth to a flame?

Well, consider the molten-structure your flame. Because you won’t stop, will not stop, not until the mother and her daughter are out. Safe.

Either way, God appeared before Moses in the form of a fiery bramble. And maybe, he was doing it again, instead for their freedom, not yours or a 120-year-old man’s. You were getting them out of this desert, even if there were no miles of grainy-sand and the occasional tumbleweed, but instead hot, piercing, smouldering heat.

Spencer’s astute brain doesn’t take long to register what the hell you are doing. And, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so panicked. He practically screeches your name, moving to go after you, but with no such luck as Morgan and Hotch hold him back. But he fights, and he fights harder than he’s ever had in his life, because this is you.

“Let me go! she’s in there! you can’t just let her go in there!” He shrieks, every word sharpened with utter desperation.

Neither Morgan’s nor Hotch’s replies to his incessant wailing actually penetrates his mind. He feels like he’s underwater, succumbing to the depths of the Mariana Trench, fading black and blue.

The water freezes over the longer you’re in there. Trapped in that dismal, enflamed formation. He feels sick, but he knows spilling his stomach content won’t provide any relief, it’s a sickness that’s lodged itself into his bones, into his very being. He wonders if this is what the Woolly Mammoths felt like during the first coming of the glacial-period, just observing as they, one-by-one, all perished to the frost.

He can’t have lost you. Not before he-

…Not before he could tell you that you’re his first thought when he wakes up, and his last before he surrenders himself to the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

No, this can’t be it. He refuses, he downright rejects the thought.

He just stares, and stares at the lit up property, his whole entity screaming for you to just make it. His mind and mouth spinning prayers to god’s he doesn’t even believe in because if there was any chance of that turning the cards in your favour, then he’s taking it and holding on tight.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. Time is a fickle thing, always stretching and compressing back together again depending on someone’s emotions. But, that philosophy does nothing to distract him from the ache. Because a life without you in it, he grasps, isn’t a life at all. Not one that he wants to live, anyway.

Two soot-covered frames emerge from the fiery entrance, immediately being swept away by fire-personnel for medical treatment. And his heart stops, until he realises you aren’t either of those coughing figures.

Where are you? Why aren’t you coming out?

Time seems to stretch again, expanding like a black-hole over his fitful, beating heart. Ready to consume, ravage. But, maybe, that would be an act of mercy, anything would be an act of mercy compared to the waiting. Agonising, hoping and waiting.

Then…a third figure finally bursts out of the flames. He’s seen that mop of hair before, he knows that hair. Even at a fair distance, hunched over and simultaneously gasping for air and hacking your lungs up, tousled, with skin embedded in ash, You’re beautiful and you’re alive.

You’re alive.

He pushes his body forward and he runs, he sprints and goes to you. And this time, Hotch and Morgan let him.

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auroracalisto · 7 months ago

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secrets and scars

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 847 words summary: the reader has been scarred for some time now. fiyero discovers them and does something rather... unexpected. a/n: idk what this is. but like... yeah. hope it makes sense. i was gonna queue this and save it for later but i’m gonna go ahead and post it. i have a few queued posts for jonathan bailey characters in the coming weeks so. i’ll try to feed you all for the holidays. ♡ tw: reader has scars? no direct mention of where they are but it could be triggering. slight reference to sexual content, reader is naked for a hot minute but nothing graphic happens. you'll understand when you read.

Scars. They littered your body, an unfortunate reminder of the past you barely escaped. It was as if your body didn't want you to forget.

You wished you could.

You're lost in your thoughts in one of the many archways of Shiz University, staring out at the blue sky above. Your fingers itch to touch your scars—to scratch, to peel them away. You didn't want the reminder of who you once were. You didn't want the reminder of what once happened to you.

In all of Oz, you'd give anything to be able to erase your scars.

Anything.

It's a flurry of a night—confusing all around, and then somehow, Fiyero ends up in your dorm, kissing you, touching you, and by the love of Oz, how is he so quick with your clothing?

But before you can stop him, panic-stricken, he sees them. Your scars.

He's silent, wide eyed as he looked at them, lips parted as his eyes flicker from each mark on your skin.

He licked his lips a bit nervously, glancing up at you.

"You—are—" he stopped himself, seeing the panicked look on your face. "Oh, Y/n," he breathed out, moving to sit beside of you on your bed. He gently pressed a hand to the side of your face. "I'm sorry. I should have asked."

You slowly shook your head. "No. No, it's okay, I just—just didn't expect you to move so quickly. You, uh—"

"Surprised you, hm?" he softly asked. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he found his voice once more. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes fall to your scars, and you can tell he wants to ask you questions—how you got them, what happened, how long ago it happened.

Instead, he says something that takes you by surprise (because of course he did—Fiyero was filled with surprises, was he not?).

"They are beautiful."

"What?"

"Your scars."

You're silent for a moment. "My... my scars? Are beautiful?"

He smiled softly at you, taking ahold of your hand. He looked into your eyes. "Yes. Your scars are beautiful," he softly said. "I won't ask you about them. You can tell me when you decide you are ready, if you ever are."

Your eyes soften as you admire him from your spot on the bed. You feel so exposed—naked to the man not only physically but also emotionally. It was an odd feeling. A... welcomed feeling.

"May I touch them?" Fiyero softly asked.

"My scars?" you questioned for what seemed the hundreth time in the past few minutes.

"Yes. Your scars."

"You want to touch them?"

Fiyero looked at you, an incredulous look on his face. "Yes, Y/n. You can say no, it's quite alright. My feelings will not be hurt if you say no."

You watched him, swallowing nervously. "You... you're so odd," you softly said.

He snorted softly, a smile embracing his features. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

"Only for you."

You gave a small nod in return, and watched as he moved down the bed, focusing on the part of your body with your scars. His eyes flicker up to yours and he pressed a soft kiss to the puckered skin.

"Only for you," he repeated.

You feel flustered more than anything, looking away from him and his beautiful brown eyes.

How odd, indeed.

"I... I don't like them," you softly said.

"You do not like your scars?" he softly asked, a finger gently brushing against one of them. "Did something—"

"—I'll tell you. One day. Just..."

"Of course," he said. "I understand. But... Y/n, I meant what I said. They are beautiful."

You pursed your lips.

"They show how much strength you've had to survive, Y/n," he said, leaning forward and letting his lips connect with yours. "They're beautiful because they show me you've had to be brave. To be courageous in the face of such disaster. Your scars may be something you do not like, but do not wish them away."

You don't look at him, but you do not push him away.

"I do not know how you got them," he said, "and I am so sorry if what happened to you was... well, unsavory. But... they show such strength, Y/n."

"Strength is ridiculous and you know it," you muttered. You just want to rebuke his statement, as sweet as it may be.

He pecked your lips again.

"Perhaps that's not the best way to describe what it is, but I can't think of what would be better," he said. "This brain of mine doesn't want to work when the most beautiful person in all of Oz is letting me see their secrets."

Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked up at him, eyes softening.

"You are so odd," you repeated.

He snorted softly. "Yes. We've established this, Y/n. Thank you."

A smile quirked on your lips and you gently grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss.

"You're welcome."

#fiyero #fiyero tigelaar #fiyero tiggular #wicked fiyero #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #fanfic #wicked #wicked x reader #wicked 2024 #wicked movie #wicked the movie #fiyero x reader #fiyero x gn!reader #jonathan bailey

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lxstxr · 17 days ago

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For Later

summary: You get flustered at Emily's interrogation tactics, and the team teases you mercilessly for it. Set in 16x05.

word count: 0.7k

tags: established relationship, fluff, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my first time posting anything on tumblr (I've been lurking for a few years, but never had the balls to post anything) so I apologize if the formatting is slightly off for whatever reason. enjoy!

You’ve seen Emily in her element before. You’ve watched her command press briefings, direct teams in the field, and analyze crime scenes like a chessboard. But nothing could have prepared you for this version of her you're watching in the interrogation room.

Behind the one-way glass, you stand nursing a stale cup of coffee as Emily walks slowly in front of the unsub. Her voice is low and controlled as she leans on the table, fingers splayed. “Benjamin, you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

The unsub visibly twitches. You do too, slightly choking on your coffee. Bailey blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

You clear your throat. “She’s leveraging a maternal dominance angle. Power dynamics. Very effective.”

Luke elbows you lightly. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” You elbow him back harder.

Inside, Emily keeps going, “My kid doesn’t like it, but whatever. Fuck him, you know?”

Bailey turns. “She has a kid?”

“No,” you and Luke both say, in sync.

The unsub smirks back at Emily. “That’s how you talk? About your son?”

She’s quick to respond. “That’s how you were spoken to, isn’t that right?”

Your jaw tightens. You’ve seen her in action before, but this is different. The control in her tone. The lean in her posture. The way her eyes lock onto his. You’ve heard that voice before, but never like this.

Luke whispers, “You’re sweating.”

“I am not.”

Benjamin begins to reveal details of the Sicarius case, stunning the room to silence. Inside, Emily keeps her cool. “You want to impress me? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Luke mutters, “There it is. The voice.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

With that, Benjamin Reeves delivered one final blow, “Whitfield County, Georgia. More buried treasure.”

Emily’s eyes flicker, just slightly. You feel like you need a cold shower.

Later, Emily enters the bullpen, cool as ever, paperwork in hand. The team is gathered around. You’re seated at your desk, pretending you weren’t turned into a puddle minutes earlier.

Luke stands, arms folded. “Nice work in there, Chief.”

JJ grins. “Yeah. ‘You’ve been a bad boy’ was definitely a first.”

Emily pulls a deep breath in through her nose.”Everyone heard about that already?” The team lets out a few chuckles, and you turn your eyes to the floor. “Well, I did what I needed to do, and it worked.”

“It worked on you, too,” Luke says, elbowing you. You shoot him a death glare.

Before you can fire back, your phone pings with a text from Penelope. “Heard about Prentiss’s mommy moment today. I can get you a copy of the recording. For later, just in case.” Your face turns beet red as you move to quickly flip the phone face down.

“Nothing.” You lunge. “Give it!”

Luke snatches the phone and reads it. “Oh my God.”

Emily, now curious, plucks the phone from his hand. She reads the text. Pauses. Then looks at you, smug. “For later, huh?” Your face is on fire, and the bullpen is howling.

You drop your head into your hands. “I hate all of you.”

Emily leans close, not even bothering to lower her voice. “Want me to recreate it for you?”

You groan. “You’re evil.”

She presses a kiss to the top of your head and smirks against your hair. “You love it.”

The bullpen is finally quiet. The team has trickled out one by one, with JJ and Luke heading to Georgia, and the teasing has dulled for now.

You stretch your legs out under your desk, still feeling the residual heat in your face. Emily leans back in a chair beside you, eyes closed for just a second, letting the chaos of the day slip off her shoulders. “I think Garcia’s actually going to send me that recording,” you say after a long pause.

Emily chuckles. “Make sure you label it educational material.”

You give her a sidelong glance. “I’m not going to escape this anytime soon, am I?”

She smirks, voice low and warm. “No, you’re not.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #divider by strangergraphics

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wlwoceaneyes · 1 month ago

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Lipstick Service Part 2 // Cassian

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader word count: 1390 k summary: It’s been a week since the mug incident, and Emily’s been teasing you ever since. Now, after a tough case, she calls you into her office. tag list: @cinnamongirlblogsworld A/N: Thanks for all the love on Part one <3 you totally made my week. Here's part two.

Part One

You can’t quite shake the feeling that Emily’s been teasing you ever since the mug incident, the way she’d taken a sip from the cup where your lipstick had left its mark, her eyes flickering with something unreadable just before she smiled. Since then, little moments have added up: a glance held a fraction too long, a subtle lick of her lips when she thought you weren’t watching, the slight tension in her hands whenever she gripped her glass a bit too tightly.

Emily now stands in front of the team, arms crossed, back straight. Her berry-colored blouse is slightly wrinkled, her black blazer buttoned up as if to hide that fact. Her silver hair glows dully under the ceiling lights, slightly disheveled, like she’d slept on the jet. But you know better. You’d been sitting across from her, watching the steady tap of her long fingers on her laptop keyboard keeping you wide awake. And maybe it wasn’t just the typing. Maybe it was the fleeting glances she kept stealing after catching you staring a little bit too long.

“Good work“, she says with a grateful nod to everyone.

You snap out of your thoughts with a shake of your head and focus on Emily’s knowing face. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, but her eyes, dark and unreadable, hold something else entirely. Perhaps a secret, still tucked away behind her steady gaze, waiting to be uncovered.

“Only because we acted quickly were we able to apprehend the suspect and save other women from any harm.” Emily’s fingers tap once against her arm, her posture stiffening slightly before she shifts her gaze. She looks tired. You all do.

The sleepless days, the endless hours spent chasing this guy, it’s written all over her. And on you, too. Your body feels like it might fold in on itself, your eyelids heavy, your brain two steps behind. Emily hides it well, not like Luke, who lets out a deep yawn. Not like Tara, who’s slumped against her desk or Rossi, on his eighth cup of coffee, which honestly has you a little concerned. Too much caffeine can’t be good. JJ had gone home an hour ago, Will and the kids shouldn’t have to wait any longer. Emily’s orders.

“I know it’s not ideal,” she adds, and you groan. “But Bailey wants the reports on his desk by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Tara mutters, rubbing her face. “How many hours have we been awake again?”

Luke makes a face and sinks into his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Emily says, her eyes flicking to yours. You don’t even have the strength to push back, sleepiness having a hold on you. “Orders from above. The sooner we finish, the sooner we go home. Let’s get to it.”

Tara straightens her shirt, moves quickly to her desk, unlocking her screen. You watch as Rossi drags himself up the stairs to his office, quietly closing the door behind him. Luke’s already typing, filling his report with details. And you? You’re still standing in the middle of the bullpen like your feet forgot how to move.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Concern flashes over Emily’s face, and for a brief second, her fingers brush your forearm. Warmth blooms beneath your skin, spreads to your cheeks.

“Yeah. Just tired,” you answer, fighting the blush, your gaze dropping to the floor just in case she sees it.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asks, her fingers trailing up from your arm to your shoulder, pressing gently. “Coffee? Something to eat?”

She’s always so careful with you. Always noticing, always offering, like she sees through you in ways no one else ever bothers to. You wish you knew what it meant, or if it meant anything at all.

“Sleep, maybe?” you blurt, before you lose the nerve. A smile tugs at the corner of Emily’s mouth as she steps a little closer. At once, you’re surrounded by her, her perfume rich and intimate: white gardenia and sandalwood. A scent your subconscious has already memorized.

“Who knows what you’d miss… if you went to sleep now,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet, laced with unspoken promises. When her eyes flick to your lips, your knees go weak.

You don’t trust your voice, so you clear your throat and glance around. “The upcoming paperwork, maybe?” you shoot back, raising a brow.

Emily lets out a soft laugh, amused, and turns to go. “Something like that,” she says, casting a look over her shoulder. “Get to work.”

You stumble back to your desk, limbs heavy, and drop into the chair. You stretch before unlocking your screen, eyes burning but blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Emily’s presence has rooted itself deep within you and refuses to let go. You’re exhausted, every part of you aching for sleep, but you don’t stop. Not yet. Not when she’s still in the room. So you focus, willing your hands to move, your brain to keep up, maybe it’s foolish, but some part of you still wants to impress her. Maybe always has.

Across the room, her heels strike the floor in that familiar, steady rhythm, until they don’t. Halfway to the exit, she stops. Her phone buzzes and she sighs quietly, but you catch it. “Bailey wants a short debrief. Of course, right now.” She runs a hand through her long hair, jaw tightening for just a second, irritation visible on her face.

Tara glances over the rim of her monitor, an apologetic expression on her face. “You just need some fresh makeup, Prentiss. You look tired.”

“Thanks, Tara,” Emily replies dryly, shrugging. “But my bag’s already in the car. This’ll have to do.”

Luke laughs quietly at the exchange and earns a pointed glare from your boss. There’s a beat of silence, then Emily turns, eyes locking on you.

“You always have some makeup in your drawer, don’t you, Y/N?” The question sends a shiver down your spine, her tone low and demanding. She doesn’t wait for an answer, seconds later, she’s already heading toward her office, glancing back when you don’t immediately follow. “You coming?”

Puzzled, you grab your toiletry bag and follow her up the stairs. You don’t miss the knowing glances exchanged between Tara and Luke, or the way they try and fail to hide their smirks. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, your hands feel clammy, but you take a deep breath and slip through the door.

Once the door clicks shut behind you, Emily leans back against her desk, arms crossed, studying you. “Your lipstick,” she begins, her tongue briefly darting over her lips, “matches my blouse perfectly. Don’t you think?”

Heat floods your face, and you know she sees it. You know she does, but doesn’t comment on it. “Want me to lend it to you? It’s in my bag…” You reach down, rummaging with unsteady hands, but before you can find it, her hand closes gently around your wrist.

“I never said I wanted the one from your bag,” she murmurs, and you freeze.

Confused, you look at her and see a smile, playful and dangerous, dancing on her lips. She steps closer, raises her hand. Her fingers hover over your jaw, trace a slow path downward, then come to rest at your chin, holding it gently but firmly. “May I?” Her voice is soft, her head tilted slightly, eyes drinking you in, blown pupils, parted lips, and the ache of anticipation written all over your face. All you can do is nod, you’re not even breathing.

Emily Prentiss leans in, her eyes never leaving yours and when her lips finally meet yours, it’s slow, purposeful. Not demanding, just certain. And when she finally pulls away, your shade lingers on her lips. Cassian.

“Now I’m ready for Bailey,” she whispers, stepping back to smooth her hair.

You’re still standing there, stunned. The ghost of her touch still crackling on your skin. She throws you a satisfied smile, opens the door, and disappears down the hallway, heels clicking in sharp rhythm. She’s gone before you can speak and somehow, Bailey feels more like an afterthought than the reason she called you in.

Something passed between you, undeniable and deliberate. And now you are sure, this was never just a one-sided crush.

Part 3

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #young agent #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss imagine #unit chief prentiss #emily prentiss fic #chief #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x female reader

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alloftheimaginesblog · 1 year ago

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holding on {alex karev}

plot: you and alex aren't friends but he's the person that sits by your hospital bed day and night until you wake up.

character: alex karev (early seasons) x reader

The steady beeping of the various machines was something that Alex had grown tired of two days ago, the machine's volumes had been turned to 0 but his anxious eyes kept flickering to them every few seconds just to be sure. The background noise of the hospital was something he was used to and it was an oddly comforting sound. Now, the silence of being in the room with you had been nice at first but now that he was here, with you, waiting... just waiting... the silence was unnerving him.

He tapped his foot, checking the clock on the wall. Bailey should've been here by now, she promised him that she'd check on you every two hours. She was late. Anger surged through his body causing his heart to pound and his fists to clench.

"You're such an idiot," he could hear you scolding him in his mind, "if you just stopped dealing with your problems with sheer anger then maybe, maybe people would actually start to like you."

He scoffed.

You and him had hardly been friends. You and the rest of Bailey's interns were the best of friends, all living together in Mer's mom's house so why wasn't George or Izzie or Cristina or Mer here? Why was it Alex? That's all the four of them had been whispering about. Cristina asked Alex, Izzie asked Alex... hell, Bailey even asked Alex. Alex had ignored each of their questions and instead gave some snarky asshole comment with an eye roll. Alex didn't even know why he was here - why he'd purposefully demanded the week off to be by your bedside day and night sleeping on a camping bed with the scratchiest sheets in the world. He didn't know and yet, here he was.

You were annoying. You annoyed him. But since the news of the accident and since you'd been in a coma, Alex couldn't stop thinking about the way you laughed as you teased him. He couldn't get one specific moment out of his head.

You and Alex had been working on a case together - much to your dismay - and Alex had opened up slightly, letting you see that he was much more than what you previously thought.

"So... you're not just an asshole with the emotional range of a teaspoon, who knew?" You helped yourself to the bar stool next to Karev. Joe glanced at you, asking if you wanted your usual to which you nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

There was silence for a few seconds before you tried again, "I know you have this hard 'I don't care' exterior," you started, "and I know it's probably because of some past trauma in your life, Karev - believe me we've all got some shit - but..."

"Are you gonna keep giving me a stupid high school girl pep talk or are you gonna shut up and drink?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, "Joe, another round please."

As Joe poured the two of you more drinks, Alex sighed and looked at you, "Thanks," he murmured quietly, "I'm not- I don't..." he cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be an asshole all the time... I don't really know... Social shit isn't really my thing."

"Now who's acting like an emotional high school girl?" You teased. Alex laughed, a genuine smile stretched onto his face. Yeah... maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So after the accident, Alex stayed.

It was then Bailey strode in, chart in hand, "Karev," she said glancing up for a second, "you look like hell. Don't you think you should go home get a proper sleep? Take a damn shower?" She could see the worry in him, she could see how stressed out he was; the dark circles under his eyes, his nails chewed down. Alex might not even know it yet but he cared about you.

"I'm staying," he said with a nod standing to look over her shoulder at your chart, "Any updates?"

"You tell me, you're the one who's been here since she got admitted." Bailey moved to you, turning the volume up on the machines, checking your levels.

"Oxygen levels were a little low at 3am, managed to level them out... No issues since." He nodded, arms crossed with a hand rubbing at his jawline, "Why hasn't she woken up yet, Bailey? She should be-"

"Karev," Bailey said, voice strong, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, now."

"I don't-"

"Now, Karev. Let me do my damn job and stop hanging over me. Coffee."

With a few harsh words which made Bailey surprisingly laugh, Alex stormed out of your hospital room, storming past O'Malley and Stevens who had come to check in with Bailey on how you were doing.

Bailey leaned down closed to you, "If you die, god help us all... that boy..." she looked to the door where Alex had left from, "he'll be lost forever. So don't you dare, you hear me?"

The coffee machine was a minute's walk away from your room so Alex would know if anything were to happen to you, he would know but he kept checking over his shoulder anyway just in case. He was exhausted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank or even the last time he'd eaten. You had consumed him for the last two days; making sure that you were okay was his first priority.

He stopped at the coffee machine punching the button for a crappy black coffee that he wasn't going to drink anyway, "Come on," he grumbled as the cup dropped and the coffee began to pour in slowly, "Damn piece of crap machine, hurry the hell up!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the plastic front. Around him, people stared but he didn't care. When the coffee finally stopped, he pulled the cup out when he heard it.

"Code blue! I need a crash cart! Room 2203!" It was Bailey. It was you.

Boiling hot coffee splashed over the floor, the cup dropped and on the ground as Alex Karev took off running.

His heart pounded, usually the thrill was the thing he loved the most but this wasn't a thrill, no, this was dread. When he burst into your room, the first thing he heard was, "Clear!" and heard the noise of the defibrillator.

"What's going on?!" He yelled over the chaos.

"Get him outta here!" Bailey yelled, "Charge to 200! Get him outta here, O'Malley!"

George tried but a determined Alex was a strong Alex. He resisted George's grip, shoving him back every chance he tried to take him out. It got to the point that George gave up, "Dr Bailey!" He exclaimed, hopelessly as Alex barged to your bedside. Bailey couldn't do anything, she was busy trying to save your life, she couldn't deal with Karev as well so she let him be.

"Don't you dare die on me," Alex hissed, eyes flooding with tears, "don't you dare. Can't do that to me, (y/n). Can't have me sitting here waiting for two days to just die on me-" he looked to Bailey, "Save her... please."

Bailey's eyes met Alex's and she found a lump in her throat, "You hear him?" She asked you as the paddles charged, "don't you dare die on us, (y/n)." With one final shock, the monitor started to beep again, "Heart rate is coming back up," she said with a relieved sigh, "Thank the Lord. Levels are stabilising."

Alex collapsed into the chair at your bedside, hand clamped around yours, as his eyes closed, letting the relief wash over him. You were alive; you were stable.

"What- what caused it?"

Bailey shook her head, "Don't know, levels were fine but as soon as you left the room they started to drop so do me a favour, Karev," she looked pointedly at him, "don't leave this room again." Normally he would've bit back, said a comment about her forcing him out but instead, he just nodded falling back into his chair, hand still in yours, "I'll check every hour, okay? You page me immediately, got it?" Again, he nodded and then the room cleared out.

Alex didn't turn the monitors down, he needed to hear the steady beep to know that you were okay, you were alive and you were breathing. For the last three hours that he'd sat here, he had prayed to every god he could remember the name of - he didn't know if it counted but even started praying to some Greek Gods as well. Why have God in the title if it doesn't count? His hand was still firmly in yours.

Bailey had checked five times in the three hours, checking on you but also on him. She brought him a soda, a sandwich and a muffin and didn't leave until he'd drained half the can and eaten one of the sandwiches. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started eating, he devoured the rest of meal once she'd left. You were still stable but you weren't awake yet. Bailey was optimistic but Alex wasn't. He was dreading the worst, expecting your levels to become unstable again but as he was dosing off, he felt your hand twitch in his.

He shot up, "(y/n)?" He asked staring at your hand and then at you and much to his relief, your eyes began to flutter open. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Utter relief crashed over him, "You're awake," he grinned, "you're actually awake."

"A-Alex?" You croaked.

"Here," he said gently as he grabbed a plastic cup and straw and filled it with water from the jug on your bedside unit, "Drink up. How you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Multiple ruptured organs and a few broken bones'll do that to you," Alex teased with a smile. You noticed his hand was still in yours, warm and strong. He saw your eyes narrow at your joined hands and he was quick to pull his back despite everything inside him not wanting to, "I- I'm gonna page Bailey, you drink up." He helped you take the water and left. He was just outside, close enough to make sure that you were still safe - still alive.

It was as he left you looked around the room and you noticed the camping cot which was set up on the floor next to your bed. You frowned. Someone had been staying here. Was it... no, it couldn't have been Alex; Alex hated you.

Your thoughts were cut off by Bailey bursting into your room, "Oh thank the Lord," she grinned, "it's good to see you awake. You scared us." As Bailey checked you over, Alex returned to the seat next to you. Bailey saw your confused expression seeing him sat there, normal clothes not working, "Karev," she said, "go and get (y/n) a sandwich, will you? She's hungry." Alex went to argue, to tell Bailey she told him not to leave your room but Bailey's pointed look made him stop and nod. He left a second later giving you one last worried look, "She's fine now go."

You looked up at Bailey who sighed and looked down at you, "You had that boy scared to death, you know."

"Who? Alex?!"

Bailey nodded, "You're not the only one who's surprised. As soon as you were admitted he was here. It was his day off and he was here. Soon as you got outta surgery he was set up in your room. He hasn't left since Tuesday."

You looked down to the cot next to you, "He's been here the whole time?"

Bailey nodded, "I don't know what's going on between the two of you - if anything - but I'd say that there's something." Your frown deepened and Bailey smiled, "Just... be patient with him."

When Alex came back, Bailey gave you a secret nod with a knowing smile before she left promising to come check on you every hour and to not dare think about going back into a coma otherwise she would kill you. "I'm a doctor, I know how to save people but I know how to kill them too."

"Hey," Alex said as he placed a sandwich and soda on the unit beside your bed, "You okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself rather overwhelmed and touched by his actions. He - Alex Karev - had stayed by your side since the accident. What did that mean? What did Dr Bailey mean? You nodded quickly, "Yeah," you said softly, "just tired."

Alex puffed out a long breath as he sat in the seat next to your bed, "Yeah, you must be. Gave me- gave us all a fright."

Silence fell and the two of you fell into the comfort of the sounds of the hospital. You sipped at the soda Alex had brought before curiosity got the better of you, "Alex... why did you stay with me?"

You could've sworn his cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink but he rubbed his hands over his tired looking face so you couldn't have been sure, "Hell if I know," he muttered, "it's not like we're friends but... I didn't want you to be alone. You're the only one that's almost like a friend and... I dunno." He shrugged, "I don't really understand it myself." Maybe there was something deeper lurking under the surface but he didn't know. That was something you'd have to navigate together, "I know you'd have probably preferred Cristina or Mer-"

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Alex," you whispered, "for everything. Thank you." Now, this time you could see the tips of his ears go pink. You smiled, "Now when are you going to shower cause boy you are looking rough-"

"Shut up!" Alex rolled his eyes but he laughed with you and for once, it felt nice to joke around with him. It felt normal. You didn't know what was going to happen but you somehow knew that he would be beside you, figuring out this crazy journey together and somehow, that made it a little less scary.

#one shot #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy one shot #os #reader insert #alex karev x reader #alex karev #alex karev imagine #imagine #prompt #alex karev x you #greys anatomy

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