shalom503

[shalom503]

Chapter 2: Under watchful eyes

Chapter 1

The drone of the private jet's engines filled the small cabin, a steady, mechanical heartbeat that usually calmed people to sleep. But for Lena, there was no comfort in the sound. She lay stiff in her reclined seat, the window beside her framing a blur of clouds- soft clouds that contrasted the tension in her mind. Below, the world slipped by unnoticed, a far cry from the relentless cameras trying to get a glimpse into her life. Those were the good camaras.

In her lap, the white envelope that she received earlier felt like dead weight. She still imagined the photos in her mind- unwelcome proof that there was someone out there looking too close into her life. Each image was not just a violation of her privacy, they were a violation of her entire life. Private moments stolen without her consent. Magnified by someone that was still out there...watching.

Her assistant, Megan, sat quietly beside her avoiding her gaze. There were no words that she could put together to erase the fear and uncertainty that Lena felt. The usual comforts that Lena found in her assistant felt miles away, irrelevant in this moment of terror and vulnerability.

The plane touched down on Quantico's tarmac as the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the official buildings. The calm chill of this place was a world away from the manic Los Angeles energy, and yet Lena knew that that energy and danger would follow her halfway across the country.

Waiting at the hangar was a man standing with unmistakable authority. He was tall, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that fit with effortless precision, every line crisp and deliberate. His posture was upright- to upright to be casual- his stance grounded like someone who had spent a lifetime preparing for things to go wrong. There was a quiet intensity about him, a stillness that didn't invite a friendly approach.

"Ms Francis," he said, voice low and measured, "welcome to Quantico. I'm Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit." Lena took his hand in greeting. His grip was firm, steady- something solid amongst the chaos she felt inside. When their eyes met, there was a flicker of something unspoken. An acknowledgment of pain. Of resilience. And something else that lingered just a moment too long.

"Thank you," she replied softly. "I'm here because I need help."

Hotchner's eyes held hers for a moment longer before he nodded. "You have it."

Inside the BAU, the corridors were quiet, clinical. The hum of computers and low murmurs of conversation filled the air. It was a place built on logic and reason, but the stories these walls held were anything but orderly- broken lives, shattered minds, the darkest corners of human obsession.

Lena was led to the conference room, where the BAU team gathered. She listened carefully as Agent Hotchner introduced each of the members in the room. Emily Prentiss gave her a warm, reassuring smile, eyes steady and empathetic. Derek Morgan's gaze was sharp, protective. Spencer Reid adjusted his glasses nervously, offering a small smile from his usual perch at the corner of the table.

But it was Hotchner who drew Lena's focus. He stood at the head of the table, calm and commanding, yet there was an intensity to the way he regarded her that set her heart just slightly off balance. She sensed something vulnerable beneath the surface of the man.

"Ms Francis," Hotchner began, his voice steady but serious, "stalking is a dangerous form of obsession. It's often underestimated until it escalates beyond control. From what we've seen so far, your case demands our full attention." His dark brown eyes stared into hers as he said, "I'm glad you came to us for help, Lena."

Lena swallowed, the lump in her throat nearly choking her. "Thank you. At first, I thought it was just annoying. Strange messages, creepy comments, all things that I've grown used to over the years. But then the photos arrived. They're of me in my home, my most private moments. I don't even know how he got them."

Morgan leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Have you noticed any patterns in the timing or frequency of the messages and photos?"

Lena paused, thinking. "Mostly at night, when I'm alone. Sometimes I think I hear footsteps outside my door, but when I look- there's nothing. It's like he wants me to feel watched, to know he's always there."

Prentis nodded knowingly. "That's a common tactic. It's about control- keeping you in a state of fear and uncertainty."

Dr. Reid spoke softly but firmly. "The precision of surveillance indicates the stalker has intimate knowledge of your schedule. Someone who's either close to you or has studied you meticulously."

Lena's breath hitched. "But I'm careful?! I have security. No one should have this kind of access."

Megan, seated quietly at the far end of the room, finally spoke, her voice low but urgent. "we checked everyone on her team. Background checks, NDAs, the works. I don't understand how this could've happened..." She trailed off, glancing nervously at Lena before finishing, "Unless someone slipped through. Someone we missed."

Her words hung heavy in the room. There was a frustration in her tone, but beneath it something deeper- guilt. As Lena's assistant, she'd been the one to coordinate the details, to ensure her safety team was airtight. And now, that certainty was crumbling.

Hotchner's dark eyes locked onto hers with unwavering focus. "Obsessive individuals find ways around even the best security. Our priority now is to gather every detail you can recall. Nothing is too insignificant."

As the team dove into the case details, Lena found herself subtly drawn to Hotchner's presence. The way he listened, truly listened, to every word. The barely noticeable tilt of his head when she spoke. And the rare moments when their eyes met- an electric undercurrent she didn't expect, but was secretly welcomed.

Suddenly, the tension in the room was punctured by a bright, almost overwhelming voice from the doorway.

"Okay, Okay! Wait just a minute- hold everything!" Penelope Garcia breezed in, her rainbow-coloured scarves fluttering behind her like a carnival banner, her oversized glasses catching the fluorescent light and making her eyes sparkle wildly. "Lena, darling, I just have to know- how on earth do you survive the relentless, merciless glare of the spotlight? The paparazzi snapping photos like they're trying to steal your souls? Your style- oh my God, your style! Spill all your secrets, babe. Who dresses you?! What's your skincare routine?! How many cups of coffee keep you from turning into a caffeinated zombie?! Do you have a secret weapon to combat the fame and chaos, or are you just that dazzling naturally?!"

Lena blinked, caught off guard and feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. The flood of questions was rapid-fire, to intimate, too invasive for someone she barely knew.

"Uhm... I guess I try to keep some things private," she said cautiously, forcing a small smile. "That's why this situation- this whole stalking thing- is so scary."

Garcia's eyes went even wider, as if Lena's words only fuelled her enthusiasm. "Oh honey, I can't even imagine! Brave doesn't even begin to cover it. I mean, I practically lose my mind over the occasional creepy email from some internet nutcase, You? you have the whole world watching you, and yet here you are, standing strong!"

Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing at Hotchner as if to silently plead for rescue.

"Penelope," Hotchner said quietly but firmly, his voice cutting through the bubbling energy like a sharp knife.

Garcia's grin faltered for the first time, and she gave a sheepish shrug. "Right, right, sorry! Sometimes I just get carried away, You know me- once i start talking, it's hard to stop."

Hotchner's gaze softened as he turned back to Lena. "We're here to help. Focus on the facts, and we'll take it from there."

The warmth in his tone was a balm against the awkwardness, and Lena exhaled, grateful for the reprieve.

Later, as the room emptied and the hum of computers filled the space, Lena found herself standing beside Hotchner near a window overlooking the complex. The golden dusk cast a warm glow around them.

"You're handling this better than most," Hotchner said quietly.

Lena met his eyes, her voice soft. "I don't have a choice."

He nodded, the weight of unspoken things hanging between them.

"Lena," he added, a little closer now, "whatever happens next- you're not alone."

Their breath mingled in the cool air, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside faded into nothing but the two of them, standing on the edge of something new, fragile, and charged.

[shalom503]

Eyes in the dark

Aaron Hotchner x Famous!reader

When Hollywood star Lena Collins becomes the target of a psycho-stalker, she turns to the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit for protection. As Agent Hotchner works to unravel the twisted obsession threatening her life, a slow-burning connection ignites between them.

Trigger warnings: Stalking and invasion of privacy, cult activity and psychological abuse, threats of physical violence, implied kidnapping and imprisonment, themes of mental health, refences to death and violence, sexual tension and adult themes, media intrusion. I apologise if I missed any.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Unease

Los Angeles, California

The lights of Los Angeles blurred into a golden haze through the tinted windows of Lena’s black, bulletproof SUV. Towering billboards and glassy high-rises shimmered past in streaks of neon and shadow. She leaned her head against the cool glass, the vibration of the city humming through her bones. Her breath left little clouds of condensation on the window, and she absently traced shapes in them with the edge of her finger. Her driver maneuvered through the traffic with professional precision, but she barely noticed the smooth turns or the muffled sound of tires over pavement.

It was past 1 a.m. She hadn’t truly slept in weeks—only fragments of rest stolen here and there, but never deep enough to quiet her mind.

Her friends called it burnout. She called it something else. Unease. A constant, crawling awareness under her skin, like an invisible thread being tugged tighter by unseen hands. It wasn’t just exhaustion—it was a sense of being watched, of being hunted. Not by the public. That was something she’d long grown used to. The camera flashes, the whispers behind menus at restaurants, the heads turning when she walks by. But this—this was different. It felt personal. Intentional. Malicious.

She had grown up in the quiet edges of northern California—pine trees, gray fog, a small house tucked between mountains. Her childhood had been lonely but safe. Her mother was gentle, her father distant, and her little brother the only person in the world she’d ever felt truly tethered to. The city had never felt like home, but she’d learned to survive in it—learned how to draw her curtains just right, how to walk briskly and speak carefully. Over time, she’d mastered the art of vanishing in plain sight.

But someone had found her anyway.

It started with the usual—harmless, even forgettable. Online comments. Unsettling but standard. Remarks about her body, her walk, her smile. She had trained herself to scroll past them, to ignore the flicker of unease. But then came the letter. Slipped under the door of her private suite in a hotel no one was supposed to know she was staying in. No postage. No name. Just a single line in ragged ink:

The world sees the fake you. I see the real you every night. I know what you hide.

She didn’t tell anyone. Not her manager, not her family, not even her security team. At her level of visibility, obsessive fans came with the territory. But something about this one—this particular presence—felt wrong. Like it wasn’t admiration, but possession.

And then came the photos.

Delivered in a plain envelope to her assistant’s apartment, bypassing all the usual mail filters, all the layers of privacy. They weren’t paparazzi shots. They were intimate, invasive. Taken through windows, from rooftops, from angles no camera should have had access to. Her brushing her teeth in an oversized T-shirt. Her sitting cross-legged on the floor eating cereal at 2 a.m., face half-lit by the TV. Her back turned, unaware.

They weren’t looking at her. They were studying her.

Finally, she spoke up. Her assistant, pale-faced and wide-eyed, made the call. And now the BAU—an elite behavioral analysis unit—was involved. But even they couldn’t erase the deep, icy fear that had embedded itself into her.

Lena sat in the dim back seat, fingers trembling as she unfolded the latest photo. Taken just hours ago. She was standing by the back door of her home, bathed in the soft kitchen light. Her eyes were unfocused, unaware of the lens aimed at her from the darkness. It was the unknowing that frightened her most. That she had been so vulnerable, so unaware.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, steadying her breath. Her gaze darted to the shadows beyond the SUV windows. Every pedestrian looked suspicious. Every alleyway held possibilities. The silence inside the vehicle was almost unbearable.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number:

you can’t run away from what I own

Her pulse quickened. She clenched her jaw to steady herself.

In the front seat, her assistant finally broke the silence. “Lena, the BAU… they’re the best. They’ll find this guy. They’ll stop him. Once we’re on the plane, you need to try and rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I know,” Lena whispered. The words tasted like dust in her mouth.

But rest felt impossible. Her body might have been exhausted, but her thoughts were a storm she couldn’t outrun. The people she passed on the street might have called her charmed, even blessed. But they didn’t know the toll of constantly being on edge. Of never knowing if a doorbell ring was a delivery or something worse.

The SUV turned onto the highway, merging into a river of headlights. The city behind them softened into a glittering blur. Ahead was the private airstrip, the agents waiting, the unknown.

Could she trust them? Would they understand how personal this felt?

Her phone buzzed again.

Running won’t help

She turned the screen off, this time without flinching. She closed her eyes, focused on the rhythm of her breath. In. Out. In again.

She would not fall apart in the back seat of this car. Not tonight.

The photos still lay in her lap, a silent testament to how far this had gone. But for the first time in weeks, a fragile thread of hope tugged gently at the weight pressing on her chest. Someone believed her now. Someone capable. Someone who had seen monsters before—and hunted them.

The road ahead was long, and likely dangerous. But it was the first road that might lead her back to peace.

And Lena had always known how to survive.

[shalom503]

Chris Evans POV:

Chris Evans X Workaholic wife

Warnings: light Fluff, light mentions of stress, lack of eating and, lack of sleep.

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It was around 7 o’clock when Chris returned home from visiting his mothers house during his long-needed break from filming. Upon opening the door to your shared home, Chris was immediately hit with the classic Boston chill that had clearly affected your home. Your dog, Dodger, came running (more like slipping and sliding) towards Chris who had opened his arms to welcome the excited pup.

“Baby... Has Dodger been out for a walk yet? He seems unusually excited to see me.” Chris shouted out to you despite not knowing which room you were in. Chris received no response from you so decided to walk towards the well-lit kitchen in hopes that you would be there.

To his surprise, he had found you sat at the dining room table with your head in your arms, paperwork scattered all across the wooden surface, a half-drunk cup of what looked like chamomile tea and, your laptop opened on your latest expose about the globalization of small businesses.

This, for Chris, was a regular thing for him to walk in on. You tended to over-work yourself, even more than him on a busy filming day, and ended up knocked out because of your lack of sleep. Chris had tried his very best to help you one, pace yourself with your work and two, stop spending hour-upon-hour working instead of getting some well needed rest. But, he had gotten no luck with that. Your stubbornness and your desire to produce great work limited your ability to function properly as a human-being with needs.

Chris had attempted many approaches at waking you up in the past i.e. shaking your shoulders gently, kissing your cheeks until it eventually woke you up or, baking pancakes to attract you with the smell. However, this time instead of trying to wake you, he softly moved your hair out of your face and off of your shoulders so that he could ever-so gently scoop you up into his arms without so much a stir arising from you.

Your husband carried you up the stair case towards your bedroom with small the small taps of Dodgers feet accompanying him there. Luckily, the door to the room was open so Chris was able to stroll in, pull back the covers with his foot and then carefully place you down on the mattress, head supported by your three feather pillows. Chris pulled the duvet up over your body and then leant down to kiss your forehead. and whisper “Oh, Honey...”

*Three hours later*

Despite the comfort surrounding you, you found yourself waking up within what felt like minutes of actually falling asleep. Dodger led on the end of the bed and somehow you were still in your clothes from earlier. The sun had clearly set, making the room much darker and, the room seemed to be filled with an unknown scent.

Making your way downstairs, you spotted the back of your husband stood by the oven. He wore black jogging bottoms and a blue polka-dot apron across his muscular chest. The Kitchen table still had all of your complicated pieces of work on it. God you hated work at the moment.

Apparently, your boss believed that you didn’t deserve a break from writing expose’s and article’s. He had given you a deadline for the three pieces that could determine your whole career. This deadline, if you should ask, was only four weeks long. So, as a result, you had been staying up until stupid times each night to ensure you got every bit of research, writing and editing absolutely perfect for your boss.

This pressure to get all of your work completed and perfect had ultimately affected your relationship with Chris. He had so far been home for a week on break from filming and you hadn’t so much as offered to go out anywhere with him. Not even on a date! God, the pair of you hadn’t been on one of them for months.

“Chris...” you uttered as your voice decided to break and the tears decided to start flowing. The love of your life turned around upon hearing your voice, immediately giving you a small smile and heading towards you with open arms.

“Hi, Baby. Did you sleep alright? You were only out for a couple of hours. Baby, your sleep schedule at the moment really isn’t healthy.”

“I think I still have some catching up to do on the sleep side of things... and the work side of things. But for now, I think we should have something to eat- because I can’t remember the last time I ate anything- and then watch that new movie you wanted to watch last week.”

He moved his hand across your cheek and pulled your face up to his, lightly pressing his lips onto yours. “ Of course. I’m making your Favorite.” He smiled,

“Pancakes?! I love you so much Cap!” Now I was the one to capture his lips with mine.

“I love you, baby.”

-The end-