#I will never have a problem with these two teaming up like this

[lightsoutmatthews]

protective auston has me feeling some type of way lol can you do something similar for willy? something like they are already an established couple and he never had to be protective before so she’s never seen that side of him? thanks!!!

Oh Annon you got my creative juices flowing with that one because I was debating between this and what I wrote for Auston and I was HOPING someone would send in another request. 🙏🏼

I got you – William Nylander

You weren’t used to this side of William.

He wasn’t exactly a hothead, never had been. If anything, William was calm to a fault. He didn’t raise to bait, didn’t snap back when people ran their mouths in interview or chirped him on the ice.

At home, with you, he was easygoing. Chill. Unshakably steady and calm. That was one of the first things you loved about him. He made you feel like you could relax. No drama. No big emotional explosions.

So, when it happened, it caught you off guard.

The two of you had been dating for multiple years at that point. You weren’t still in that careful stage where you pretended things didn’t bother you.

You lived together, shared grocery lists, fought over whose turn it was to do laundry. You knew his morning coffee order by heart. He kept a drawer in the entryway just for your keys because he said you always lost them in your bag.

You had been through quiet nights and loud ones. Road trips. Boring errands. Injuries. Post-game slumps. Summer lulls.

But you had never seen him like this.

It started at a team event. A charity dinner. You were used to those, dressed up, made conversation with executives, sponsors, teammates and smiled for the photos.

Most people were nice. Some were fake-nice. A few were a little too into the whole girlfriend of an NHL player thing, but you learned to brush that off.

The guy who crossed the line didn’t start off as a problem. He was older, some kind of donor or sponsor of the team. He wore a watch that cost probably more than your car and looked like he lived on red wine and bad decisions.

He was talking to you and a few other people near the bar. You didn’t catch his name, just his business card when he slipped in into your hand.

“You should call me some time,” he said, his tone light but with a weird edge. “I do consulting. Media stuff. You´ve got a great look, could be good on camera.”

You gave a polite smile and stepped back half an inch. Not rude, not obvious. Just enough to signal you weren’t interested in his offer. You figured he would take the hint.

He didn’t.

“You with someone tonight?” he asked, like he hadn’t noticed the very obvious fact that you were standing less than ten feet away from your boyfriends table.

William had been stuck in a conversation with a couple of board members, his eyes flicking to you every few minutes like a clockwork. He was watching. Not hovering, just being aware.

“Yeah,” you replied making your voice sound as flat as possible. “I´m here with my boyfriend.”

“Let me guess. One of the players?” he chuckled, like it was a cliché.

“Yeah,” you repeated, less amused.

He laughed some more, leaning in a little closer. “That´s fun. Bet he gets jealous real easy.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You felt it before you even saw him.

William´s presence sliding in between you and the guy like a wall. Not loud. Not even rude. Just there.

“Hey,” William opened the conversation, resting his hand lightly on your lower back, eyes on the man in front of you. “Everything good here?”

The way he said it was casual, but something in his voice was different. Tighter. Like a string pulled taut.

You turned towards him instinctively, he looked at you first, not the guy. You nodded. “Yeah, we´re just finishing up.”

But William didn’t move. Didn’t smile like he usually did with sponsors. He looked at the man, quiet for just a beat too long. Then, still calm, he said, “She´s with me.”

“I gathered,” the guy huffed, like William was being dramatic for stepping in. Still, he looked at him a little more carefully now. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your girl alone in a room full of men eying her up and down in that dress,” he added regardless.

Now it was William that huffed. “Maybe you should take a hint when a woman is clearly not interested and taken.” He paused for a second. “I remember you seeing us walk in.”

The guy raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure,” William replied, still even.

The hand on his back never moved, it anything, his fingers curled a little tighter around the fabric of your dress.

It was a short exchange, a minute tops, but it changed something.

The man backed off, chuckled something under his breath, and walked away without another word. Then it was just you and William.

You looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, features softening. “You?”

“I´ve had worse,” you nodded carefully.

He nodded too, but he didn’t say anything else. His jaw was tight. Not really angry, but protective in a way that felt new.

You didn’t say much about it first. He stayed close the rest of the night, never smothering but definitely within reach. His hand found yours often and you caught him glancing around more than usual.

It was weird, seeing him like that. Not because you didn’t like it, if you were honest with yourself, you kind of did, but because it was different. Like you had unlocked a version of him you had never needed before.

Back home later that night, your brought it up.

“You dint usually do that,” you opened, slipping out of your heels. “Get, I don’t really know what to call it, protective, I guess?”

William, who was changing out of his dress shirt on the other side of the bed, looked over at you, “No?”

You shook your head. “I mean, you´re not the jealous type. You don’t get weird when people talk to me.”

“I´m still not jealous,” he argued, walking over and dropping onto your side of the bed next to you. “That guy just sucked.”

“He did suck,” you chuckled.

William tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Especially, knowing you were taken.”

“He was a creep,” you offered.

“It wasn’t just that,” he muttered, much quieter than usual. “He didn’t respect you.”

You looked at him, there was something serious about his voice that made you sit up straighter.

“He didn’t listen when you said you were with someone,” he continued. “Didn’t take you seriously because you were with a player on the team. I know you can handle yourself, but I just…” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“What?” you asked gently.

“I just didn’t like it,” he summed it up. “I didn’t like the idea if you feeling like you had to be polite to someone like that. I know it happens more than I probably realize.”

You were quiet for a moment. “It does.” He exhaled loudly. “Yeah.”

Your reached for his hand. “You were good, though. You didn’t cause a scene.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Like, just for a second, I felt like, I guess possessive. Which really isn’t me.”

“It´s okay,” you hummed. “It didn’t feel like you were trying to control anything. You just showed up. That’s all.”

He laid back on the bed, letting out another loud exhale while staying quiet for a second. “I don’t ever what you to think I don’t care,” he muttered, looking up at you, instinctively grabbing your hand. “Sometimes I worry I come off too chill. Like I don’t notice that stuff.”

You laid down next to him, carefully curling into his side. “You notice plenty,” you mumbled into his bare chest. “And I like that you´re not the type to get into a fight or argument over nothing.”

His glaze softened and he carefully wrapped an arm around you before placing a soft kiss to your head. “But if it’s not nothing?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand that was still resting in yours. “Then I´m glad to know you´ve got my back.”

[webslinger-holland]

I had an idea of a cute prompt, where the reader can’t swim, and so Bob teaches them how to?

I adore your writing so much, btw!

The Deep End | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts*

Summary: Bob eagerly offers to teach swim lessons, helping get over some fears and building trust with the reader.

Warning: reader has a fear of water/fear of drowning (undisclosed trauma), Walker kinda acts like a jerk, Bob being so wholesome that he needs his own warning ;)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Type: A lovely request

The installation of a swimming pool was one of the best renovations for the Watchtower. Having it outside on an overlook balcony ended up doubling the construction time and the overall cost, but money wasn't a problem for Valentine. The pool was supposed to be a "training utility" used for combat simulations, underwater operations, and breath-control training.

When in reality, once it was complete, it was really only being used as a pool for leisure. More often than not, Bucky, Walker, and Bob spent their time swimming around or playing water themed sports together. Alexei was the one who spent the most time in the pool and just loved the luxury of it. Yelena and Ava sometimes found themselves in the water, but they often opted to lounge around the lawn chairs in the sun.

And then there was her. The one who almost never got into the water.

Even if she did get in, Y/n only wanted to get her feet wet and never came to the pool wearing a swimsuit. Walker once joked that she didn't own one and Yelena offered one of hers to borrow, but Y/n politely declined.

One hot summer afternoon, the team decided to spend some much needed time relaxing by the pool. The girls, adorned in their own suits, lay on the chairs with sunglasses over their eyes. The boys, wearing their trunks, tossed one of those foam footballs back and forth and treaded water easily.

The glass door leading out to the balcony slid open. Hearing the door, Bob turned his head and looked towards Y/n who was making her way out in a simple white shirt and jean shorts. He lost focus for a second and only hearing his name snapped him out of the trance.

"Come to join us?" Yelena asked with a small smile.

"Mhmm," Y/n nodded and gingerly sat down near the end of the pool. She dipped her feet into the cold water and gripped the edge, leaning forward to watch the boys mess around.

"Stand back! I will now show you what true Soviet athleticism looks like!” Alexei announced loudly and charged towards the pool, jumping high and cannonballing into the water.

His impact on the water sent it flying in all directions, causing Bucky and Walker to turn their heads away. A few drops phased through Ava on the lounge chair. And Yelena yelled at him in Russian for getting her wet.

Bob, sparing another glance, caught the way Y/n's lips tugged into a soft smile. The sound of her gentle laughter caused his heart to skip a beat. All of the sudden, without warning, Y/n lifted her head and looked directly at him.

His breath caught in the back of his throat and he quickly plugged his nose to submerge under the water, hiding from her gaze. He mentally cursed himself, but couldn't prepare for what happened next.

Because Alexei swam right under him and rose up to that Bob sat on top of his shoulders. Emerging out of the water, Bob tried to steady himself and Alexei held onto his legs.

"I challenge the two super soldiers to a classic game of chicken," Alexei stated. "A true contest of brains, masculinity, and strength!"

"So you chose Bob as your partner?" Walker snickered and Bob turned red from embarrassment.

"You underestimate him; that's good." Alexei smirked competitively.

"What are we twelve?" Bucky asked with his hands on his hips.

"Y-Yeah, I'm really not good at this game," Bob tried to reason, but he was still stuck on Alexei's shoulders.

"One round," Alexei pleaded with Bucky and Walker. They shared a quick look and reluctantly accepted the challenge.

Not two minutes later, Bucky was sitting on top of Walker's shoulders. The pairs neared the center of the pool, circling like two predators about to fight. A tangle of limbs, grunting, and competitive yelling filled the air.

Walker shouted, “Stabilize, Barnes!”

Alexei bellowed in Russian.

Only a second later, the four of them went underwater with there being no clear winner. When they surfaced, each of them wiped the water and hair out of their eyes. Bob sputtered some water.

"That was great entertainment," Yelena clapped sarcastically. "For about the two seconds it lasted."

"You play like a bunch of girls," Ava added.

"We do not," Walker rolled his eyes. He padded over to the ladder and climbed out, followed by the other three.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you girls play a round or two." Bucky smirked and passed some towels out.

"No thanks," Yelena shook her head. "I enjoy being in the sun and staying dry."

"Same here," Ava raised her ice cold drink in agreement.

Being the last one, all eyes fell to the one who sat near the edge of the pool staring into the water. She glanced over her shoulder and found them all staring at her expectantly. She quickly scrambled to her feet and shook her head in denial.

"N-No, I don't really want to play." Y/n failed to come up with a good excuse.

"Have you ever gotten in the pool?" Walker asked half jokingly and Y/n made a point to avoid his gaze.

"I-I'm just going to go inside. Getting kinda hot out here," Y/n tried to brush them off. She went to walk past them, trying her hardest to avoid staring at them without their shirts on and dripping wet.

"What better way than to cool off in the pool," Walker joked smugly.

Before she could answer, Walker shoved her from behind playfully, but forcefully—straight into the center of the pool. She wasn't given much time to react.

"JOHN!" Y/n breathed a shocked gasp as she fell directly into the pool with a heavy splash.

She didn't scream; she just sank.

The weightless water distorted her sense of direction. There was no bottom and there was no top of the pool. She flailed her arms so violently that they began to burn and grow weak. The bubbles slipped further into her mouth and filled her lungs painfully.

Above the surface, a few seconds of laughter echoed through the air. The only one who didn't laugh was Bob whose eyes were fixed on the spot where she fell into the water. After a couple seconds without reemerging, the laughter died out and everyone went quiet.

"Shit," Bucky cursed to himself and Bob leapt into action.

Without a second thought, Bob dove directly into the water and swam towards the limp body. He came up out of the water with her in his arms, ignoring the wet locks of hair that stuck to his face and the water that dribbled down his chin.

Having come up, Y/n coughed to expel the water that filled her lungs. She half-heartedly smeared the hair out of her face and her eyes burned from the chlorine. She clung to Bob desperately, fearing letting go and loosing herself to the water again.

He swam the both of them towards the edge of the pool, helping her onto the concrete surface and having the others bring her to safety. But John stood at a safe distance and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

Trying to regain a sense of her surroundings, Y/n tried to calm herself down. She coughed violently, still choking on water; her eyes wide with panic. And Yelena was the first to kneel beside her.

"You’re alright. You’re safe.” She reassured her.

Then Alexei awkwardly came up beside them, draping a sun-warmed towel around her shoulders. Yelena tenderly brushed away some of the wet hair that stuck to her face.

From the way her body was reacting, practically trembling out of shock and utter fear, all of them knew there was some underlying trauma with being in water. They sent each other all-knowing glances; an unspoken look of understanding being communicated amongst them.

"Easy. You’re alright. Deep breaths.” Bucky encouraged with a smile, kneeling beside her and helping her rise to her feet.

"Come on," Yelena came to stand beside her and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. "Let's go inside for now."

"We'll get you out of these wet clothes," Ava smiled and joined the other side.

All three girls began to walk back towards the sliding door; Ava and Yelena throwing a quick glance over their shoulders towards the boys who stood about awkwardly. The door closed behind them and they ushered her towards her bedroom.

By the time Y/n reached her bedroom, the tears had begun running down her face. She tried to sniffle up her tears to no avail, thinking her reaction was plain stupid and she was just showing weakness. The door closed behind them and the walls came down.

"I-I am sorry. This is so stupid," Y/n half cried and half laughed.

"It's not stupid," Ava shook her head. "It's very human actually."

"Walker was way out of line," Yelena insisted with a shake of the head.

"Not knowing how to swim at my age," Y/n scoffed and nervously fiddled with the edge of her towel. She tossed it off her shoulders in slight frustration, proceeding to shed the wet clothes from her body because she just hated the feeling. "Being scared of water," Y/n spoke angrily more to herself.

Rifling through her drawers to find new clothes, Y/n tugged them over her body and pulled the wet hair from under her shirt collar. She smoothed her hands over her shirt as if trying to brush the entire experience away.

"You know..." Yelena tested the waters by stepping forward. "It's never to late to learn."

"What?" Y/n asked with furrowed brows.

"To swim," Yelena extended and Y/n's face went pale. "Nobody would judge you— "

"I-I don't know," Y/n lowered her gaze to stare down at the floor, suddenly feeling nervous and anxious about the idea of trying something new.

All of the sudden, there was a soft knocking sound that came from the door. She brushed past the others and grabbed the door handle, opening the door to reveal Bob standing there. Her breath caught in the back of her throat because...

Bob was still dripping wet from the pool and was still not wearing a shirt (just his swim trunks). He stood there panting like he was still trying to recover his breath from the dive, sending a brief smile at the sight of her standing there. His hair clung to his forehead and a few drops dripped down the sides of his face.

"H-Hi," Bob waved awkwardly. He tried to wipe some water out of his eyes; his hand blindly searching for the doorframe for balance. "Ho-How are you doing? Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I-I'm fine," Y/n said. She crossed her arms over her chest and she coiled deeper into her own body. She avoided his gaze with expertise, trying to hide the evident blush on her face.

"We were just discussing the idea of teaching Y/n how to swim," Yelena spoke from behind her, sounding rather excited to bring up the idea to Bob. His brows shot up in surprise.

"Oh. Really?" Bob asked. He looked down at her for confirmation.

"Yeah. But I don't really know if—" Y/n began only to be cut off.

"I could teach you," Bob volunteered without hesitation and Y/n's head snapped towards him.

"You would?" Y/n's voice squeaked out in surprise.

"Sure," Bob shrugged.

During the team's next mission, Bob and Y/n stayed behind at the tower. They scheduled a time to meet out on the balcony by the pool where it would just be the two of them. So now, Y/n stood at the pool’s edge in a black fitted tank and shorts, hair pulled back, arms folded tight. She still hesitated before entering, but it was less about fear now—more about memory.

And Bob was already in the water. He looked up at her with a patient smile.

“No pressure,” Bob said. “Just you, me, and the water.”

He offered his hand as a sort of invitation and she trusted him enough to take that leap of faith into a genuine fear of hers. She stepped into the water.

The first initial moments felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest, her lungs would collapse, and the tightening feeling in her stomach only got worse. That was until Bob drew her closer by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest.

Their proximity left both of them feeling a little flushed. Noses nearly brushing together and skin pressed against skin. She didn't even realize that he was slowly walking backwards so the water rose just past their chests.

"Do you trust me?" Bob wondered. His eyes briefly darted down to her lips.

"Yes," Y/n whispered.

With a gentle push off, Bob proceeded to swim backwards with Y/n's weight of her body resting on the majority of him. She clung to him like to lifeline, truly terrified to let go at first. But he kept her afloat, above the water line and away from her fear.

After some time, Bob suggested having her lean back. He calmly supported her back with one hand. He watched her face for any signs that would tell him it was too much.

"Breathe in,” Bob kept his voice calm “Fill your lungs. They’re like built-in floaties.”

She laughed under her breath, nervous and still clinging tightly onto the edge of the pool. The water lapped at her sides gently.

“Now lean back. I’ve got you. Trust me.”

She did, only to quickly catch herself like she felt herself falling.

"Nope! Nope," Y/n scrambled into an upright position and clung desperately onto the edge again.

"It's alright," Bob reassured her, not pressing. "Take your time."

Glancing at him, Y/n took a deep breathe and closed her eyes. She leaned back again, this time, fully trusting him. Her body stretched out across the surface of the water, tense at first—then easing, just a little, as she felt the subtle lift of buoyancy under her spine.

Bob didn’t let go, not yet. He smiled at how peaceful she looked.

“You’re doing it,” Bob murmured. It was the first small victory.

Each day, they spent anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour practicing swimming in the pool. He first wanted her to work on floating to develop the trust that the water could hold her. Then she practiced kicking off the side herself and towards his open arms. And Bob didn't move, just watched—hands ready, but not needed.

A few weeks had gone by when she made it from one end of the pool to the other by herself. She padded her way over to him, sending him a look of surprise.

“You didn’t catch me,” Y/n observed, knowing that was what he normally did.

“You didn’t need me to.” Bob smiled back.

One of the most nerving lessons involved jumping into the water and allowing her head to submerge under the water. She stood frozen at the edge of the pool, peering down into the depths with uncertainty in her eyes. And there Bob was, just looking up at her and waiting patiently.

"You can do this," Bob nodded reassuringly.

"I--I don't know if I can," Y/n insisted with a firm shake of the head. She took a step back, but he moved forward.

"I'll catch you," Bob called. He opened his arms to her. "I promise you."

She closed her eyes, took a single deep breath through her nose, and leaped into the water. The water swallowed her up and the bubbles around her rose rapidly to the surface.

The water rushed up to meet her, cold and clear. She opened her eyes beneath the surface. It wasn’t blurry. It wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Peaceful. And she didn’t panic.

Her feet brushed the bottom. Her body rose again.

When she broke the surface, hair slicked back, breath rushing, she looked for him immediately. He was right there for her; his eyes were shining.

“Y/n” Bob breathed, moving closer.

“I did it,” Y/n said, half-laugh, half-sob. “I dunked my head.”

“You did it.” Bob was so proud of her.

Gleefully, Y/n launched herself at him—arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. He held her there, weightless in his arms. The fear was no longer there, only the trust they'd built for one another. Both of them, in their own way, keeping the other from drowning themselves.

HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS ONE! I AM STILL TAKING REQUESTS

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

A/N:This was requested but I cannot find it anywhere!!! I'm sorry I couldn't tag you :( The request was for a mute reader who wasn't a hero working at the tower. Bob becomes a translator for them!

I do have a few follow-up ideas for this let me know if you're interested in one or both! 1. Bob gets jealous of someone at the tower bc they learned ASL and are taking up more of your time. 2. Soft mutual pining with no jealousy (obviously both could be combined lol)

Summary: Working with the Thunderbolts* is a challenge, especially when you don't speak. Thankfully Bob is there to communicate for you.

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Most of the team barely noticed you when you started at the Tower. You weren’t flashy — no special powers or combat gear. You worked in communications, more in the ground support area of things. It was quiet and precise, the kind of work that kept the mission flowing much smoother.

The only thing that would be labeled as special for you was that you didn't speak.

Which meant in a room full of people who were always busy solving problems you were often overlooked… except by Bob.

Bob usually blended into the background himself. He had a talent for disappearing into a room full of larger personalities. It was Bob who smiled the first time you signed “Nice to meet you.” You didn’t expect him to answer, most people just blinked at you awkwardly and waited for you to get your phone out. But Bob, he softly smiled back, and signed, slowly, clumsy but clearly: “Nice to meet you too.”

You stared back at him in disbelief.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish.

“I uh… picked up ASL a while ago. Long story. You’re the first one here who I can use it with.”

From that day on, everything changed.

You didn’t need to rely on text or nods. You could talk-- actually talk and be understood while Bob happily listened. He was patient and kind. He never made you feel like you were less than or an inconvenience. Whenever meetings got chaotic or everyone at the debriefs skipped you over, Bob would awkwardly clear his throat and voice your thoughts aloud. “She says we need to reroute the signal. It’s already compromised.”

No one else understood what you were telling them, but they started paying attention when Bob spoke. And that made him…proud? It gave him something nothing else did, it gave purpose to his life. He wasn’t just in the background anymore. He was your connection to the team. Your translator. Your voice. He was needed. He was important, he was…valued. He never knew that he was missing out on this feeling but he knew he never wanted to miss it again.

He’d walk into the control room just to see if you needed help. He started to pause during drills to check if you were okay. And you started saving little notes for him on post-its. Inside jokes and little drawings. Doodles of him and a speech bubble: “Best Translator Ever.”

He kept that one on his mirror.

One night, after a long hectic day, you both lingered by the Tower windows, watching the rain streak down the glass. The others had cleared out long ago but the two of you stayed in the peace that always seemed to find you when the two of you were together.

You signed slowly: “Thank you for seeing me.” Bob looked at you, and stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled, it was a soft smile, a little sad, but very warm. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers against his arm, a small gesture that made him suck in a breath, a gesture that said: Me too. And in that silence between signs, Bob realized something: You didn’t need words to say everything that mattered.

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If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

I have started a taglist for Bob lmk if you'd like to be added <3

@itsjustisa

[demie90s]

Just In Time

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Diana Taurasi x Reader ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Part 2

MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Diana Taurasi x reader (soccer star!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You were that girl in high school—averaging 30 points a game and dunking before prom. But you chose soccer over basketball and built an empire. Now you’re courtside at the Aces vs. Mercury game in Vegas.

⭑ genre: Slow-burn tension, legend-to-legend energy, flirty sports banter, unexpected chemistry

⭑ warnings: Swearing, casual cockiness, mutual eye-stalking, mentions of high school glory days

⭑ word count: ~ 0.8k

The camera didn’t even have to pan twice.

The second your face lit up on the Jumbotron, the crowd’s noise doubled. Phones flew up. Commentators’ voices pitched higher. And you just grinned from your seat—soft, effortless. Like you didn’t realize you were one of those people now. The kind crowds whisper about before they even spot you. The kind that gets a personalized clap track and a shout-out during timeouts.

“Y/N L/N, ladies and gentlemen,” the arena host announced over the system. “Soccer icon, multi-sport prodigy, and today’s honorary basketball royalty.”

You lifted a hand in a wave, flashing a lowkey smile, teeth biting at your glossed bottom lip. Diamond-studded “L/N” earrings caught the light. Nothing extra, but the kind of shine that made people lean in anyway.

Your friends—three of them, two influencers and a WNBA rookie you grew up with—were already gassing you up in the row behind you.

“She act like she ain’t break the high school scoring record,” one muttered, recording a story.

“She act like she didn’t drop 45 with the flu,” another laughed.

You didn’t correct them. You just rolled your eyes and tucked your hand back under your chin, watching the game unfold in front of you.

But it wasn’t until halftime, as the Mercury were jogging into the tunnel, that you heard it.

“Little L/N?”

You turned, and your smirk widened. “Coach T?”

Phoenix’s head coach was already walking toward you with his arms open.

“I should’ve known you’d be at a game like this. Still pretending soccer’s your main sport?”

You let out a soft laugh, standing to hug him. “You still pretending you weren’t begging me to commit after sophomore year?”

“Because you had thirty-four points, nine boards, and seven assists on a broken ankle.”

You shrugged, letting that memory sit. “Still lost that game.”

“By two. In triple overtime. And you had no bench.”

A few of the players were slowing down behind him, watching the interaction. And cameras, of course, never missed shit.

“She looks familiar,” someone muttered.

“Familiar?” Tibbetts scoffed. “She was on the cover of SLAM at sixteen. Almost went to UConn. Would’ve if she didn’t fall in love with soccer. What’d you end with in high school again?”

“Something light,” you said.

“Girl,” he grinned. “Twenty-nine hundred points. All-time state record. First player in school history to average a triple double two seasons straight.”

Someone whistled. Someone else blinked. And that’s when you heard her.

“That was you?”

You looked up—and the way Diana Taurasi stood just behind the tunnel barrier, arms crossed, head tilted, like she was trying to solve a problem…yeah. That was a core memory being printed in real time.

“Depends,” you replied slowly. “You a fan of broken ankles or buzzer beaters?”

She smiled. Real slight. “I’m a fan of the real ones. And apparently, I missed one.”

Coach chuckled and clapped you on the back. “Come catch up in the back after. I’ll let security know. They’ve been asking about you since the first quarter anyway.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked.

“Everyone.”

⸻

The postgame locker room smelled like sweat, lavender, and a hint of champagne. Phoenix had pulled off a win—barely—but the vibes were still high. Music was playing low, and phones were out. Cameras too, content teams getting their last shots for the night.

You slid in lowkey, dressed in simple black cargos, a tank top, and a cropped open hoodie. Jewelry still on. Vibe still locked.

And when Diana spotted you, sitting on a folded towel across from her locker, water in hand, leaning back like this was your postgame too?

She just stared.

“Coach really let you in, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “He offered. Multiple times.”

“Figures.”

You looked at her again, and this time, you didn’t mask the way your eyes dropped—once, twice, maybe lingered too long on the line of her jaw and the way her bra strap peeked from beneath her loose postgame shirt.

“And you really played like that? For decades?” you said, half-mocking, half-mesmerized.

She smirked. “Still do.”

“Mmm. You’re lucky I picked cleats.”

“And you’re lucky I’m retired. Almost.”

Her voice was low. Purposeful. The kind that tested waters with every syllable.

You sipped your water. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” she said, brushing past you, towel slung over her shoulder. “That’s a fact.”

⸻

Later, when most of the players had filtered out, Diana found you standing by the private team kitchen, talking to one of the media staff. Laughing a little too effortlessly. Shoulder leaned against the counter, head slightly tilted like you didn’t notice her watching again.

“You ever think about what could’ve happened?” she asked, walking up beside you.

You didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“All the time,” you admitted. “But I’m not mad at how it turned out. I still ended up courtside.”

“Could’ve been on the court though.”

You turned toward her, slow. Measured. “You regret any of it?”

She shook her head. “No. But I wonder who’d win.”

You stepped closer. Just enough to make her register the shift.

“I would’ve made you work for it.”

“You would’ve tried,” she said back, voice even.

A pause. Tension humming.

And then?

You grinned. “So what I’m hearing is…I should come to more games.”

Diana’s eyes narrowed like you’d just dunked on her.

But when she answered, her tone was light. Controlled. Dangerous.

“I dare you.”

[daydreamgoddess14]

By Another Hand - Chris Beck 🔥

Here it is, my utterly self-indulgent space boyfriend fic!

If, after 10 years, there are any Chris Beck lovers still out there, this is for you 😘

Chris Beck x F!Reader

Summary: Stress in space affects everyone differently. You're encountering a problem you don't reeeeally want to have to discuss with the ship's medic, but it's getting unbearable.

My (first 🤭) contribution to @ramp-it-up's #PraiseMe5k celebrations with the prompt "I've got you. Always."

Ratings/Warnings: Mature. Space smut - oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, I know nothing about space.

Word count: 7k - I got completely carried away. Not sorry.

Of all the weird space things your brain had considered in the last few years, your current circumstances were not it. Stress, fatigue, loneliness... sure, par for the course.

You'd had less time to prepare. When Beth Johansson had visited family one last time ahead of the mission and came into contact with measles, you'd sent flowers and a box of sweet treats as an apology. You'd met during simulations and training in your part on the B Team, but you weren't close. You were dropped into the crew, a stranger.

The rest of them had history - inside jokes and habits built over two years of training. You had manuals and protocols. You had a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes and a gut-deep fear of being the weak link.

They knew you vaguely enough, from training and simulations, and your file information, but until you sat next to Vogel in the Ares cockpit, they didn't know you.

It had taken a frank conversation with Commander Lewis early on in the mission for you to accept the truth of your position: "You're not just some last-minute replacement. You're one of my crew. Start acting like it."

So, since then you'd been feeling good. Competent. Settled. Comfortable in your role, you even started to feel like part of the crew. Through the outbound journey, your time on Mars, your frantic leaving and the return journey.

Even the Rich Purnell maneuver didn't phase you. When you'd studied it, explained it, gone over and over it with the Commander and then with the rest of the crew, you'd flourished.

That lasted until about two and a half months ago - when your body decided to betray you halfway back to Mars.

It had never been an issue before. Not on Earth, not in isolation training, not even during the long, silent stretches of the journey so far. It was... a little beyond comprehension.

At first, you figured it was just stress - everyone has off days. But then days turned into weeks. Every attempt left you more wound up than when you started.

Sleep got harder. Concentration slipped. And worst of all, it wasn't something you could exactly bring up over breakfast.

You needed to get over it, and quickly. After a quick game of cards with Martinez, and a run on the treadmill, you took yourself back to your bunk, a woman on a mission.

You'd done everything right, set the mood (as much as you could in a single bunk on a spaceship), secured your privacy, and god knows you were tense enough.

You closed your eyes, breathed deeply. In, out, in, out. And then you let your hand wander. Brushing over your breast, raising goosebumps along the way, and down. Down into your sweatpants, pinned in place by the elastic. You opened your legs a fraction more, finding the sweet spot between space to move and friction.

You circled your clit slowly, breath hitching, chasing that flicker of heat. It built... kind of. Almost. Enough to keep going, not enough to tip over.

You pressed harder, changed pace.

But, as with every single other time for the last two and a half months, in trying to force it, your body just... wouldn't give.

The pressure fizzled out. Your hand stilled.

You lay there, skin flushed, jaw clenched, heart pounding with nothing to show for it.

Again.

Your body refused to cooperate, like someone had snapped the wires that connected your body to any kind of release.

This was getting stupid. Astronauts had faced worse challenges than not being able to orgasm.

Poor Mark was proof of that.

But god if it wasn't one of the most frustrating parts of space.

~~~~

By the time 'morning' hit your bunk in the form of a false dawn lighting system, you were in a foul mood. You floated through the ship, forcibly pushing your feet off the walls like an Olympic swimmer.

Lewis was nursing her rationed coffee, half a cup now, half a cup later. You had no such patience and not only took your daily ration, but the following days as well. Future you was going to fucking hate past you.

"You look like hell."

"Thanks, Commander," you sighed.

"You ok?"

"All good, just tired."

She narrowed her eyes at you, normally you loved her to-the-point attitude but today, you were not feeling it.

"I'm not buying it," she said shortly. "You're two snarky comments away from me scheduling a mandatory psych eval."

You smiled, just a little, although you weren't sure how much of her comment was true. "I'm just... dealing with stuff. It'll pass."

"Then talk to Beck?"

"No." You'd already made your mistake in refusing before she'd even finished the sentence.

Lewis set her coffee down slowly and looked you dead in the eye.

"That wasn't a suggestion."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"You think you're the only one cracking a little out here? This mission isn't just about physical health. We all need to keep it together. Beck's trained for this kind of thing. Whatever you're bottling up, he can help."

"Commander, it's fine. I'm fine."

"You're not doing this alone, and I'm not letting it get worse. So... figure it out before I do it for you."

You sighed. Maybe that wasn't a bad idea... No! She was a married woman. She'd almost certainly say no.

Wouldn't she?

"Ok," you agreed quietly. "Ok, I'll figure it out."

You were going to talk to Beck. You'd go in, explain - calmly, clinically - and he'd be a professional about it, of course he would. He was a doctor. It would be fine.

He'd tell you what was happening, give you some tips, maybe even a workaround. You'd figure it out, get yourself off, and the whole crisis would be over.

Easy.

Simple.

A totally normal thing to ask your crewmate in the middle of a space mission.

You knew you should be able to talk to Beck but the very thought filled you with dread. You were already cursing yourself for developing a crush on the only other single person on the crew.

To have to have this conversation with him?

Your worst nightmare come true.

You might as well have been rocking up to elementary school totally naked, about to take a test you hadn't prepared for while your teeth fall out and the entire school laughs.

~~~~

You went to the med bay while desperation and two rations of coffee still coursed in your veins. It still took you forever to get there. You glided through the zero gravity spaces noiselessly.

"Beck, I need to talk to you. And I swear, if you laugh or log this, I will open an airlock."

He looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face.

"Hey. Ok. Yeah. Come in - what's going on?"

"Off the record?"

He closed his laptop slowly and raised both hands calmly.

"Completely. No notes, no judgment. You've got me."

You swallowed.

"I... have been stressed..."

Beck nodded, encouraging but quiet. He didn't fill the silence. He just waited.

Of course he did. He was good like that. Steady. Patient. A smile that make your knees buckle even in anti gravity.

God, that made it worse.

"And I haven't been sleeping well."

Still true. Still vague. Safe. At no point were you going to say the word orgasm.

He nodded again, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, a lot of us are feeling it. Is it - like racing thoughts? Nightmares?"

"No. Well, yes, sort of. Just general... tension."

"Alright," he said gently, "do you want to talk through it? Or I can help with relaxation protocols - breathing exercises... Martinez came in the other day just for a hug."

"Huh, cute," you grimaced rather than smiled.

You were going to have to say it.

You were going to have to say the words: "I can't orgasm and it's driving me crazy."

You could do it.

You opened your mouth.

And instead you said:

"Maybe magnesium?"

Beck faltered. "Sure. Yeah, we can try that."

You nodded too fast.

"Great. Thanks. That's all. Sorry. Sorry I - yeah. Bye."

And then you were gone, heart pounding like you'd actually opened an airlock.

By the time you'd thrown yourself into work and had lunch with Vogel, a blister pack of magnesium tablets were waiting on your bunk. You figured it couldn't hurt to try, so you took one and prayed for a miracle.

It turned out, all of the current supplies of miracles were being used by Mark Watney patiently waiting on Mars for you to go back for him.

You lay there again, back arched, thighs tensed, fingers working in circles that used to get the job done.

Nothing.

Not even close.

You'd tried everything - slow, fast, edging, starting cold, starting hot. You'd closed your eyes and pictured someone else's hands, someone else's mouth. His hands. His mouth.

Still, your body refused.

Probably a good thing if you ever wanted to be able to look him in the eye again.

It was like trying to start a fire in a vacuum.

The worst part was how much it hurt. Not a physical pain, but somewhere in your gut. Deep and stupid and raw.

You wanted release. You wanted your own damn body back.

You turned over and bit your pillow, trying not to cry.

~~~~

You gave the magnesium a good try. It seemed like the sensible thing to do, but a week later, you were back.

No caffeine this time. Just stubbornness. And maybe a little shame.

Beck looked up, surprised but not unfriendly. "Hey. Did the magnesium work its magic, or you here for the hug too?"

You hovered in the doorway, guiding your feet to the floor and already regretting joining NASA in the first place.

"Um. No miracle. Still tense. Still... not sleeping."

Still sexually frustrated to the brink of madness.

He smiled gently, motioning for you to sit.

"Well, there are other options. Could be hormonal, neurological - space affects a lot. We can work through it. No pressure."

God, why did he have to be so nice?

You sat, fiddling with the cuff of your sleeve.

"So... hypothetically... if someone was experiencing... like... a persistent kind of tension. Physical. But not pain, exactly. More like... stuck energy."

Beck frowned. Then nodded, slowly.

"Ok... like muscle tightness? Or -?"

"No! I mean - not just that. More like..."

Abort. ABORT.

"Actually you know what? Forget I said anything. I think I'm just dehydrated."

You stood up.

"Dehydra -"

"Thanks. You're great. This was great. I'm gonna go... drink some water."

And before he could say a word, you were already halfway down the corridor, face hot, body still buzzing with the wrong kind of tension.

~~~~

You tried in the shower. It was a poor substitute for a roaring, piping hot shower, but it was something at least.

You braced your forearm on the wall and rested your head on it, the water running (dripping, really) down your back. Your right hand moved down, fingers curling inside.

Not deep enough.

Nowhere near deep enough.

You tried again - adjusted the angle, flexed your hand, breathed - come on.

But your body was a locked door, and the key just wouldn't turn.

You gasped out a frustrated breath, forehead slipping onto the cold wall.

The water kept tapping against your skin, slow and steady and utterly useless.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you let yourself whisper it:

I need help.

The thing that terrified you most was that the help you needed was not in the abstract. Not in the "relaxation technique" kind of way.

It was in the hands-on kind of way.

Someone else's hands.

You couldn't think about that.

There had to be another way and Chris Beck was going to help you find it.

You shut off the water.

Toweled off, got dressed, and before you could talk yourself out of it again, you went to find him.

He was in the common area, being beaten at chess by Vogel.

You hovered awkwardly, trying to gauge how much attention you'd draw if you asked to speak to him.

Instead, you slumped down beside Martinez, who was shuffling cards.

"Poker?" he offered, raising a brow.

"Nah."

"Snap?"

You were about to.

"Yeah. Sure." You sighed.

Martinez dealt you both in, and you tried to focus on the game. You really did. But Beck was still in your periphery - calm, focused, chewing his lip as Vogel moved his knight.

Eventually, Vogel said something low in German that you didn't catch, but Beck laughed, shook his head, and stood.

"I'm gonna shut down the med bay," he said. "You need anything before lights out?"

The question was addressed to no one in particular, but your pulse jumped anyway.

You glanced at Martinez, who was too busy flipping his cards to notice you hesitating.

This was it.

You could get up.

You could follow him.

You let Martinez win, ruffling his hair as you left him to make your agonising trek to the med bay.

You hovered outside for way too long, watching the light through the hatch. He was moving around inside - locking drawers, powering down screens, tidying with that same quiet precision he always had.

You told yourself to leave.

You also told yourself to wait.

You didn't do either.

The door slid open with a soft hiss just as he turned toward it.

"Hey -" he started.

"I can't come, ok?!"

It was out before you could stop it. Loud. Sharp. Way too loud for a spaceship full of thin walls.

Beck froze. You froze.

To his credit, he didn't flinch.

Didn't laugh. Didn't even look surprised.

"That's actually... more common than you'd think under stress."

His tone was gentle. Medical. Matter-of-fact.

You were already flushing, words tumbling in a desperate, horrified whisper now:

"I've tried everything, Beck. I've tried so many times I've lost count. My body just - won't. I can't sleep, I'm wound so tight I feel like I'm going to explode. I need to fix it."

His expression softened just slightly - not pity. Not amusement. Just understanding.

"You want to sit down?"

You didn't.

You wanted to run.

You wanted him to help.

You had no idea what to say next.

You hovered like an idiot in the middle of the med bay, arms folded tight over your chest.

Beck leaned against the counter, watching you carefully. He didn't push. Just waited.

"I know this isn't exactly... urgent medical protocol," you said finally, staring somewhere near his collarbone. "But I've tried the stupid magnesium. I've tried yoga. I've read every article in the psych archive and I'm still..." aching. No, you couldn't say that. You exhaled sharply. "Still nothing."

God, this was the most mortifying conversation you'd ever had.

He nodded slowly. "You're dealing with a perfect storm. Stress, confinement, no privacy, no real bodily autonomy. It's not unusual. And it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But it sucks," you snapped. "And I've had enough. I want one thing that's just mine, and my body won't even let me have it."

Silence fell again.

"There's gotta be something I can do, something I haven't thought of," you whispered pleadingly.

You stood there, breathing shallowly, the air in the med bay suddenly too warm. Beck hadn't moved closer. He hadn't looked away, either.

"I don't even know what I'm asking," you said finally, throwing your hands up. "I didn't come here with a plan."

"You don't have to have one," he said.

You looked at him, eyes searching. "If I asked for help... what... what would you suggest?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stepped gently into your space, careful not to touch you.

"If you ask," he said quietly, "I'll say yes."

Your eyes shot to his. He looked calm, maybe too calm, but there was something unreadable beneath it.

"What? You mean like...?" you started.

"I mean," he said, still gentle, still maddeningly professional, "if you needed... assistance, I wouldn't think less of you."

A moment passed.

Then, quietly he asked, "would it help if someone else touched you?"

You didn't answer out loud.

But the look you gave him was answer enough.

You looked away, ashamed. Heat crawling up your neck.

"I - no," you said quickly. "I mean... yes, probably. But - no. You're the medic. You'd get in trouble. I don't want this to be some... some ethical violation on a NASA report. Absolutely not."

He smiled softly. "Pretty sure that report would be redacted."

You huffed a laugh, but your arms were still crossed, hugging tight around yourself. "I'm serious, Beck."

"So am I." He took a cautious step forward. "I would never touch you without consent. And I would never treat you like a problem to solve. But you came to me. You asked for help."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd suggest... that."

You met his eyes again, and this time the air between you felt like something fragile - something you could break with a word.

He added, "I'm not offering out of duty. I'm offering because I care."

Your throat tightened.

Your hands opened, half surrendering. You weren't even sure you couldsay no.

Your voice came out small, barely a whisper.

"What if I say yes?"

He didn't move.

Didn't assume.

"Then... I'd take care of you." He said quietly, steadily.

"I should be able to fix this myself," you muttered.

"I know," he said quietly.

"It's probably just like... a brain block. Once I get over it..."

"Yeah."

You sighed. "They should allow vibrators in space."

He huffed a short laugh through his nose. "They really shouldn't. NASA would never survive the press leak."

"I want to say yes. I just... I don't know how to without sounding like a fucking deviant." You put your head in your hands and sighed.

Beck watched you, read you the way only someone trained - and maybe someone who cared - could.

"I think..." he started gently, "you should sleep on it."

You flinched.

Just a little, but it was enough.

He caught the flicker of devastation in your eyes before you could look away.

"Hey," he said, voice lower now, almost a whisper. "How long has it been since ..."

You didn't answer, your jaw clenched. You shook your head.

"That long?"

"I can't," you said, desperately. "I close my eyes and everything's tense. I can't unwind. I can't relax. My body's on this awful loop, and I can't break it."

He didn't say you should've come to me sooner. He didn't say you're overreacting.

He just nodded, steady and calm.

"Ok," he said. "Ok. We'll figure it out."

Not you'll figure it out. We.

You nodded, slowly at first, like your body didn't quite trust your mind to mean it.

Your voice was barely audible. "Not later. Not tomorrow. I can't keep doing this."

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes softened like he'd been waiting to see if this was what you needed.

"I've got you," he said quietly.

You inhaled, shaky but steadying. "I don't know how this works. I've never..." You trailed off, cheeks hot again. "It's not exactly a standard medical consult."

"No," he said. "It's not."

He took a cautious step forward, close enough for warmth, far enough for safety.

"But you don't need to know how it works. We start slow. We figure it out together. And if you say stop, I stop."

Your mouth opened to respond, but the knot in your throat stole the words. You just nodded.

He took a step back and you felt his absence immediately. He pulled the curtain across, shielding his examination area from the rest of the room.

When he returned, you drew in a shaking breath.

"This is so weird," you whispered.

"It doesn't have to be -"

"If you feel like this is some sort of obligation -"

"I don't. I want to help. You can still say no," he said softly. "Whenever you need to. If it's still not... happening -"

"I know," you said, eyes locked on his chest. "I just... I've forgotten what it's like not to feel like this. Like I'm constantly on edge."

His hand lifted, hovered in the air between you. "Can I?"

You nodded.

Fingertips brushed your arm, just a light touch, but it sent a tremor up your spine. Not from lust - not yet - but from relief. From not being alone in this.

"It's not weird," he promised. "It's human to want to be held. To want to be touched."

He stepped closer again, guiding you back a little to lean against his workstation. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You could feel it already, the heat in your core tightening and building. His warm breath made you whimper. Goosebumps prickled all over. With his left hand on the workstation behind you, his right traced the waistband of your sweatpants.

You held your breath.

His fingers didn't rush. They just traced, slow and careful, reading every twitch of your breath, every shift in your body.

"Still ok?" he murmured.

You nodded, almost frantically, your body hummed with anticipation.

Then, finally, he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, and you let out a sound you hadn't meant to make. Not loud, but raw, aching.

"That's it," he whispered, more breath than voice. "Let me help."

He reached for you and your legs parted with far less hesitation than you'd expected. When his fingers brushed your core, you thought the dam was already going to burst. You weren't sure what to do with your hands, unsure whether to reach for him. Whether it was ok for you to touch him. You settled with gripping the edge of his t-shirt and bunching it in your hands, the soft cotton warm in your grip.

You were soaked, more than ready when he carefully slipped two fingers into you.

"Ohh, god -" you breathed, letting your forehead drop onto his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice strained and rough.

You nodded against him, your body eagerly bearing down on his hand. He drew his fingers back and pushed back in slowly, taking his time.

He moved with maddening patience, curling his fingers just enough to make you gasp.

Your grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him closer. He didn't stop you.

"Been like this for months?" he asked softly, his lips brushing your temple.

You could only nod, too far gone for words.

"Easy," he said, a little firmer. "You're doing so good."

Your hips rolled into his hand and you let out a soft, broken sob.

"Just like that," he said, the edge of restraint creeping into his voice.

You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you.

"Don't fight it. I've got you. Always." His thumb brushed against your clit, untouched til now, and your knees buckled.

Your hips jerked as his thumb circled again, more deliberate this time.

His breath hitched, just a little.

"Jesus," he whispered. "You're - God, you're perfect like this."

That was enough. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time, but it hit you like a freight train. Months of build up and failed attempts took your breath away and you cried out, muffling the sound in his shoulder. His name on your lips.

He held you through it, his hand slowing but not stopping until you'd stopped pulsing around his fingers.

You both stood totally still for a minute, his breathing just as ragged as yours.

"You ok?" He asked quietly.

You nodded and shifted slightly, his fingers - still inside you - found a new angle which made you sigh, and at the same time his breath hitched as you brushed against him.

He was hard.

Solid against your thigh.

You'd been so consumed that you hadn't realised.

He'd started moving again, "again?"

His voice was a low murmur, more breath than sound, but it curled warm through your chest.

You hesitated for just a second, "please -" you breathed.

He didn't ask for more. Just kissed your temple, and eased his fingers in and out slowly - so gently it made you shiver. You didn't realise how badly you wanted to be kissed until his lips brushed yours, tentative and soft. Testing.

You kissed him back. Immediately.

This time wasn't like the first. The first had been rushed and desperate and clinical. This felt like something new. Something that belonged to both of you.

He was surer this time. The awkwardness was still there - you still couldn't believe that you'd both almost suggested this solution together - but now he knew you weren't completely freaking out, he was leaning into it.

He leaned into you too, trapping you between his body and the workstation, his deft fingers reaching and curling mercilessly inside you.

Your hips bucked and rolled, you gasped, already sensitive, already teetering again. Your hands found his waist, anchoring there as his mouth found yours, deeper this time. Not hesitant now - hungry. Like something had been unlocked in both of you.

Your moan was swallowed into his mouth, your hips rolling into every movement of his hand. His other arm braced beside your head, steadying you both.

"You feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice low, rougher now. "You're so damn responsive."

You whined at that - words sinking deep, pulling your body tighter, hotter. He felt it too, the way you clenched around his fingers.

"Chris -" you gasped - warned - you weren't sure which.

"There it is," he whispered. "That's it. Don't hold back this time."

You didn't.

The second release crashed over you sharper, harder than the first. You buried your face in his neck, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, breath caught in your throat.

He didn't stop touching you until the aftershocks faded. Didn't pull away, either.

When you finally lifted your head, flushed and dazed, he was watching you like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened either.

Your eyes dropped between you, and only then did you register how hard he still was, pressed against your hip.

You hesitated, biting your lip.

"Should I -?"

He shook his head, brushing your hair back from your face.

"No. No, I can... I'm not having the same trouble as you."

That made you blush all the way to your toes.

The thought of him - of the hands that had just been inside you - pumping himself to release, quiet and alone, made something new twist inside your chest. With the clarity that came from your second orgasm, something else had taken root. Not just tension. Not just need.

Desire. Real and focused.

And now, for the first time, you weren't entirely sure who this had been for.

He didn't move right away. Neither did you.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken - something heavier than just release.

He stepped back first. Slowly. He let you go, giving you space to move away from the workstation.

You didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I should..." you started, voice hoarse. You cleared your throat, tried again. "I should go."

He gave a small nod, lips pressed together. "Yeah. Ok."

You turned to leave, then paused near the curtain. You looked over your shoulder - not at his face, but at the floor somewhere near him.

"This doesn't... mean I expect anything. I'm sure that's... I'm fine now. Should be good to just, y'know, go... solo."

"I know," he said gently. "Me neither. You - well, enjoy."

But there was something in his voice. Not regret. Not indifference. Something quieter. Something careful.

"I just..." You hesitated. "Thank you."

That made him smile, soft and tired. "Anytime."

You weren't sure if he meant that like a joke, or if it was literal. You weren't sure what you wanted it to mean.

You slipped through the curtain and out into the ship, pulling the door closed behind you before anyone could see.

You went back to your bunk, mind racing. The first time could almost be considered medicinal, you thought. Victorian doctors used to do that, right? Treat 'hysteria' with a well-placed orgasm. Hand cramps and everything. At least Beck had the decency not to charge for it.

The second time? You weren't sure you were ready to dwell on that.

You had felt borderline hysterical, and now? You couldn't remember feeling so peaceful.

~~~~

The next morning, you woke up before the lights even shifted.

Not because of stress. Not because of the usual gnawing, skin-tight anxiety that had wrapped itself around your nerves like a second skin since Sol something or other.

You were just... awake.

You'd slept. Actually slept. The kind of deep, dreamless sleep that left you feeling like you'd borrowed someone else's body - someone rested. Someone sane.

For the first time in weeks, you didn't feel like screaming into the vacuum.

And then you remembered why.

The flush rose in your cheeks. The memory came back in fragments - your desperate voice in the med bay, Beck's hands, the look in his eyes. His mouth on yours.

You buried your face in your pillow and groaned.

How on earth - or not - were you supposed to act normally.

You ate your breakfast like a person who hadn't come apart for the ship's medic just twelve hours ago. You smiled at Martinez's terrible jokes. You nodded along to Lewis's briefing. You even managed to remember some of the German you'd been learning with Vogel.

Beck, for his part, played it cool.

He sat further along the table, jeered with Lewis about some suggestions NASA had sent up.

Did he regret it? Did he want to pretend it didn't happen? Had you hallucinated the whole thing?

By the time lunch rolled around, and you'd caught up on your work, you found yourself drifting towards the med bay.

He looked up from his tablet as you stepped inside.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual, hoping it worked.

"Hey," he replied, equally neutral. Then, after a pause, he asked, "you sleep ok?"

You hesitated.

"Like the dead."

There was a flicker of a smile on his lips. Just a flicker. But it was enough to settle the knot in your stomach.

You weren't crazy. It happened. He remembered.

Things went back to normal.

You were more focused. Less on edge and irritable. It felt like a reset.

A few days later, you settled in your bunk, your hand reaching into your shorts.

You followed the path his hand had taken, like some kind of lucky charm. You even closed your eyes and let yourself think of him - his voice, steady and warm in your ear. The way he'd kissed your temple. God, the praise. The way he'd looked at you like you weren't unraveling, like he wanted to see you come apart.

Your fingers moved slower, more deliberately. You tried to recreate the rhythm. The angle. The pressure.

It wasn't the same.

You shifted, trying again. Focused harder. Thought about his breath catching when your thigh had pressed against him. About the heat in his eyes when you'd whispered please.

Still nothing.

You let your hand still. Breathed out hard.

"Seriously?" you muttered to the ceiling.

You waited a second. Then rolled onto your side, pulling the blanket over your head like it could smother your frustration.

You couldn't go back again.

You just couldn't face it.

It was not realistic for you to spend the next two years unable to make yourself come.

He couldn't be the only way out of this situation.

You started avoiding him completely.

Not in a dramatic way, and definitely not in a way the Commander would notice. You were subtle - taking a longer route to the lab, skipping the usual post-briefing coffee refill you knew he'd be at, ducking into your bunk just before lights-out instead of lingering in the common area.

But Beck was observant.

It only took three days for him to seek you out.

You were tucked into one of the far-side workstations, supposedly reviewing data logs. You weren't. The same paragraph had been blinking at you for half an hour.

He appeared without a sound, leaning lightly against the bulkhead.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly.

You jumped.

"What?" you blurted, too fast, too loud.

His gaze stayed level. Steady. "You've been avoiding me."

You gave a weak laugh. "No, I've been... busy."

He didn't push, but he didn't back off either. Just crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Then, like he knew it was coming, the frustration hit.

"Fine," you whispered, voice sharp with embarrassment. "I thought maybe it was just the reset I needed, you know? That I could pick up from there, that my body just needed a jumpstart or something, but -" you cut yourself off, exhaling harshly. "Turns out, I'm still broken."

Beck stepped in closer, slow and careful like you were something fragile. "You're not broken."

You didn't look at him.

"Pretty sure I am."

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to talk," he said, voice low. "But... I'm here."

You looked up at him. That steady calm. The offer, just hanging there.

And you didn't need to say anything. He already knew.

You stared at the console, jaw tight.

Then, finally, you said, without looking at him, "I know."

Another silence. Not uncomfortable, just... charged.

"I'll be in the med bay later."

Then he was gone, leaving you alone with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

~~~~

The lights in the corridor felt dimmer than usual as you ghosted through corridors. You told yourself it was fine. That it was just like before. But you weren't sure that was true.

The door slid open with a hiss.

Beck was there - alone, waiting, his expression unreadable but calm. He didn't say anything at first. Just met your eyes like he'd been listening out for you the whole time.

You stepped inside, your heart thundering.

Neither of you said a word.

You both moved forward at the same time, his hand brushed yours, fingers curling just slightly, and you didn't pull away.

Without a word, he pulled you behind the curtain.

Your heart was hammering now - not with panic, but anticipation.

He turned to you, eyes searching.

And you made the choice.

You reached up and kissed him.

Soft, sure.

This time, there was no hesitation. No fumbling. Just the warmth of his mouth on yours, the tension melting between you like it had been waiting for this.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest to wind around his neck. He seemed momentarily at a loss with what to do with his own, but when your t-shirt rode up to expose your skin, they found their purpose again. His palms were warm on your ribs, resting in the curve of your waist.

You let your tongue trace the line of his lower lip, and he stilled. Just for a moment.

Then he made a soft sound - surprise, maybe - and kissed you back like he meant it this time. Like he wanted it too.

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and when your hips pressed to his, there was no mistaking how much he wanted you.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding him close. But you needed something more than touch.

"Did you... after I left?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Did you -"

He stilled. Just for a moment. Then nodded once.

You could feel the heat fill your body, crawling up your chest, and down to settle in your core.

He nudged you backwards to the consultation bed.

"Should we be doing this in here?" You asked against his mouth.

"Depends what this is. It's a little different to last time?" He asked.

You nodded, barely. "Yeah."

He searched your face. "Is that ok?"

Your fingers tightened in his shirt. "Yeah. I want -" You faltered, then said, "You."

That was all it took.

He gave you a look that suggested he'd be picking that conversation thread back up later, but then quickly lifted you to sit on the bed.

His hands gripped your hips, steady and sure, as he settled between your knees.

"And this?" he asked, voice low.

You nodded, pulling him in by the front of his shirt.

And then he kissed you again - deeper this time, less cautious.

It was hundreds of Sols without being touched, or held or kissed. It wasn't just wanting, but the relief of finally having permission.

His fingers dug into your hips as if grounding himself, as if he needed proof you were really here. You couldn't stop touching him - his jaw, his chest, the back of his neck - like you'd forgotten what it felt like to touch someone else.

You kissed like you'd both been starving for it. Your hands clung to each other, not frantic, just certain.

No more pretending this was just relief - for either of you.

His fingers flexed at your waist, and he exhaled like he was steadying himself.

And then -

He dropped to his knees.

Not rushed. Not demanding. Just... deliberate.

You stared down at him, stunned.

This wasn't clinical. This wasn't controlled. It wasn't even casual.

It was him, on his knees, like he'd made up his mind days ago.

Your breath hitched.

"I -, wait, what -" you tried, but the words failed.

He looked up at you, steady, sure. "Can I?"

No pressure. No assumption. Just... offering.

Your whole body answered before your mouth could. You nodded.

He leaned in, slowly and deliberately without taking his eyes off you. He slipped your sweatpants down, and when his mouth found you, your head tipped back with a sound you couldn't contain.

"Shit, oh god -" you gasped.

It had been so long you'd lost all concept of time, but you'd been on the Rich Purnell maneuver for ages already. Over halfway back to Mark, waiting for you all. You'd been away from Earth for nearly two years.

It was embarrassing how one slow swipe of his tongue had you whimpering, how his breath on your inner thigh made you tremble.

His hands anchored you in place more than any artificial gravity could, strong and steady - tightening slightly as he adjusted his grip. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips pressing into your skin, a reminder of who he was outside this moment. Capable. Calm. Always in control.

Now, he was using that control on you.

He didn't rush. Every movement of his mouth was deliberate, exploratory. Like he was mapping you - learning you by feel and sound and taste. The softness of his tongue, the way he flattened it and dragged it slowly. The stubble on his jaw grazing your thigh just enough to make your hips twitch.

You couldn't keep still. One of your hands found his shoulder, clinging to him, the other twisted in the fabric of your shirt where it bunched near your stomach.

"Chris -" you breathed, voice cracking.

He glanced up just briefly, eyes dark and focused. His lips were already slick, his mouth working you open with slow, devastating patience. And when he finally closed them around you - just enough suction to make your vision blur - you cried out, head tipping back, spine bowing.

You felt like you were burning alive from the inside out.

He was merciless. Unbothered that you were both wildly out of practice, unused to even the slightest platonic touches, let alone this.

You pushed his shoulder, needing him to stop but unable to speak.

He paused immediately, lifting his head.

"Too much?" he asked, voice low, rough.

You shook your head, breathless. "No - yeah... just... give me a second."

Your chest was heaving, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his shoulders. Every nerve in your body was singing, stretched tight from neglect and now lit up like a mission critical console warning.

He didn't move far, just rested his cheek against your thigh. Grounding. Solid. Present.

"You're not broken," he murmured again like he was determined to prove it to you.

"Well, no, apparently not. Not when you - oh, fucking fuck - when you do that -" your rebuttal was lost to his insistent mouth.

He huffed a laugh against you, and the vibration made your hips jerk.

Your hand fisted in his hair, not to push him away this time, but to keep him there, anchored.

He didn't let up.

Didn't ease off.

Like he wanted to rewrite every memory your body had of being let down, left wanting.

Like he needed to prove it wasn't just release - it was care, it was connection, it was him.

You came apart with a sob. Literal tears of relief, legs shaking, your fingers digging into his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you on the ship.

He didn't stop until you gasped his name - half plea, half prayer.

When he finally pulled back, his face was flushed, eyes blown wide. He looked proud.

You couldn't move. Couldn't think. Only stared down at him, chest heaving, heat still blooming through every nerve.

"You're crying," he murmured, getting to his feet. You sat up slowly, legs trembling as he reached for you, wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm OK," you insisted, "I'm fine, totally fine."

"Totally lying," he said quietly.

"It was just..."

"A lot."

You nodded against him.

His hand slid slowly up your back, fingers light, comforting.

"It was good," you whispered. "God, it was -" You couldn't finish. Just breathed in his scent, let yourself feel how solid he was against you.

He didn't rush you. Didn't ask for anything. Just held you.

You pulled back eventually, enough to see his face. His eyes searched yours.

"I want to," you said quietly.

He shook his head. "No. No we're not keeping score, this is for you. I'm not going anywhere."

You let out a shaky breath and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. "I know."

The silence stretched, comfortable and strange.

You got dressed and sat side by side on the edge of the bed, shoulders touching.

You broke it first. "So... that happened."

He let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. Definitely did."

Silence, again, but it wasn't awkward. Just thoughtful.

Then he said, almost too casually, "I've thought about you, you know. Since before. Since Sol... I don't even know. Lost count."

You turned your head toward him. "Me too."

He looked at you properly then, eyes softer than you'd ever seen. "Didn't really work though. Not the same."

"No," you whispered. "Guess I needed you."

He nudged your knee. "Yeah, well. For the record? I really, really didn't mind."

You smiled, a real one this time, and let your head rest lightly on his shoulder. The moment held.

There was no going back. But maybe neither of you wanted to.

You stayed like that a while - shoulder to shoulder, words thinning out, breaths falling into sync.

No promises. No grand declarations. Just something quieter. Steadier.

Eventually, you said, "Maybe that's why I couldn't do it alone."

He turned, brows raised. "Hmm?"

"I thought I was broken. But maybe I just... needed you."

Something in his face shifted. A softness. A stillness.

"I was always here," he said.

"I know," you said. "I think that was the problem. I was working so hard to not think about you."

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, lopsided and real. He didn't push, didn't ask for more. Just sat with you in it.

Outside the curtain, the ship hummed its steady song. But something between you had settled --- not fixed, exactly. Just seen.

And maybe that was enough.

FIN

[sonderblade]

I had an idea while watching TFP Season 2 episode 5 where Starscream teams up with Silas.

The way Starscream TRIES to be friendly or even have civil conversations with MECH soldiers and/or silas is SO interesting to me! It's when we see Starscream not be so cynical, mean, or plan to backstab someone like we don't see an implication that he would've once they got what they wanted. He was genuinely on board with going along with MECH. whenever he tries to show Silas genuine cooperation like in a scene where MECH finds energon, "Now we'll have enough Energon for our army!" Then Silas gives him a dirty look and Starscream's face turns DEJECTED and says "Your army..." LIKE?!? It's crazy to me that Starscream has so much potential in TFP to like humans or become attached. Wanted to make an AU where Silas realizes that Starscream, although horrible, manipulative, and always scheming- is so very lonely and he takes advantage of that, thinking he'll be nothing but useful information AT FIRST.

Imagine Starscream not knowing how to feel when MECH soldiers do begin talking and conversing back with him, they give him their time and thoughts, they'll tease but not bully, they protect HIM whenever they're out scouting for energon and run into enemies, and even though they're considered underlings, he can't help but feel... warmth towards them. Silas starts easing his doubts, learns about Megatron's treatment, and reaffirms how he was treated was wrong even though Starscream will say he knows it was and claims he doesn't want to be pitied while never admitting out loud that he likes the validation but Silas knows he does, Silas gives him his own room/space saying that since they're both in charge, it's only fitting that he does. Silas is surprised by how good Starscream is at his job. Let's not forget that Starscream was SIC and hid the nemesis for 3 years before Megatron's return while collecting massive amounts of Energon. Silas lets Starscream explore ideas that Megatron would always put down and treats him with some sort of respect, and Starscream THRIVES. MECH starts to become an actual problem, i mean, AGAIN, Starscream was SIC- imagine all the knowledge he has that could upgrade MECH significantly!! Starscream gets attached to Silas and half hates himself for it. Humans are beneath him yet they treated him so much better, welcomed him, and gave him a place to stay. He's no longer lonely, not powerless, and someone is actively choosing to stay and not hurt him. Silas's words have so much stability and he clings to it. Autobots and Decepticons don't accept him but MECH does... Silas does.

Starscream becomes afraid of letting Silas down, afraid that Silas will leave, afraid that Silas will get angry with him and he doesn't like what he's feeling. Why is he so hung up on what Silas feels? Why does he need his approval? Why doesn't he want him to leave? Why does he feel safe around them?

I feel like Silas would develop an attachment too but it takes a while. Silas becomes proud of Starscream's victories, starts to enjoy talking about their evil plans together at like 1 am, starts to enjoy his company to the point he likes being near him, likes being on the battlefield with him, and looks forward to what he's thinking. He does admit that he didn't expect them to work well at first but that he is glad they did and Starscream agrees. They slowly admit things to each other, giving off the smallest hints that they like/care for each other without having to say anything. It's not explicit love or obvious fawning, their development takes its time and it's sort of messy. They do get into arguments but have a mindset of "he'll be back". They do apologize to each other after if u can believe it, focusing their goal on destroying their enemies.

I can imagine an episode that focuses on these two developing their bond by putting them in places where the Autobots or Decepticons are fighting for something, they get involved, everyone fights, retreat happens, and it so happens that everyone involved is stranded in a cave system and need to get out but when the Autobots or Decepticons find Silas/MECH and Starscream separately from each other- that's when their loyalty is put to the test. They're ordering them to give each other up, why are they working together, and what are they planning and though they consider giving each other up, they don't even though they don't trust the other to do the same. And when they finally manage to escape and find themselves together again, it is awkward but also endearing:

Silas: "Glad to see you're not dead. I'll have to admit, I thought you were gonna sell me out."

SS: "I thought the same about you... But I decided that after everything you've done for me, it was the least I could do."

Silas: "How chivalrous of you."

SS: "Yes, yes, now let's get a move on, I'm sure our troops are waiting for us."

They walk towards the entrance of the tunnel,

...

SS: "I'm glad you're not dead too."

--

Another interesting story is Starscream helping Silas become a transformer. Let these two be insane together.

They both don't want to admit that they. Care. About each other. Or that they even have those feelings/thoughts at ALL. But still want the other to KNOW. and MECH soldiers are just watching this wondering when they'll finally get together. I need to draw this bad.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Big Sea: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: This case brings up old wounds in Derek's life when an ocean floor of bodies comes washing ashore. Meanwhile, Frank is nearing the end of his ride before he comes for the one thing he wants, the one thing he's always wanted. You.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If any warnings exceed the normal deaths/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." - Joseph Conrad

"So, did you ever figure out who put the syringes there?" JJ asks over FaceTime.

"No." You screw in the last camera and climb down from the ladder. "It's so weird..."

"Why?"

"I would have seen their energy. I didn't see anything."

"Did you tell me that you don't see the energies of people you know?"

The thought of someone you know doing this puts a chill on your spine. Does someone hate you so much that they want to scare you? That they want to hurt you?

"I really don't want to think about that, JJ."

There are two cameras in the apartment. One in the bedroom and one in the living room. No one will be getting in here again without you knowing it. You've always been able to rely on your gift to tell you things, to show you people's secrets. Someone you know was in your apartment and you don't know who it is. How can you ever rely on your gift again?

Still, if something happens, you'll be the first to know about it. It doesn't matter where you are in the world, your cameras will always send you a notification if they notice any movement from inside your home. Like now, you're in Florida with the team because bodies are washing up through the seater system, faster than the local police can handle. So many bodies that the local police had to close off the beach to set up shop there.

Bodies were buried under the ocean floor and have recently started coming up due to the shifting tectonics. By the time you get there, there are already half a dozen tents with bones laid out as well as a section for lab personnel to test the bones.

Two men were flushing out the sewer pipes when bones rushed through it, and Hotch is talking to them.

"How deep is the water that this sand is coming from?" Hotch asks.

"About one hundred meters. The pump spews out all kinds of stuff from the ocean floor."

"Do you do this every year?"

"Yes, but it's the first time in Jacksonville. We just moved the barge here three days ago."

"Thousands of miles of open water and blind luck uncovers an unsub's graveyard," Rossi sighs.

"I had them stop the pump once I realized what this was."

"We're going to need you to turn the pump back on. If we don't keep digging, we're not gonna know how many bodies there are down there." Penelope calls Hotch. "What'd you find?"

"A scary math problem. I just finished doing my Jacksonville missing persons sweep. There are six unresolved cases, three of which are kids, and you have nine adult bodies already."

"Then he's not hunting here. Widen your search."

"Yeah, I will do that. Just remember, it is difficult to get an ID match to a thigh bone or coccyx."

"Agent Hotchner." Hotch hangs up and turns around to greet the detective. "Detective Foreman. Call me JT." He gestures to the tents. "Not the most cushy arrangement, but it'll keep your team close to the crime scene for now.

"Well, thank you for setting it up. This will help us preserve what we can. Excuse me."

You and Hotch slip inside the tent where Spencer is. He's examining the bone fragments under a microscope to see if he can determine a timeline, if there is one to be found. Even from looking at it, you can tell some of these bones are really, really, old.

"You know, based on the parasites on the most recent kill, the unsub killed as recently as a month ago, which means he's still active."

"How did you establish a timeline so quickly?"

"By reverse engineering mother nature. Each year, sand and sediment cover up the remains, creating layers on the ocean floor."

"That makes sense," you say. "The deeper the pump dug, the older the remains. Nine victims in nine years means that he's in control of his urges."

"Did you make any sense of victimology?"

"Only that he likes variety. Pelvic bone width indicates that he kills both men and women, and skull structure says he crosses racial lines as well."

The sides of the tents are clear so you can see JT approach with a grim look on his face.

"Agent Hotchner, excuse me. We found three more remains."

"If he's been dumping this long, it's not just out of convenience. There's got to be an emotional tie as well. He'll change his MO because he has to, but he won't be happy about it."

"Then he'll have the entire Atlantic to choose from."

You snap some gloves on and pick up two bones. Even if a person has been dead for decades, you can still connect to their energies. It won't be as strong as someone who recently died but it'll be there. Energy clings to every single dead person no matter how long they've been gone.

Since the energy is mid at best, only flashes of images come at you instead of a movie about their lives. Images of boats and fish. It's not surprising given where you are. 

"There's a lot of fishing boats around here. It's not that surprising," Spencer says when you tell him.

You leave the tent and find Derek and Ashley talking with the detective. When you told Derek about the syringes, he just about flipped his shit. He doesn't like to see you hurt and the thought of someone you know might be doing this, it pisses him off. He smiles when he sees you but continues talking with them.

"You know, that site is known for record catches of yellowmouth. So, the unsub was smart enough to dump during the off-season and avoid fishermen. He could be local."

"I'm afraid to ask this," JT sighs, "but could this be one of my guys? We run interdiction exercises around that spot."

"No, it's most likely another fisherman."

"How could you know that?"

"I'll show you." You follow Derek into one of the tents where bones are laid out on tables. He grabs one with a gloved hand. "See, he disarticulates the bodies at the joints. It helps them sink. Now, that's a skill that only an experienced butcher or fisherman would have."

"The bone nicks indicate this guy inflicted a lot of pain on his victims, which means he's a sadist," you add.

Derek pulls out his phone and calls Penelope.

"Enchantress of all things possible. Use your imagination."

"Can you enchant me with a list of boat owners in Jacksonville?"

"You know I can, baby. Okay, in Duvall County, we're looking at over thirty-one thousand registered boats."

"Limit that to the boats that can only be operated by one person."

"Okay, I'm going to need a lot more than this to do that. It's still looking like a list that makes War and Peace read like a comic book."

Derek is about to respond when he notices one of the cards that's laid next to a heap of bones. Once they were able to confirm that certain bones belonged to each other, they started putting cards with as much information as they could get about the bones. The one Derek sees says "Victim #5 African American female approx. age, 20s. Died in 2004. Derek goes ashen.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He speaks to Penelope. "Keep me posted."

"Why wouldn't he be okay?" Ashley wonders.

"It's just in cases like these where there are only pieces, it's tough. The best we can do is catalog them and wait for the unsub to screw up somewhere else."

"Do you think he's moved on?"

"If he's smart, he has to. So far, this guy seems really smart."

You look behind you at Spencer who looks more stressed than the last time you saw him. This is an unusual case, you have to give him that.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you ask Derek. "You were looking at the card as if you knew who it could be."

"Don't worry about it, okay?"

You nod in surprise. "Okay. I'm going to see if Spencer has anything." You leave the tent and shuffle over to his at the same time as Hotch. "Have you nailed down the victimology?"

"I found a unique evolution, actually. The earliest victims appear to be high-risk." He shows marks on the bones. "These lesions are consistent with syphilis, most likely a prostitute." He points to a skull. "This one has severely ground and missing teeth, commonly seen in excessive methamphetamine abuse. Then all of a sudden out of nowhere, healthier and stronger victims all the way through to number twelve."

"Who do we know about the first victim?"

"That one's tough. He or she has been in the water so long, they're mostly bone fragments. I can attempt to reconstruct--"

"You've got three hours," Hotch cuts him off.

"I can do it in two."

"Make it one."

You pat Spencer's shoulder as a way to comfort him, but if anyone is going to get this done in an hour, it's Spencer. You and Hotch join Rossi's side who is staring at the news vans on the other side of the beach. They essentially haven't left since the police department decided to make the beach their home base.

"How much has gotten out?" you ask.

"Can't tell. Some of these news crews are national. If the unsub doesn't know we found his graveyard yet, he will soon."

"Then we'll hear from everyone who's ever filed a missing persons report."

"Maybe we can use this to our advantage. I could talk to them. It might feed his ego and take the sting out of him losing this site. It could keep him in the area."

Hotch calls for a press conference which is pretty easy since all the news reporters are already in the area. It's not hard for them to air what Hotch has to say.

"At this moment it would be premature to comment on the details of the case. Our goal is to identify the recovered remains as quickly as possible for the families involved. In order to expedite that, we're asking that the families or friends of people who went missing on the East Coast of the United States since the year 2000 come forward. We'll be matching DNA to the remains, and it will be helpful for us to have a personal item from each of the missing persons. An article of clothing, a hairbrush, a blanket, a pillowcase, photographs, or medical or dental records if you have them. We're also looking for items of significance to help us determine the last known whereabouts of each of the victims. Correspondence like letters or emails will be helpful."

Derek's phone rings and he takes the call off to the side. Normally, this wouldn't get your attention but you can feel the disappointment rolling off him in waves. Whoever he is talking to, he doesn't have good news for him.

"Is he okay?" you ask Rossi. "I saw him looking at one of the cards by the bones like he might know who it is."

"Some years back, Morgan's cousin fled a stalker. She made it to South Carolina. She was never seen or heard from again."

"Was it the stalker?"

"He killed himself two weeks later, so we never found out for sure, but Morgan's profile led straight to him. So, whenever unidentified female remains turn up... He gets that call."

You wait until Derek is off the phone before you approach him.

"Hey, slugger." He looks at you. "How are you doing?"

"I could be better."

"Can't you run the DNA of your cousin to confirm if that's her or not?"

"It's not," he shakes his head. "My aunt is in denial. She was her child, and she refuses to think anything else. She still thinks she's alive."

"She might be. A mother just... knows sometimes." Derek nods and sighs. "If you want my help, I'm more than happy to look into it for you."

Derek pulls you in for a hug. "Thanks, mama."

Due to the press conference, a ton of people came forward in the hope their missing loved ones were one of the ones who washed up. Derek and Ashley go to the station to talk to them while you check to see how Spencer is doing.

"How are you doing?"

"On this first victim, the more I work on this skeleton, the more I question its condition. The ocean floor preserved the other remains remarkably well. I think something else caused this."

"Could this be the age of these bones as opposed to the others?"

"Well, he's significantly older. Arthritis in the joints puts him in his late fifties, but that doesn't account for this degree of breakdown. In fact, nothing in the ocean would."

"If the unsub's responsible, maybe he didn't disarticulate this victim but tore him apart instead."

"Look at this." Spencer picks up a bone. There are several knicks on it like it was hit by something. "This bone has a defensive wound like he held it up before the blow came down. I think the bone-smashing occurred while the victim was still alive. He worked out a lot of aggression on this victim. He didn't do that with the others. That would indicate a personal relationship."

"Maybe a father?"

"That would be my guess and not a good one based on the low calcium levels consistent with alcoholism."

x

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[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[lohstandfound]

ignore this.

learning to shut up when i dont have anything new to say to the discussions my mutuals are having about the treatment of the female characters in this show and fandom

even though ive just gone ahead and rambled in the tags a bunch of bullshit

[usernyoom]

remember when drivers used to get a full season

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.

[arolesbianism]

Brute: ah yes I have finally gotten Softie to communicate with Queen and Alpha which has already done wonders for basically repairing the former and beginning the repairs for the latter. Maybe I can finally be free from this hell of my own creation and live with my loved ones happily -]

The evil and nefarious Beats:

[marlynnofmany]

In the interest of not derailing this already-long-and-awesome thread, here are some more details! (Paging @sparrows-corner and any other interested parties.)

So in my first semester of college, I took an Intro to Psychology class. I didn't expect anything special; it was just one of those general education courses that everybody was supposed to take at some point. But it turned out amazing.

What the general public didn't know at that point was someone in the college administration had screwed up and forgotten to assign a teacher to this class. Until a week before class. When several students emailed to ask why that detail was missing in the online listing.

The administration panicked, scrambled for someone-anyone-omg-who-can-drop-everything-and-teach-this-class. They called recently-graduated owners of Masters Degrees in teaching.

They found Sandy.

She was qualified and available, and much older than the average recent grad, with the confidence to go with it. This was still a daunting task, though, and she agreed on one condition: that she team-teach the class with a friend of hers who was still working on finishing his degree.

Having no other choice and seeing no real problem with this, the administration agreed. And thus was born the most glorious educational comedy act in my entire academic career. The two of them were a delight. They knew all the stuff they needed to teach, and they knew a great deal more, and they delivered lectures in a way that had everyone paying eager attention. It was great.

This friend, by the way, was awesome in his own right. While Sandy was a curly-haired white lady around middle age, Wayne was a black guy who (1) dressed in impeccable suits and (2) had cerebral palsy.

I think a lot of 18-year-old minds were quietly enlightened about a few things just from watching these two banter back and forth, one with joints more wobbly than the other. Wayne told a memorable anecdote at one point about stopping by a grocery store in sweat pants instead of his usual classy wear. The cashier asked some gentle question about what he spent his time on, assuming that he had some sort of carer following him around. The expression on her face when he told her that he taught college was one I'll never forget, and I didn't even see it.

Anyways, at the end of this semester, the two teachers asked a few of us smart kids if we wanted to be TAs (teaching assistants) for the next semester. Since most of us had already become friends during the make-a-group-and-discuss-things portions of the class, this sounded like a party that would look good on our records later. And it really was.

I TA'd for that class a few times in a row, with my buddies and the two very cool teachers. We met up outside of class for holiday parties and everything.

And, since this was during the time the Lord of the Rings trilogy was first coming out in theaters, we all dressed up in costume and went to an early screening together.

Wayne drove. His handicap placard meant we got to park at the front, which was pretty awesome.

Now, I'd met people before who knew more LotR lore than I did, but they all paled in comparison to Sandy. As I said in the notes on that other post, she shared some stories of her youth with us. When she was fourteen, she ran away to join a hippie commune. She already knew fluent elvish, and she used that to help the commune's drug-runners stay out of the clutches of the cops, by translating their drug notes into a language the cops couldn't read. With a start like that, it was unsurprising that she still knew elvish now, along with all sorts of fascinating deep lore.

She had a limited edition book that looked shockingly expensive. She made beeswax candles for all the TAs as holiday gifts, with our names written on them in elvish. I still have mine somewhere.

I haven't heard from any of these lovely people in a long time, since college moves on and so does life, but I will treasure those memories forever. I hope Sandy and Wayne and the others are doing well. They deserve the best.

[aardvaark]

theories about why sophie claims she can’t play pool in leverage redemption:

she doesn’t really like being the pool player in cons so she just pretends she can’t play. i have the same theory about how she canonically went to pastry school and yet we’ve never once seen her help eliot in the kitchen: why would she let him know all that when she could keep getting eliot’s homemade meals without doing any work?

Sophie Devereaux (the alias) can’t play pool. but sophie (the person) can.

rashomon job part two: they all once ran into each other pre-leverage on a pool-related con, sophie is the only one who realises this, and she’s decided to avoid jogging anyone’s memory. she remembers how much they butchered her accent last time, she’s NOT giving them another opportunity.

the story of how she learnt to play pool that good can Never Be Told.

if the team knew she could play really well, they’d want to compete with her every time they went to a bar with a pool table. but when sophie’s at a bar, she just wants to have a drink and relax. this would have especially been a problem back in og leverage when nate’s condo/their HQ was literally on top of a bar with a pool room. so she just "can’t play". oh nooo, too bad, oh well, time for a glass of wine :)

making stuff up randomly = grifting practice session. she can’t let her skills get rusty!

in the job we saw in those flashbacks of her pool failures, she decided that her grift persona for the job should be incompetent at pool, despite that being very inconvenient. much in the same way she decided that the ridiculously valuable emerald necklace was something her persona in this episode would wear. she committed to the bit way too much and everyone got pissed at her so she had to pretend that she really is that bad at pool and it wasn’t just an acting choice (no one understands her artistic vision 😔 *dramatic sigh*).

it’s the reverse of her acting skills: she can only play pool when she’s playing for real, as opposed to how she can only act when it’s for a grift.

she will eventually make a bet with someone on the team about something, and whoever wins a game of pool wins the bet. it’s an extremely, unnecessarily long con she’s pulling, almost certainly for a petty reason. maybe she’s gonna ask parker to give her the stanley cup back lol.

lying is simply her hobby. god forbid women do anything.

[creamecafe]

Season 2 Squid Game Men + Who Their Jealous of

Pairing: Squid Game x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of killing, murder but not yandere

Author's Note: This wasn't requested but I thought I would post something in filling for the requests I'm going to post after school and this weekend as much as I can before The Rookie season 7 comes out and I would like to write for that too. Also I'm sorry if this also sucks, because I didn't want to literally be the same for all

Squid Game Women's version will be posted soon!

Seong Gi-hun:

Is jealous of Young-il

Can't put his finger to it, but he doesn't trust him very well

He takes Young-il's silence as a threat sometimes and the way he looks at you

Before he joined the games, jealously or insecurity was never a problem for him

But after what he went through, murder isn't even a second thought for him anymore

Wants to tell Young-il off, but Young-il would know he's bluffing and even Gi-Hun thinks so too

Front Man/Hwang In-Ho/Young-il

Is also jealous of Gi Hun

Joined the games to stop Gi Hun telling the others how to win them

But after seeing you, his mission changed

Would try to get the chance to talk to you whenever he could; dormitory, breakfast or lunch time, before the games starts

But almost always Gi-Hun wants to talk to you. I mean who wouldn't

Tries to keep his composure calm but in his mind he wants to kill Gi-Hun

Thanos

Jealous of Min su and Lee Myung-Gi

He knows Min su is very quiet and probably doesn't have the courage to ask you out, but can't help he upset about it

Always watches Lee Myung-Gi to see if he's interacting with you

Hating on Myung-Gi for the crypto scam is one thing. But it's another if he's also interested in you

Always has you on his team and cusses anyone out for wanting to pair off with you or team up with you

Kang Dae-Ho

Jealous of Thanos

Hates it when he calls you señorita/señor

Wants to have the courage to just tell him off, but he's afraid of how he'll be perceived

Starts thinking he's not good enough for you

Lee Myung-Gi

Also is jealous of Thanos and hates him

Already lost Jun-Hee and can't bear the thought of losing you too

Sees Thanos tries to flirt with you and he clenches his fist so much that it sometimes hurts to hold anything afterwards

Jun-ho

Is expectionally a chill guy

Sometimes he has an off feeling about Gi-Hun

He also wants to take down the people on the island, but he's also concerned how close he might be to you or spending nights out watching the salesman

Will try to go with you every time you go out with Gi-Hun

Salesman

Is jealous of anyone that tries to get close to you, but mostly Gi-Hun

Especially that Gi-Hun has been looking after you and the salesman

Will take matters into his own hands if necessary, which he always thinks it is

Had compassion for Gi-Hun first, but knowing that he's been looking after you two, can't help but think of where to bury him

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld, @ineedsmooching, @swuzzin @magicalconnoisseurcoffee, @dxrlingluv, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy, @vampiregirlxoxoxo, @sassyyoyo, @cloudysxkura, @iidontwannadiealone, @idontreallyexistyet, @hollxe1

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Join my taglist!

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, ���How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”