#back pain Arizona

[tapedsleeves]

.

[leadingedgeseniorcare]

What are some common, yet unheard of back problems for seniors? Number 3 will SHOCK you, read now to find out what it is

[summapaincare]

Advanced Pain Management Services Arizona | Pain Management Doctor

At Summa Pain Care, we offer a comprehensive range of pain management services tailored to meet the unique needs of each patient. Our experienced team in Arizona utilizes the latest techniques and treatments to address chronic pain conditions, including back pain, neck pain, migraines, TMJ disorders, and more. Explore our services and take the first step towards a pain-free life today.

[allpromarlo]

i love it, and i think i deserve it.

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[pathologicalreid]

Can I please request protective Spencer x BAU!Reader who get "lightly" hurt or put in danger bc SWAT or local police made a mistake, and Spencer goes OFF on them. Hotch or Rossi have to calm him down because no one but the BAU knows theyre dating. I'd love to see protective Spencer if possible :)

no sign of danger | S.R.

when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: bloody nose, concussion, split lip, blood, mild violence. spencer reid says the f word. word count: 1.58k a/n: anon, not to be dramatic but something about writing this changed my brain chemistry. thank you for requesting!!! i hope you like it!

The time between arriving at a scene and when SWAT cleared the building was almost always intolerable. There were too many variables at play. It made you uneasy.

So, you waited, leaning on the side of an SUV with your Kevlar already strapped on, you turned to look at Hotch, “We’ve got an audience.”

Breadcrumbs that Garcia had picked up led the team to a house in a small town in Arizona. Unfortunately, the FBI garnered a lot of attention, and neighbors were starting to gather around the house. Hotch nodded, “Reid, JJ, work with the locals on crowd control, and make sure no one is recording. The last thing we need is for the news crews to show up.”

You offered Spencer a small smile as he turned to follow the blond to the barrier. He waved behind his back as he walked away.

Chuckling from right next to you got your attention, just to see Morgan shaking his head, “You two have it so bad.”

“I like to think we have it good, actually,” you said, flushing slightly. The teasing came with the territory, dating within the BAU meant never knowing a moment of peace – especially with Derek Morgan around.

There wasn’t an opportunity for him to respond, because as soon as he opened his mouth, your radio buzzed to life in your ear, “Building is clear. No sign of danger.” At the sound of the SWAT commander’s voice, you and Morgan surged forward to enter the building, Emily and Hotch following close behind.

Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat, “Morgan, Y/L/N, take the two rooms in the back, we’ll take the front.”

Nodding at your orders, you and Morgan walked past the staircase and to the opposite end of the house, where the kitchen and the den were. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” you thought aloud, dragging your index finger along the kitchen counter, and cringing when it came back covered in dust.

As you wiped your hand on your jeans, you looked up to see Morgan sorting through a vinyl record collection. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone’s even entered this house in years.”

You hummed, opening the first cabinet you saw, wrinkling your nose at the discovery that the house also smelled like it had been abandoned. As you went to close the cabinet, the one below you swung open, the force of the doors almost knocking you to the ground.

Stumbling back, you saw a flash of hands before you were slammed into the refrigerator behind you. Immediately, you dropped to the floor, watching as Morgan tackled the guy and shouted for Hotch and Prentiss.

“We need an ambulance, Y/N’s down,” Emily spoke urgently into her radio while Morgan cuffed your attacker.

You winced at the way the radio buzzed in your ear; the way Emily’s voice echoed combined with the throbbing pain in your head made you nauseous. “What do you mean ‘Y/N’s down’?” Spencer’s voice rang through the radios, prompting you to haphazardly yank the coiled wire from your ear.

Everything sounded like you were underwater, Emily and Hotch asked you questions as the fog cleared from your head, “You’re bleeding,” Emily said, there was a worried look in her eyes.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand from your face, just to see it covered in blood. You weren’t even sure how long you had been holding your hand to your face. “Can you stand?” Hotch asked you, his tone was concerned, but there was something else buried within it.

Nodding slowly, both of them helped you stand. Emily hooked an arm through yours when you stumbled slightly, she led you out of the house and to the ambulance. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgan place his hand atop your attacker’s head, protecting it from the top of the police cruiser.

As soon as you sat down on the back of the ambulance, an EMT handed you a towel to hold to your nose. Your eyes flittered up to see Spencer approaching the ambulance, but to your surprise, he turned at the last moment and faced down the SWAT commander. “What happened in there?” He asked, his tone wholly accusatory.

“It looks like the person of interest was hiding in the kitchen when your team entered,” Commander Polk answered, obviously thinking Spencer was just asking for a sort of status report.

Spencer shook his head, “We’re hunting for a serial killer, and you had the audacity to miss the presence of an entire person?” He asked incredulously, “Did you even clear the kitchen?” He pointed in the direction of the house, where Rossi and JJ were now entering to look around more.

The SWAT commander faltered for a moment, “Someone did, but it wasn’t me personally.”

You winced as the EMT prodded at your face, surmising that your nose wasn’t broken, just bleeding badly as a result of the blunt force of the refrigerator. She pulled your hand from your face so she could inspect for any further damage. You opened your mouth to talk, but the EMT was quick to stop you, “You shouldn’t talk, not until we can look at the cut on your lip.”

While the EMTs got more supplies out, Emily helped you take off your Kevlar vest, undoing the Velcro for you and gently tugging it off. The entire front of it was covered in blood, you winced at the sight of the now-red letters.

“You need to figure out whoever checked the kitchen and make sure they know what they’re doing,” Spencer said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Commander Polk’s demeanor instantly changed, “I assure you, agent, we take training our team very seriously. This was just a mistake.”

Even from this distance, you saw Spencer roll his eyes. “First of all, it’s doctor,” he corrected – at which you rolled your eyes. “Second of all, of course, you take training seriously, it’s mandated by the federal government. This was a mistake, a mistake that ended in the injury of a federal agent,” you looked from Hotch to Spencer, hoping your unit chief would do something before Spencer got punched by the SWAT commander. “SWAT making mistakes gets other law enforcement officers killed,” he continued.

“What’s your point, doctor?” The commander asked.

Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m saying you’re fucking lucky she didn’t get killed, or else-“

“Reid!” Hotch called, stalking over to where your boyfriend was nearly getting into a fistfight with SWAT. He muttered something unintelligible to Polk before dragging Spencer away by the elbow, “What was that?”

Your boyfriend threw his hands up in the air, “He needed to be made aware of their mistake.”

Sternly, your unit chief shook his head, “They are aware, Reid, and I assure you I’m not going to drop it and there will be an internal investigation into what went wrong.” He raised his eyebrows, “That being said, it’s not your job to take care of mistakes made by other people.”

“No,” Spencer agreed, “but it is my job to take care of her,” he said, gesturing over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance.

Hotch pointed around to the locals and other SWAT members, “They don’t know that, Reid.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so he didn’t expose your relationship to everyone in the Arizona town. “Let me take care of it,” was his final statement before he walked back to Commander Polk.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Spencer spun around and finally walked over to you. Emily nodded at you before stepping away, “Are you alright?” He asked.

You flashed him a thumbs up, gesturing toward the EMT, who answered for you, “We just glued the gash on her lip, so she can’t really talk right now. She’ll be fine though, maybe a small scar, if anything.”

“Good,” Spencer said, ambling over and taking a seat next to you. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured, and you watched as he restrained himself from touching you.

Humming, you leaned into him for just a moment. Your movement was intentional, but it was quick enough that any passersby would assume you were just unsteady.

The EMTs left once the glue on your lip dried, directing you to ice it periodically to help with swelling and handing you care instructions.

You were left with a mild concussion, a split lip, and ruined clothes. All things considered, you felt like you were pretty lucky. The rest of the team piled into the SUVs, you and Spencer sitting in the back of one with Hotch at the helm and Emily in the passenger seat. “Who knew Reid had it in him?” Emily wondered aloud, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“I can’t believe you almost got into a physical fight with SWAT over a split lip and concussion,” you said, smiling slightly, but stopping as you felt the glue on your lip tugging.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t over the split lip and concussion, it was over the abhorrent display of-“

“Reid,” Hotch said in his no-nonsense tone.

Your boyfriend slouched back in his seat, “So, maybe it was over the split lip and concussion.”

Closing your eyes, you reached over the middle seat and took his hand in yours, “Thanks, Spence.” You whispered so that only he could hear, leaning over the gap between you and setting your head on his shoulder.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[harrysfolklore]

I SAY YES TO ERAS DANCER!YN

i thought about this concept when i watched the eras tour film and you guys encouraged me to write it so here it is ! i enjoyed it a lot so i really hope you like it

ps. the usernames on the comments are taylor’s dancers ! (they’re all so cool i’m obsessed with them)

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by audreydouglass, kamnsaunders and 11,927 others

yourinstagram ready for hotel rooms to be my new home now 🕺

view all 638 comments

audreydouglass ❤️

taylorfan1 she’s one of the eras tour dancers ! make sure to follow them all

gemmastyles Best of lucks !

janravanik Let’s go !

liked by yourinstagram, jefezoff and 3,392,087 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Manila. March, 2023.

view all 72,927 comments

harryfan1 BABYYYY

yourinstagram miss you 🤍

harryfan2 he’s pocket size

alessandro_michele ❤️

harryfan3 i love singlerry

liked by annetwist, janravanik and 17,927 others

yourinstagram 2023 had a blank space, and i wrote @taylorswift in it. let the games begin, the era’s tour !

to the cast… i can’t wait to spend this season of life with you.

🫶✨💜🧣💃🖤🐍💘💋🪩🥂💛⏱️🍾🌃

view all 701 comments

yourbestie Wishing you the best 💘💘

taylorfan1 YOU KILLED IT

nat_b_peterson A true star love you ❤️let’s do this

taylorfan2 my dream job

annetwist ❤️

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 19,927 others

harryupdates HARRY ATTENDED OPENING NIGHT OF THE ERAS TOUR LAST NIGHT !!!!

view all 989 comments

harryfan1 WTF???

harryfan2 NO WAY

taylorfan1 is that really him ??

taylorfan2 HUH?

harryfan3 OMFGGGGG THE IMPLICATIONS

taylorfan3 taylor’s best ex

liked by janravanik, gemmastyles and 20,016 comments

yourinstagram who’s coming to tampa night two?? let the games begin ⚡️

view all 907 comments

taylorfan1 obsessed with them

gracieabrams Best one out there 🕺

taylorfan2 i love the tour dancers soooo much

taylorfan3 MY SHOWWW

gemmastyles I cannot wait to see this show

↳ harryfan1 gemma hello ???

FANS VIA TWITTER

//

liked by taylorfan1, annetwist and 22,827 others

yourinstagram when your boy couldn’t make it to nashville but he’s a hopeless romantic lol

view all 913 comments

taylorfan1 aweee

kamnsaunders That boy is head over heels !

taylorfan2 she has a boyfriend nooo :( she’s my crush

annetwist ❤️

↳ harryfan1 i think she’s a family friend or something, anne and gemma always comment on her posts lol

nat_b_peterson This relationship gives me life

liked by harryfan1, taylorfan1 and 297,894 others

tmz_tv Looks like #TaylorSwift & #HarryStyles really never go out of Style. Tap the link in our bio to see what we know about their recent rekindle!

view all 1,109 comments

harryfan1 huh?

taylorfan1 SOMEBODY CALL TREE PAINE

↳ harryfan1 AND JEFF AZOFF

harryfan2 man i hate tmz with a passion

taylorfan2 y’all is this true?

harryfan3 you guys are better than believing TMZ

taylorfan3 IT COUPLE IS BACK

yourinstagram 😂😂😂😂

↳ janravanik I was about to send you this !

↳ taylorfan4 taylor’s dancers are laughing its FAKE

TMZ ARTICLE

Harry Styles and Taylor Swift have their fans buzzing with excitement at the possibility that they’re back together.. and based on the many sightings of him at Taylor’s concerts.. they may be on to something.

The former flames, who had a brief but memorable relationship back in the day, have sent the internet into a frenzy with speculations about a possible rekindling of their romance.

The' As it Was' singer was seen sneaking into the opening night of Taylor Swift's tour in Arizona, catching the attention of eagle-eyed fans who couldn't believe their luck witnessing both pop icons under one roof. But that wasn't all – Styles continued his tour attendance, popping up at shows in Tampa and Atlanta, adding fuel to the already rumors of a reconnection.

A source has also provided us pictures of Harry pulling up at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts, where Taylor’s show took place this weekend.

Their history is no secret – Taylor Swift and Harry Styles' romance made headlines years ago, with their short-lived yet highly publicized relationship making fans go crazy. From romantic strolls in Central Park to cozying up at award shows, their time together never goes out of style.

But what does Harry's sudden appearance at Taylor's tour mean? Could it just be a friendly show of support between two mega-stars, or is there something more happening behind the scenes?

Fans have taken to social media, discussing every moment of their recent encounters, analyzing their body language, and even coming up with conspiracy theories about secret messages hidden in their song lyrics. Some die-hard 'Haylor' shippers are convinced this could be the moment they've been waiting for – the reunion of one of pop culture's most talked-about couples.

Both Styles and Swift have remained notoriously private about their personal lives, keeping fans guessing and rumors going around. Neither camp has confirmed or denied the speculations, leaving the world to wonder if there's a romantic renaissance on the horizon.

As the 'Eras Tour' continues its journey across the country, all eyes remain glued to the stage, anticipating every possible hint of a rekindled spark between Harry Styles and Taylor Swift.

Stay tuned as we keep our lenses focused and our ears to the ground for any whispers, sightings or signs of this potential Hollywood romance getting back together.

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 10,927 others

harryupdates Harry out in New York today !

view all 196 comments

harryfan1 AHHHHH

harryfan2 who is THAT

harryfan3 waiiiiiit whats going on

harryfan4 chill istg y’all have been sooooo dense lately, first starting rumors of him and taylor getting back together and now freaking out over harry greeting a (probably) a friend

liked by gemmastyles, kamsaunders and 25,927 others

yourinstagram i really do 🫶🏻 new york

📸by my, my, my, my, my, loverrrr 💘

view all 940 comments

taylorfan1 she’s so prettyyyyy

audreydouglass You both give me life 🥹

janravanik Quoting the boss 🤩

gemmastyles I can’t wait to see you rock the stage tonight

↳ harryfan1 GEMMA IS GOING TO THE ERAS TOUR ???

taylorfan2 eras tour dancers give me life

liked by harryfan1, harryfan3 and 15,928 others

harryupdates Harry and Gemma at The Eras Tour in MetLife Stadium tonight !

view all 196 comments

harryfan1 WTF?????????

harryfan2 i’m officially believing the rumors that him and taylor at back together

taylorfan1 WE?

harryfan3 what the actually fuck is going on this is the FOURTH show he attends and now with his family ?? lord i’m coming up

liked by annetwist, yourinstagram and 866,297 others

gemmastyles I went to The Eras Tour in my Reputation era I guess ✨🖤🐍

view all 21,036 comments

harryfan1 SLAAAY

annetwist My turn now ! ❤️

↳ harryfan2 ANNE IS GOING TO THE ERAS TOUR ??? wtf is going on

yourinstagram love you so much, so happy you could make it 🥹💘

↳ harryfan3 see i’ve been saying that she must be a family friend

harryfan4 rumors of haylor being a thing again lowkey don’t sound too crazy

liked by harrystyles, yourinstagram and 803,827 others

annetwist The Eras Tour with my girl @gemmastyles 👯‍♀️ watching the amazing @yourinstagram rock the stage. Of course the star of the show @taylorswift gave her all and blew us away ! Amazing night ❤️🎶

view all 23,972 comments

harryfan1 OMG

gemmastyles Oh I love being a woman 💘

↳ harryfan2 she gets it

yourinstagram love you both so much ! thanks for coming 🤍

↳ harryfan3 she must be gemma’s bff or smth

taylorfan1 HAYLOR IS SO ALIVE

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 17,029 others

harryupdates Harry just followed this account on Instagram !

view all 201 comments

harryfan1 oh????

harryfan2 he has attended so many eras tour shows he befriended the cast

harryfan3 she also interacts with gemma a lot 👀

harryfan4 how crazy would it be if he’s dating her and not back with taylor like everyone thinks lol

↳ taylorfan1 don’t be delusional

liked by harryfan1, taylorfan1 and 22,017 others

harryupdates HARRY BACKSTAGE AT THE ERAS TOUR IN DENVER !!!

view all 206 comments

harryfan1 STOOOP

harryfan2 i was against the rumors of haylor rekindling but this is so 😭

taylorfan1 if i had a nickel for every time harry has attended the eras tour i’d have more than 5 nickels which is INSANE

harryfan3 the rumors are true i guess

TWITTER

//

liked by gemmastyles, kamnsaunders and 27,018 others

yourinstagram the way fans figure things out never ceases to amaze me 😛 #randomthougts

view all 932 comments

harryfan1 is this who we think harry is dating?

tamiyaxlewis 😂😂 Love youuuu

taylorfan1 i want to know the eras tour inside tea

gemmastyles Welcome to my life

harryfan2 blink if you’re dating harry

harryfan3 she’s so pretty tho

liked by harryfan1, taylorfan2 and 10,726 others

haylortea TAYLOR JUST ANNOUNCED 1989 TV WITH HARRY IN THE AUDIENCE !!! STYLE FT HARRY IS COMING

view all 201 comments

harryfan1 OMFGGG

harryfan2 WAS HARRY REALLY THERE ??

↳ taylorfan1 yes there’s pictures around twitter !

taylorfan2 i think a collab with harry is possible since it’s been denied that they’re back together !

harryfan3 THE IMPLICATIONS !

HARRY VIA INSTAGRAM STORIES

//

liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and 96,827 others

yourinstagram here’s the reason he attended so many shows 🥹💘 (if you know you know)

view all 5,927 comments

harryfan1 HUH?

kamnsaunders FINALLY !!!

harryfan2 if i can’t see his face it’s not real

annetwist Love, love ❤️

taylorfan1 this is hilarious LMAO y’all really thought it was all about haylor

harryfan3 WHY AM I CRYING THIS IS THE SOFTEST HARD LAUNCH EVER

harrystyles ❤️

↳ harryfan1 STOP

↳ harryfan3 I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and 102,927 others

yourinstagram Taylor Swift: Era’s Tour World Premiere 🫶🏻✨🥹 To Taylor and the cast: I just love y’all. That’s it.

view all 5,207 comments

harryfan1 okay she’s stunning

audreydouglass She’s beauty and she’s grace… love you twin 🥰

harryfan2 DID HARRY ATTEND THE PREMIERE?

↳ harryfan3 i don’t think so there’s no pics

annetwist Congratulations ❤️

harryfan4 i’ve lived 293728 lives since the first time harry was spotted at the eras tour

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 12,028 others

harryupdates HARRY AT THE ERAS TOUR FILM PREMIERE !!

view all 1,002 comments

harryfan1 AHHHh

harryfan2 HE LOOKS SO BABY

harryfan3 my heart he gave yn her time to shine

harryfan4 I LOVE THIS COUPLE !! who would’ve thought harry would be dating one of the era’s tour dancers

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains @straightontilmornin n @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay y @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia a @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry @white-wolf-buckaroo

[0and0its0doctor0]

Heat stroke

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

Summary: You are self-conscious about the scars on your arms so you wear long sleeves. And wind up getting heat stroke. Spencer takes care of you.

Warnings: Mentions of Self-Harm/Scars

Word Count: 1,010

“Oh god it’s like standing in front of a blow dryer!” You exclaimed as you stepped off the plane in Phoenix Arizona. It was July and the temperature on your phone read 113 degrees. And you were wearing long sleeves. “Why are you wearing long sleeves?” Derek questioned as he stepped off the plane behind you causing you to shrug.”I’m used to it. Besides, I didn’t know we were coming to Phoenix till I got on the plane..” The lie rolled off your tongue easy enough. “Didn’t you used to live out here? Shouldn’t you know better?” Derek asked and Spencer smacked his arm. “Leave her alone.” He muttered. Thankfully everyone got busy grabbing their bags and making their way to the hotel. Once inside the hotel room you pulled off your long sleeve shirt and your eyes drifted down to your arms. They were covered in cuts in varying degrees of healing. Some dated all the way back to high school and some were as fresh as a couple days ago. It was your secret, the way you dealt with your failures and the harsh reality of the job. It helped ground you. Part of you felt like you deserved it. That had been ingrained into your head from such a young age. That you deserved pain. You didn’t deserve to feel good. At least that was what your parents told you. 

The following day you were in long sleeves again and you could feel sweat dripping down the contours of your back, a bead of it trickled down the side of your face. It was hot. You could feel the heat radiating off the sidewalk as you and Spencer questioned a witness. Your face must have been red because Spencer placed his hand carefully on your lower back and pulled a bottle of water from his pocket so he could hand it to you. “Drink.” He commanded lightly and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Yes sir.” You took the bottle and chugged half of it. “Small sips. You chug it, you are just going to throw it back up.” He brushed a curl off your cheek and tucked it behind your ear, the gesture made you smile and you leaned in to the touch on your cheek. You and Spencer weren’t officially dating yet or anything, just a lot of heavy flirting. You finished the water slowly and the two of you went back to talking to witnesses. 

When you watch TV the bullet proof vests look easy and light, like a second shirt. No one told you how ridiculously heavy they were. And uncomfortable. You tugged at your sleeves as you stood behind Hotch with your gun drawn and pointed at the unsub. You guys had him cornered. Why was your vision getting blurry? You blinked several times and wiped the sweat off your forehead with your sleeves not caring if you smeared your makeup. Spencer’s eyes were on you and not the unsub. “She’s gonna drop.” He called out and as soon as he did your knees buckled and you hit the ground. Spencer wanted to run to you but he couldn’t. They had to leave you on the ground for a few minutes as everyone subdued the unsub. Once Spencer was free he had Derek help him drag you into the shade. He carefully took off your vest and tried to cool you off by fanning you with his hand. 

Emily tossed Spencer a bottle of water and he apologized before pouring it on your face. The shock of the cold water had you sitting up quickly which just made your head spin. “Easy now.” Spencer guided you to lay back down with your head in his lap. “We need to take off your shirt. You are overheated.” He informed you and you shook your head. “I can’t.” You mumbled and he looked down at you concerned. “Look whatever you are hiding we can work with okay? We can’t work with you if you are dead. Either I get you cooled down or you go to the hospital and they cool you down.” Spencer brushed some of the hair that was sticking to your forehead back and you sighed heavily. “Fine.” 

You pulled off your shirt which left you in a sports bra and Spencer’s eyes immediately went to your arms causing you to feel extremely self-conscious. He bit his lip and helped you sit up a little so you could take small sips of water. After your 4th sip you leaned over and threw up, Spencer held your hair back. His hand rubbing circles lightly on your back helped calm you down a bit. You looked up as Hotch walked over and looked down at you. “Is she going to be okay?” He asked, looking at Spencer. “Yeah I think she will be okay. It can take just 45 minutes to rehydrate. A study by The Journal of Strength and Conditioning Research found that after mildly dehydrated men consumed just 2 bottles of water, it took under one hour for their bodies to function in a perfectly healthy and hydrated state.” Spencer rattled off the facts easily, his hand continuing to brush your hair back as he spoke making you smile a little. “Alright well she’s your responsibility now.” Hotch nodded and Spencer grinned. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.” He said happily. 

You sat there with Spencer talking about nothing important while he nursed you back to health. When you got back to the hotel he insisted on staying with you to make sure you didn’t have any lasting problems from passing out. That was how you wound up curled up in bed with your head resting on Spencer’s chest, his fingers running through your hair and you listening to his steady heart beat had you quickly falling asleep. He kissed the top of your head and managed to fall asleep himself. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe you did deserve love. Spencer was going to make sure you felt that love.

[cranberryjuice-posts]

could I maybe request a Clarisse fic where reader has constant joint pain in their hands and Clarisse for some reason always has really warm hands so Clarisse is readers personal heating pad idk if that sounds weird or not

- hot hands -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Reader

An - i promise I’m not dead 😭

It was 30 degrees out. While you hands were normally cold to the touch right now it hurt to even bend your fingers, like everything inside your hand was stiff.

Camp half blood was able to control the weather surrounding the camp so why the hell did they decided to have winter in the middle of spring?!

The only thing that brought any sort of heat was the Burgundy Arizona university hoodie that you had stolen from clarisse a few months back. Letting out a small groan you walked into the arena trying to find your girlfriend.

It wasn’t hard, she stood tall and proud as she sparred with her siblings. Swinging her spear around she slammed it into the side of a poor boy named Damien all while fending off the opposing girl coming at with a sword. Swinging her spear underneath the girls weapon she flung it across the arena before kicking her down, pinning her blade at her neck.

You slowly clapped causing her to bring her attention to you. Her proud smile grew wider as she ran over to you. “Hey beautiful” she chuckled taking your hands into hers. “Shit you’re cold” her tone showing her worry.

“Yeah I’ve noticed” You sarcastically responded, stepping up and placing a kiss on her lips. Clarisse had always been like your personal body heater. On cold days like these you would normally cuddle up with the stronger girl, but right now she was preparing for the upcoming camp war games. You took your hands away from her grasp wrapping them around her body while tucking them inside her shirt.

She happily embraced your hug though was a little confused. “How Cold Are You Jesus”

“Shut up” you laugh was muffled into her shirt. she smelt like pine needles and ash, a more masculine scent but you still loved it. Squeezing your body against hers she kissed your cheek before pulling back slightly.

“Better?” You nodded letting the girl go. “Go sit on the bench and look pretty, it’ll make me work harder” she grinned as she returned to her spot in the battle set up.

You took a seat now warmer than before, just enjoying as you watched clarisse show off just for you.

[multifandomimagines999]

May I get mark sloan x reader please? Like reader has been on call for like three days straight and is super exhausted. And while charting, reader falls asleep standing up and Mark props them up and takes them to an on call room and makes sure they get some rest ? Thank you so much !

Exhaustion, Mark Sloan x reader

Summary: An exhausted reader collapsed and her boyfriend comes to her rescue...then it all makes sense

Warnings: Fluff, Exhaustion, overworking, throwing up

Note: I tweaked it a bit @theichabbieclub but I hope you still like it! I'm just getting back into this.

"You look like crap," commented Alex as we walked down the hallway.

"Oh thanks. I feel like it too," you admitted, "I've been working a double because we're short staffed on the peds floor as you know. So I've been bouncing around non-stop. I'm exhausted."

"And crabby. Clearly you haven't been able to screw your secret boyfriend too."

"Shut it Karev!" you growled, slapping him in the arm, "I am never going to tell you who it is if you keep making comments like that."

"Fine," he grumbled, "I've gotta get to the Nic-U. What have they got you covering today?"

"I've got a marathon surgery with Robbins, Shepherd, and Sloan on a 6 year old girl with a facial tumor."

"Damn that's rad. Good luck."

"Thanks."

You went into the surgery with a clear head, ready to save this little girl's life. We began and about two hours into it, Mark showed up to help work on the facial reconstruction and repair. His portion of the surgery took about three to four hours. 

"Alright...I'm done here. She's all yours to finish up with."

"Take my tool," you whispered to Avery, suddenly not feeling well.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

He took it and then immediately everything went black.

3rd POV

"Dr. (Y/L/N)!" yelled Robbins as her resident's body hit the floor.

"That's why she handed me her tool," Jackson realized.

"Can someone please check on them please?" asked Arizona as she continued working.

"I got it!" Mark announced before rushing over to her side. 

Their relationship was still a secret, so he tried his best to hide his romantic concern in the moment. He scooped her up as carried her out of the OR to an empty gurney. He took her to a private room and began examining her. 

--------

You woke up to a flashlight shining in your eyes and a hand on your forehead. As the darkness disappeared, you saw that the flashlight belonged to Mark. You groaned as your head pulsed with pain.

"What happened?" you asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You might want to tell me... You passed out in the OR. I hooked you up to an IV because from the looks of it you're severely dehydrated."

"Mark I-" you were interrupted by a horrible feeling in your gut.

You jerked up, reaching for the bucket before puking. When you were done emptying you stomach, you collapsed back on the bed. You suddenly felt sweaty with hair plastered against your forehead. 

"Dr. Sloan, I may know what's wrong?" Karev jogged in, out of breath, "I heard the news about (Y/F/N). Three of the peds kids just came down with the flu. All three kids were your patients that you've been dealing with during this double shift. And with you being so overworked, your immune system was weaker, so combined with the dehydration, you got sick."

"Well shit."

"Looks like I have my diagnoses," Mark replied, and you just glared at him.

"I hate you right now."

"I know."

"Wait a minute?" Karev questioned, stepping in the room and shutting the door, "Sloan's your secret boyfriend?!"

"You tell anybody, I will kill you. You understand me Alex? I will make sure every girl in this hospital knows what a man whore you are and you will never get laid again. Got it?"

"Yeah yeah, calm your panties. I'll let Bailey know you're so sick with the flu that you can't drive and that I asked Dr. Sloan to take care of you since he's already been exposed. Okay?"

"Thank you Alex."

"Yeah whatever."

***

You laid on the couch with Mark, all cuddled up in sweats and his shirt. While you were hot to the touch, you yourself were feeling cold. Your body ached and your head was still throbbing. You rested your head in his lap while he played with your hair soothingly.

"How are you feeling babe?" he asked, looking down at you.

"Like shit," you admitted, making him chuckle.

"Well you still look cute if that makes you feel any better."

"A little."

"Mark please. You shouldn't see me like this. We've only been together for three months."

"(Y/F/N), we slept together before we started dating and on the first date we talked about our deep dark issues. I think it's okay if I see you with the flu. Now let me please be there for you."

"Fair point."

Anytime you felt you were going to be sick, he was there, holding your hair back and assuring you soothingly. Anything he could do to help you, he wanted to.

Mark held your hair back as another round came up. God this was hell. Physical and emotional hell. When he walked out to go grab something, you laid down on the cool tile. He came back in with a water bottle and some crackers along with a smile.

"What? The tile is nice and cold."

He helped pull you up so you were sitting up against the cabinets, "You know you need to drink to re-hydrate. And these crackers might help."

Your hair was a mess as he brushed it out and sat beside you. He rubbed your back lovingly until your eyes felt heavy and all you wanted to do was sleep.

"Alright. Lets get you to bed," he spoke, sweeping you into his arms.

He placed you into bed and disappeared before coming back with a fresh garbage can. After placing it beside the bed, he climbed in next to you.

"Mark, you don't have to stay with me. You could get sick and-"

"I'm not leaving unless you need me to get something."

"What about work?"

"I'll call in. You're more important."

A smile crossed your face as you rolled over, resting your head on his chest. His arm snaked around you, one around your waist and the other stroked your hair. Finally, you were feeling a little bit better.

"Try to sleep. I'll still be here."

"Thank you," you mumbled sleepily, "I love you."

"I love you too."

[twola]

To Name A Vista

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

It's beautiful - this hidden place he's brought you - but you'd have to admit, nature is not the only view you're admiring.

When you awaken, blinking yourself back into the world of the living, it's only a moment before you arch your back against your bedroom that your body becomes your own again.

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head and your legs out straight, the small of your back bowing upward. As you settle back down on the rumbled bedroll, you run a hand down your face, brushing your hopelessly tangled hair from your cheeks.

As you stare up at the pitch of the tent, the morning light filters through the canvas as your hand settles over your stomach. A smile crosses your face.

Your cunt aches sweetly, a dull pain you're happy to feel within the cradle of your hips. A blanket lays discarded, twisted around one of your legs. Otherwise, your skin is bared completely within the tent, gooseflesh prickling as a soft morning breeze pushes through the hanging flap of the tent.

You roll over, yawning again, frowning slightly as you feel the stickiness of dried sweat on your back and something else entirely between your thighs.

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder backward to shake out the sleep from your body. Discarded clothing litters the ground, trousers and shirts, gun belts, and a chemise bunched up in the corner of the tent. A pair of men’s boots knocked over.

Your fingers grasp for the tent’s flap, drawing it open slightly to let the early morning sunlight in, birdsong becoming louder as you squint against the brightness.

It’s certainly picturesque, here along the banks of the Dakota River, tucked away from roads and trails, the gentle waters flowing south to collect in Flat Iron.

You grope for the discarded blanket on the other side of the bedroll and wrap it around your shoulders as crawl out of the tent to stand. Stepping past the campfire that’s been re-lit in the morning, you notice a pot of coffee heating up in that old beat-up percolator.

You’re drawn by some unseen string to the riverbank.  Your bare feet slide slowly over weathered river stones to where your toes touch the water’s edge. Pulling the blanket around you closer, you smile as the birds chirp loudly overhead.

Arthur stands several feet out in the water, gently lapping at his thighs as he scrubs at his shoulder idly, staring off into the distance, Mount Shann looming large miles away.

Nude as the day he was born, you are transfixed, gazing unabashedly at your lover’s body. The lines at his neck and elbows where sun-kissed skin meets what’s usually hidden beneath his clothing. Scars, marks, a smattering of dark, wiry hair. That slash on his shoulder from a coach robbery in Colorado. The circular mark on his bicep when he was shot in Arizona. New, pink-red lines scratched into his skin on either side of his spine. No, those weren’t battle wounds, those were love marks - carved into his skin by your blunt nails as he thrust himself inside your body, over and over and over again last night.

A smile creeps over your face as you note a faint pink imprint of your hand on one of his ass cheeks.

He rolls his shoulder, still unaware of your gaze on him. Blading his body sideways, he leans over, cups river water between his hands, and brings it up to his neckline, splashing it to cover his chest, idly scrubbing at wet skin.

You cannot help but stare at his large cock hanging prettily between his legs. Even with how many times the two of you climbed into each other last night, heat flares in your belly as you feel wetness gathering in your cunt. You rub your thighs together absentmindedly as you trace the paths of the rivulets of water down his chest, down the muscles of his abdomen, as it weaves through the dark curls of his pubic hair and drips off of his cock.

You’re smitten, there isn’t any denying it. 

This was all fairly new between you - and maybe it’s still those early days of a relationship where you can’t keep your hands off of each other. At some point when the gang was traveling from the west, the simmering tension between the two of you boiled over, and after a night around the campfire and a tad too much whiskey, you awoke in Arthur’s bedroll, thoroughly satiated and adorned with sloppy bite marks and suckled bruises across your décolletage.

That, of course, quickly devolved into sneaking into tents at night, groping behind wagons, and the occasional dalliance in the woods outside of camp.

When things had finally calmed down from the Blackwater mess, he grabbed you without much preamble, led you to the horses, swung you up on the rump of his new mare, and headed out of Horseshoe Overlook, muttering something about needing a break.

Not that last night was much of a break… the night was spent holed away in that little tent, between gasps and moans and cries of each other’s names for hours.

Arthur finally turns around completely and sees you, your hair spilling messily over the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself. A grin slides across his face as he begins to wade toward you, unabashed in his nakedness.

“Get some sleep there, darlin’?” 

You snort lightly as he steps closer to you, his arms reaching toward your shoulders, engulfing them in his large hands and rubbing them affectionately.

“You know me, need plenty of beauty rest.” You roll your eyes with a laugh.

Arthur snorts in return, bemused, “Y’dont need a lick of that to be a beauty.”

Oh, this man…

You give a smile as you let the blanket fall from your body and collect at your feet. You can hear him suck in a breath for a moment, then Arthur’s hands immediately dart to your bared breasts, his palms engulfing them as he squeezes gently. Your hands trail down his abdomen, fingers brushing the wet hair from just below his navel until it spreads out over his pelvis.

He smirks, “That getcha goin’?”

You grasp his cock, solid and warm even when he wasn’t aroused, and squeeze as gently as he holds your breasts, “So gentlemanly,” You stress the honorific by swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, and he shivers in response, blood rushing to his groin as he is coaxed to rigidity in your hand.

With an affectionate squeeze of his right hand to your breast, he quickly moves southward, reaching between your thighs as you begin to stroke him.

You step up on your toes and he leans down to press your lips together, opening your mouth immediately to him as a comforting rumble emits outward from his chest.

Your tongue presses up against his as his fingers slide between the seam of your body, collecting your dewy sheen as he rubs back and forth between that little nub of pleasure and the rim of your aching cunt.

Speaking of which, you jerk backward slightly when his pointer finger slips inside to the first knuckle. He pulls back immediately, hand landing on your hip. He blinks, a concerned look on his face. 

“Y’hurtin?” Arthur whispers, patting your hip gently.

“Just a little sore.” You smile up at him and press your lips to his again quickly, “Been a while since we did that. And you ain’t exactly small neither.”

Arthur blushes, and you’re overcome with a fondness for him - for this, he blushes, considering every damn position he had you in last night. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Your outlaw says forlornly, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek as a frown snakes across his face.

“Stop, stop it. You didn’t hurt me. Y’did nothin’ but please me last night,'' You shake your head with a smile, “Now let me please you.”

He cannot suppress a groan as you slowly let yourself down to your knees, the blanket saving you from being directly on the sandy soil.

“Oh honey - y’don’t -”

“You’re all clean and I’m still dirty. Let me.” You whisper in a sultry voice as you stroke his cock languidly. He swallows audibly as his hand moves to cup your jaw.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, my girl.” His thumb traces the apple of your cheek as you smile, turning your head to kiss his palm.

You move from his palm to the edge of his hip, where the hard-earned lines of muscle collect in a v-shape, tapering from his waist. Slowly, nearly painfully slowly, your lips trail across his body, from the crest of his bone to underneath his navel, where dark, wiry hair starts to curl. 

Arthur cannot help but to gently rock forward against you, and you place your chin just below his navel, smiling up at him in complete adoration. He returns that smile as he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ears.

You grasp the base of his hefty cock with one hand and turn your head back to him, drawing the red tip of him to your mouth and kissing it gently before letting your tongue dart out against it. He hisses in pleasure as his fingers thread through your tangled locks to grasp your head. You take that action as permission to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth, inch by inch, tongue pressing against him. 

Arthur groans aloud and throws his head back, slightly bowing his body toward you. You suck gently on the head of his cock before pressing forward to take more of him in, beginning to bob back and forth, taking him more and more with each movement. Your hand balances on his thigh, thick and corded with muscle.

He looks back down at you, breathing heavily, while you tip your head up slightly and make eye contact with him. Slowly, near aggravatingly slowly, you take him into your mouth, deeper, deeper, until you can’t look at him anymore, and your nose presses against his pubic bone. You choke slightly as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, leaking precum 

“Jesus fuck,” He curses, unable to stop himself from rocking forward slightly, and you moan around him, pulling your head backward to begin bobbing again.

You’re able to wrench the most beautiful sounds from him: pleads and groans and heavy, needy breaths as you suckle on him, the pain in your knees an afterthought as you continue to pleasure your lover.

“F- fuck-” he gasps, breathless and red-faced looking down at you, “I’m gonna -ngh- where…-?”

Your mouth releases from around his cock with a wet pop , a trail of saliva connecting you to him for a moment before it snaps.

He groans, panting.

“Wherever you want.” You purr.

Arthur whines, actually whines, this outlaw, this hardened criminal, this man hewn from the rough life he lives. His hand flies to his cock and starts pumping, obscene noises loud in your ear as his fingers slide over the wetness your mouth left.

“Lemme… lemme spend on them pretty little tits o’ y-yours.” Arthur gasps out, his hips rocking in time with the hand stroking his cock.

You smile, brushing your hair back over your shoulders and leaning forward as he begins to grunt, his free hand moving from your head to cup at his full, heavy balls as he strokes his cock faster and harder.

A groan spills loudly from his throat as his knees shake slightly, and warm spend splatters across your chest, slowly rolling down the curve of your breasts and between them.

Arthur pants, and with one last slow stroke, the pulsing of his cock ceases, a final lazy drip from the head of his member falls to the ground between them.

He stares at you as he staggers back half a step, trying to catch his breath. “Jesus Christ,” He breathes, a dopey, satisfied grin crossing his features. 

Milky spend slowly trails down your chest, and he cannot help but stare. With a gentle shake of his head, he regains both his balance and wits, stepping back toward you and offering his hand to help pull you up.

“C’mon, my lady, let’s get you clean.” You’ve stood up for only a moment before he swings his arms down on either side of you and lifts you beneath your knees and back. You giggle softly as he pretends to exude an air of chivalry, wading slowly back into the river water carrying you like a princess - albeit a ‘noble’ lady with his spend splattered all over your chest.

The morning birdsong blooms along with the sunshine, near perfection in this small wooded area where the two of you are hidden away from the world.

Until your screeching voice cuts across the valley, that is.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur! The water’s cold as shit!” 

[kiwriteswords]

I Promise You This

Chapter Two: Calls of Guilt Thrown at Me

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: Chronic illness, reader with past abusive relationship, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, language, future sexual themes

Rating: Mature for mature themes and future chapters.

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Y/N, the newest and youngest profiler in the BAU, is haunted by her past—an abusive relationship and an illness she keeps hidden from her team. Though skilled in her work, she distances herself emotionally, fearing vulnerability. Aaron Hotchner, her reserved and perceptive boss, begins to notice the cracks in her carefully constructed walls as they navigate high-stakes cases together. Drawn to her resilience, Hotch finds himself increasingly protective of Y/N. As their bond deepens, both must confront their own emotional barriers, leading to an unexpected connection amidst the darkness of their work.

AN: Thanks for the wonderful feedback on the re-write of chapter one! I have received many requests for a taglist, which I originally had for the story back in 2021, but I have updated that as well, and that can be found here.

Masterlist | I Promise You This | Ao3

The Arizona heat was suffocating, even from the safety of the jet. You stepped off, walking side-by-side with Morgan. Years on the job had taught you how to collect yourself and how to compartmentalize the grief. That part had gotten easier with time. The pain, the heaviness of it, would only come when you were alone. Never before.

Rossi and Hotch were the last to disembark. Hotch, as always, took the time to thank the pilot. It was a quiet gesture, but Hotch had always made it clear that everyone mattered, even those behind the scenes.

"You ever wonder when she's going to break?" Rossi's voice was low, a passing observation aimed at Hotch.

"Who?" Hotch’s brow furrowed as he looked at Rossi, caught off guard by the question.

"Y/N." Rossi’s tone carried the weight of experience. "She's only in her twenties, and she's been through enough cases to break anyone. She went from a college classroom to working brutal cases with us. Yet, she hasn't cracked. Not once." He shook his head. “We all have our moments, but her? She’s been thrown into the deep end and hasn’t come up for air.”

Hotch remained silent, taking in the comment. He couldn’t deny that he’d noticed too. The way you held yourself together in the worst of times, the same way he did. But there was something else he didn’t admit to Rossi. He didn’t just notice it—he was concerned.

"She's strong," Hotch replied finally, his voice steady. "She’s proven her skills in the field. What she does off the clock isn’t my concern as long as she can do her job."

Rossi nodded but said nothing more. There was no point in pushing Hotch on a topic he clearly didn’t want to explore.

The drive to the local police department was filled with the usual briefing. The case involved three missing children, all under the age of nine. There was one lead so far, pointing to a possible husband-and-wife duo. The profile suggested the man was dominant, likely controlling the submissive woman. The connection between the children? Local sports. All three were active in the K-12 youth leagues.

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone as she relayed her findings. “There was a coach—Cliff Hall—recently fired from the youth soccer league. His neighbors reported multiple noise complaints, mostly shouting and what they suspected was violent behavior. Cliff toward his wife, Melinda. No reports of violence from her, though.”

"Do you have the address for the neighbor who reported this?" Morgan asked, pulling the phone closer.

"Yessiree! Laura and William Read, 38 Breeze Road. Two kids, too, just in case you’re wondering."

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan replied, his tone light despite the grim circumstances.

"Garcia, look for any family members or triggers that might’ve set Cliff off recently," Hotch added, brows furrowed in thought.

“On it, boss!” Garcia chirped, her optimism never wavering, even in the darkest cases.

Hotch assigned the team their tasks: Morgan and JJ to the Read family’s home, Rossi and Reid to the youth sports center to dig deeper into Cliff’s dismissal. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to you.

“Y/N, you’re with me. We’ll talk to the parents.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the change in routine. Usually, JJ handled these delicate conversations with grieving families. But you nodded, keeping your surprise hidden. “Of course, sir.”

As you gathered your files, you couldn’t shake the question. Why had he chosen you this time? Your curiosity got the better of you as you followed Hotch to the door. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking... why me? JJ’s usually the one who handles these kinds of cases."

Hotch paused, his tall frame towering over you. His dark eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. “Y/N, you have a unique ability to balance compassion with professionalism. These parents are hanging by a thread. They need someone who can handle that. And I trust you can.”

You nodded, taken aback by the rare compliment. Hotch wasn’t one to hand out praise easily, and it left you feeling the weight of the responsibility he was placing on your shoulders.

“I won’t let you down,” you said, squaring your shoulders.

He gave a brief nod. “I know you won’t.”

The interviews were grueling. The parents, as expected, were devastated. They confirmed the connection between their children and Cliff Hall, the soccer coach. The moment that stuck with you was when the father of one of the missing children revealed a heartbreaking detail: Cliff’s own son had died of a terminal illness earlier in the year. A potential stressor.

Hotch stepped out of the room, taking a phone call while you continued the interview. You absorbed the father’s words, feeling the pieces fall into place. When Hotch returned, his expression confirmed he had received the same news.

“Cliff’s son passed away earlier this year. The timing fits,” you said, glancing at Hotch.

“Yes. We need to wrap this up and regroup,” Hotch replied, his tone tight.

Garcia and the team worked tirelessly to track down the Halls, leading to Melinda’s arrest. The woman now sat in the interrogation room, her face bruised but wearing a smug expression that made your blood boil.

Hotch and Emily stood next to you, discussing their plan to go in for a good-cop, bad-cop routine. You exhaled a shaky breath, something tugging at you as you watched Melinda through the one-way glass.

“I want to talk to her,” you said suddenly, your voice steady but firm.

Both agents turned to you, surprise flickering in their eyes. You weren’t known for interrogations, but Hotch seemed to recognize something in your tone. He gave a brief nod. “If you think you’re ready, go ahead.”

You met his gaze. “I’m ready.”

As you walked into the room, Melinda barely looked up. She scoffed at the sight of you, clearly unimpressed by your smaller frame. “They sent the rookie in, huh?” she sneered.

You ignored her comment, circling the table. “When’s enough, enough, Melinda?” Your voice was low, controlled.

Melinda shifted, uncrossing her legs and crossing them again.

“I know what it’s like to be behind the hand of a man who controls you,” you said, your tone sharp. “I was like you once. But I got out before more heartache turned me into a monster.”

The smugness on Melinda’s face faltered. She wasn’t expecting this.

“I know what it feels like to think the only person who will ever touch you, the only person who will ever want you, is the one who hurts you the most,” you continued, voice unwavering. “But you let it get this far. And now, children are suffering because of it.”

From behind the glass, Hotch watched, his brows furrowed. Emily glanced up at him, surprised.

“Did you know about this?” she asked quietly.

Hotch shook his head, his eyes still fixed on you. “No.”

You walked out of the interrogation room, emotionally drained but victorious. You had gotten the information needed to find Cliff, and the children were rescued, unharmed.

As you packed up your things at the police station, you hoped no one would ask about what you revealed during the interrogation. You didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t something you ever thought you’d have to explain on the job.

But of course, Hotch had questions. You noticed him standing over you as you zipped up your bag.

“Agent Y/L/N, a word?” His tone was calm but authoritative.

You followed him into an empty office, wondering what this was about.

Hotch shut the door and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “I don’t condone my agents lying to get the job done.”

You stared at him, disbelief and anger bubbling up inside you. “Excuse me?”

“That story you told Melinda—you lied. That could’ve cost us credibility.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “You think I lied?” Your voice was ice cold. “I didn’t lie, Hotch. Everything I told her was the truth.”

Hotch’s expression shifted, realization dawning on him. “There’s nothing in your file about this—”

“Because it doesn’t belong in my file,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Just because there’s no documentation doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And I used it to get through to her, to save those kids. If you have a problem with that, then that’s on you.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before walking out, leaving him standing there, stunned.

Hotch stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of his mistake. He hadn’t considered the possibility that someone as strong as you could’ve endured something like that. And now, he felt not only guilty but angry—angry that someone had ever hurt you in such a way.

Stupid, he thought to himself. Stupid.

He heard the door to the station slam shut, and he knew it was you. Balling his fists, he let out a shaky breath, feeling something tug at him, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Tag List: @jencole214 @indiatuck @eg-dr3amer3 @crispy-croke @esposadomd @genevieve-blr @mdanon027

[summapaincare]

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[heroesriseandfall]

Father, Daughter: Roy & Lian

“Go home, see Lian…if anyone knows who you really are, it’s your daughter.” — Grace Choi in Outsiders (2003) #33

Comic sources:

Titans (1999) #30

Outsiders (2003) #45

Titans (1999) #15

Titans (1999) #25

Titans (1999) #19

Justice League of America (2006) #11

Outsiders (2003) #19

Justice League of America (2006) #11

Outsiders (2003) #20

Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files 2003

Image descriptions in alt text are also copied below.

A comic panel from Titans (1999) #30, showing a green-lit memory of Roy Harper smiling as he looks down at his baby Lian in his arms. Beyond him, Jade Nguyen looks at them warmly.

A comic page from Outsiders (2003) #45 showing Roy Harper as Arsenal with Lian in pink pajamas and a heavy-set man who was babysitting. Roy holds Lian up in the air with his arms and says, “And helloooo, little squeaker!” Lian says, “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy!!” Roy pulls her in to rest his forehead against hers, holding her wrist as she says, “Y’know what, y’know what--today Nicole and Zach and Ashley and me and Peter and me went to the ac-rarian.” Still smiling, Roy corrects, “Aquarium.” He sets Lian on the floor and they look over, smiling, at the babysitter. Lian continues, “And there were penguins!! Little penguins! Lots of Penguins! And we stayed with the penguins until Omar said we had to go because we had to go home--” Omar the babysitter says, “They were closing.” Lian turns to the TV and presses her hands against the blank screen, saying, “But we came home and watched March of the Penguins--” Omar holds up four fingers, grins at Roy, and says, “Four times, but I skipped past the bad parts.” Roy says, “Thank you.” Lian grabs Roy’s leg and hangs off it joyfully, saying, “And Omar said we could go back to the ac-rarium--” Roy corrects, “Aquarium,” but Lian doesn’t skip a beat before continuing, “on Saturday and you could come with us, and then I’m gonna sleep over Ashley’s!”

A comic panel from Titans (1999) #15 showing Lian sitting on Roy’s shoulders, smiling and waving with one hand to someone out of frame as Roy holds onto her feet to keep her steady. In the background is a cloudy blue sky and the rocky spires of Oljato-Monument Valley in northeastern Arizona.

A comic panel from Titans (1999) #25 showing Nightwing (Dick), Tempest (Garth), Flash (Wally), and Arsenal (Roy) sitting around a campfire at night. Other speech bubbles have been cut off, but Roy is saying, “Still don’t see why I couldn’t bring Lian. She loves camping.”

A comic panel from Titans (1999) #19 showing Lian and Roy in Titans Tower as Flash/Wally is rushing over. There’s a blanket fort and boxes next to Lian. Roy is standing with a cane and has a white cast all the way up to his left thigh. Lian points up at him with a smile as she says, “You may start the campfire, lieutenant.” Roy salutes, his hand touching the brim of his backwards red baseball cap, and says, “Sir, yes, sir!” Lian only reaches his waist in height. Wally is saying something as he rushes in but his speech bubbles have been blanked out.

Two comic panels from Justice League of America (2006) #11 in a realistic but sketchy art style, focused in on Roy’s face which has a few bleeding cuts and his face is scrunched in pain. He’s in his Red Arrow suit. He looks up to say, “Mari, I keep a picture of Lian taped…hhhh…taped inside my quiver. It’s taking everything within me to keep from pulling it out and saving goodbye. Dig. Please.” He closes his eyes and winces with strain.

A comic panel from Outsiders (2003) #19 showing Lian’s bed from above with golden evening light shining in. Roy as Arsenal is sitting on the bed with little Lian on his lap hugging his neck. His arms are wrapped around her, and his face is shadowed, looking haunted. Little movement lines indicate Roy and Lian may be shaking. Lian’s room is filled with shades of pink and brown, and her pillows are covered in several large stuffed animals of various species.

A cropped comic page from Justice League of America (2006) #11 showing two sketchy panels surrounded by black. Roy is in his Red Arrow suit, trapped under bent metal, his skin splattered with blood. He’s nearly lying on his stomach barely holding himself up. Roy’s narration box says, “But with a prayer,” and out loud he says, “Lord, please watch over Lian--” The next panel zooms in a little but his face is still unclear. His narration box says, “And as I lose myself to the darkness--” Out loud, he continues, “--please keep her safe--” then his narration box continues, “--as the wet ceiling presses its foot against my head--”

A comic panel from Outsiders (2003) #20 showing Roy and Lian laying on a brown coach with their eyes closed. Lian’s head is resting on Roy’s chest, while his hands gently hold her elbow and back. A yellow narration box says, “They could stay close to home.”

A comic panel from Teen Titans/Outsiders Secret Files 2003 showing Roy and Lian hugging. Roy is in his Arsenal suit and his face is blocked from sight by Lian’s hair. Lian says, “Daddy, I don’t understand. Donna was your heart and you love her and now she’s become a ghost or something. How will your heart be happy?” Roy says, “Because, etai yazi, you’re my heart. And I love you.”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 17 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this is where it starts to ramp up. Hold onto your hats guys, she’s gonna get bumpy.

Summary - After living in bliss for six months, things seems to be catching up on you. Is this the end of the road?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - blood, tears, medication, mentions of sexual activity, swearing, weight loss, depression, drinking, aggressive Spencer, violent Spencer, bruising, dissociations.

WC - 5.9k

Chapter 17 - Gunfight at the O.K. Corral

Six Months Later 

The gravel crunched while the sand flew up in violent plumes with each heavy, rapid step. The airless desert sprawled for miles in every direction, muggy and stagnant and not allowing fresh oxygen to replenish the supplies you were hurriedly losing. 

The sun was working its way out of the sky soon to dip below that blessed horizon and offer you some kind of reprieve from this heat that swelled around. But the humidity would remain, that oppressive humidity which was trying to suffocate you. 

Your limbs throbbed with every harsh pound of the desert floor, sending shockwaves up through the soles of your feet spiralling up your legs. Your heart pounded aggressively, your lungs desperately cloyed to any scrap of air they could find. 

Sweat clamoured at your forehead, rolling in beads down the side of your face, into your eyes. Your clothes were damp with perspiration, clinging to your frame. And then there was the blood. 

You could feel the warm, sticky claret as it trickled from an open wound on your bicep. The pain was dizzying, nauseating. And yet you didn’t stop running. 

If you stopped you would be caught. You were prey and they were the predator and the only way to defeat a predator was to outrun them. 

If you’d had half a chance you would have mounted Rusty, she would have gotten you away so much faster. But there was no time, it was life or death. And so you ran. 

You couldn’t hear much over the sound of your frantically hammering heart, stifled breaths and footsteps as you continued to hasten through the desert. You had no way to know if you were still being chased, hunted like a wild animal. 

The only thing you could rely on was your gut instinct and it was screaming at you that you weren’t safe, you weren’t out of dodge yet. 

So you ran and you ran. Even when your eyes started to blur and your head was spinning through lack of air, you ran. You ran and you ran and you ran. 

And then your gut instinct was confirmed when you heard another blast of shotgun. It was getting closer. 

Tears filtered out of your eyes, mixing with your sweat as they rolled down your cheeks. Was this really where it all came to an end? No, you wouldn’t let it, couldn’t let it. 

So despite the fact your body was trying to tell you to stop, you continued. You picked up your pace, pushing you to your absolute limits. If you stopped you were as good as dead. 

You were supposed to be safe out here, in the eerily named Tombstone, Arizona. For the past six months you and Spencer had lived blissfully on your new ranch, starting your lives together away from the danger that had been chasing you. 

You’d grown complacent. You’d been happy, settled. But now it was all coming crashing down around you and you couldn’t see a way out of this. 

Perhaps you should have known it would end this way. Maybe it was naive of you to believe the two of you could have a pseudo normal life. 

The sun's position in the sky left it directly in front of you and between it and your lack of oxygen you could barely see. So it wasn’t until you were practically right on top of it did you see it. 

In a former life it might have been someone’s homestead. Set back here in the middle of desert land it was now nothing more than a shell of what it would have once been. 

Its turquoise paint was faded by the elements and peeling at the edges. The old front door was boarded over and graffitied and appeared to be sealed shut. 

However just past the little dilapidated home was a large loft barn, similar to the one found on yours and Spencer’s ranch. The door was bolted shut and the deadbolt was incredibly rusty. You reached for it, your legs pleased to have a reprieve from running for a moment. 

Your breathing was ragged as you fought with the bolt, the fear pulsing through every nerve ending. You heaved and you heaved and eventually you managed to wiggle it loose and cloy it open. 

You got the door open just enough to slip inside and close it behind you. The barn was almost entirely shrouded in darkness apart from a small sliver of light that came in through a hole near where the wall met the roof. 

You squinted as you looked around. It was littered with hay bales and three horse stalls. There was a ladder on the far side which looked to lead to the second level. 

You crept towards it, giving the wooden ladder a little shake to test its stability. Little chips flaked off of it at your touch and it shook violently. Probably not safe.

But then you heard the shotgun ringing out again in the distance and you had to bite your tongue to stop from making a sound. There was nowhere to hide on the ground level. You had to go up. 

Trying to control your shaking limbs you gripped each side of the ladder before stepping up on the first rung. The ladder swayed as it took your full weight and you whimpered but powered on.

You hurriedly climbed, the quicker you got up the less likely you would fall if it snapped beneath you. The fourth rung gave out when you tried to put weight on it and if it hadn’t been for your steely grip you would have fallen.

You whimpered again, heart hammering heavier than before. You took the large step between the third and fifth rungs and continued your ascent. 

You were crying fitfully now, your entire body trembling. But somehow you made it to the top and collapsed on the dirty wooden floor. 

You still needed a better place to shield yourself. You couldn’t leave anything to chance. 

You pushed yourself to your feet no matter how hard your body fought for you to quit. Your revolver was tucked in the back of your pants, you needed a vantage point from which you could shoot if necessary, but also somewhere that was going to keep you concealed.

The floor creaked under foot, feeling like it may give way in places. There were sporadic holes in the wood which you had to manoeuvre around to save falling to your death. 

It was anybody's guess how long this place had been abandoned for, it must have been a long time given the state of disrepair. You just hoped that the floor would hold out beneath you. 

You found several bundles of hay near the edge of the second story for which you could crouch behind and if you could get a good enough angle maybe even get off a shot if needed. 

For now you threw yourself behind it on the ground, gasping to refill your aching lungs. You raised your hand to the bleeding wound on your bicep and hissed at the touch. 

It wasn’t life threatening but it throbbed wildly. It definitely needed checking out if you made it out of here. 

You left the wound alone and drew your revolver, wiping your sweaty brow on your arm. Your heart would not still, the fear that ran through your bones was incomprehensible.  

You had never been so full of terror in your entire life and that spoke volumes. You were never so scared when your stepfather beat you, not even the first time when his blow to your abdomen had forced all the air to leave your lungs. 

You hadn’t even been this terrified when you’d found Spencer unconscious and bleeding from his self inflicted forearm cut and you thought he was dead. 

This was a whole new degree of trepidation. This was your life on the line. One false move and it would all be over for you. 

You forced your breathing to return to normal no matter how much it burnt your lungs. You crept out from behind the hay stacks just enough so you could have line of sight on the barn door. 

You raised your firearm in a trembling hand in the direction, making as little noise as was humanly possible. You honed in your hearing to pick up on any little sound. You needed to be prepared. You needed to have the upper hand. 

You heard something in the distance, still a little way off and you couldn’t quite work out what it was. You noticed it a few more times and on the fourth, you realised it was a voice. And they were calling your name. 

Time felt like it was slowing down and ramping up in equal measure, you had no concept of how long you had been running, how long this chase had gone on for. You couldn’t keep track of how long you sat in the barn, waiting, hoping you weren’t found. 

Tombstone was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning for you and Spencer. You’d cultivated a life there in the last six months and you’d foolishly believed you were safe from harm's way. 

You’d talked through several options for relocation, your original plan of Mexico was quickly dismissed by Spencer. After his arrest he was terrified at the thought of returning. You settled on Tombstone as it was similar in its old west style ways to Bandera but with a slightly larger population. 

It was a good eight hundred miles west meaning it was unlikely you would be found. You went by the name of Elizabeth Parker, Spencer drew his savings out of his bank and the two of you only ever used cash. 

Tombstone was known for its O.K. Corral located on the historic Allen Street - an outdoor theatre which holds reenactments of a 1881 cowboy gunfight. It was dubbed, the town too tough to die. 

The town offered a glimpse into the past with its various museums, stagecoach tours, an underground mine and a Western theme park. It conjured images of gunfights and dusty streets, whiskey and Faro games, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday as well as a plethora of western movie scenes.

You were renting a ranch just outside of town until his old place sold. It had forty five acres of land which was slightly less than he’d had in Bandera but it was plenty for what you needed it for. 

The land boasted a four car garage, a large loft style barn equipped with six horse stalls with feed and wash bays. Willow and Rusty delighted in the extra space, as of yet the two of you hadn’t acquired anymore steeds or any cattle. It also included three fenced off pastures, an extra bunkhouse similar to his old lodge, a hay barn and a smokehouse dating back a hundred and fifty years. 

But the pièce de résistance of the ranch was the three bedroom Victorian home sitting atop a hill, giving the most wondrous views of the rolling terrain. It was an old white wooden building which had been extremely well cared for and included all its original intricate details, such as the glass door handles and sweeping porches. 

The property was rented out by an elderly couple who had long since retired down to Florida. As such the home was fully furnished which was perfect for the two of you as you had none, even if the interior was a little dated.

Worn stone steps led to a large, open front door with a swing chair on the front porch. Ornate antique light fittings illuminated the entrance way in the dark from either side of the front door. 

Inside the floor was all hickory dark wood, aside from the carpeted staircase. Huge oak folding doors separated the living area from the foyer but you insisted on keeping them propped open at all times for maximum light. 

The living room was spacious, double the size of his entire Texan lodge. It possessed floor to ceiling French doors at one end which led out to a vast fenced off backyard. The porch wrapped around the entire property and outside the living room on the deck were plush couches facing the horse stable and making it the perfect spot to watch the sunset.

The kitchen was incredibly airy, with a sizable granite island running through the centre. It was the most modern room in the house, kitted out with a state of the art stove and huge double fridge-freezer. On one side sat a dining table which allowed a field of vision out of the window to the front of the house.

There was a separate dining room which Spencer had turned into his own personal library. He’d purchased several floor to ceiling bookshelves and even more books to fill them with. He’d moved two of the big leather armchairs from the living room and set them under the back window. It was the place in the house he frequented most. 

One bedroom was to the back of the ground floor and the master and second guest room were upstairs. The focal point of the master bedroom was a colossal, vintage bed made in dark oak with intricate carvings of flowers in the headboard. Sliding oak doors led to an ensuite which housed an old clawfoot tub and a contemporary waterfall shower, which created a strange juxtaposition.

The tub was your favourite place in the house. It was situated in front of giant windows that gave an immaculate and unhindered view of the entire property. Over the last six months you've spent an obscene amount of time soaking in the bath and simply staring at the rolling greenery. To the other side of the bedroom more French doors led out to a large second floor balcony.

There was a small creek at the back of the property which you often took Willow and Rusty down to for them to bathe. But they weren’t the only creatures who enjoyed a dip in the water.

A few weeks after arriving in Tombstone, you and Spencer had discovered an abandoned litter of puppies in a cardboard box on the side of the road one day whilst riding your mares into town. 

The five little creatures were shivering and mewling in hunger, ten piercing blue eyes looking up at the two of you as though begging for your aid. 

You’d taken them to a nearby veterinarian who ascertained the four females and lone male were Catahoula Leopard Dogs of approximately six weeks old. The girls weighed in at around fifteen pounds while the boy was closer to eleven and much smaller than his sisters. 

They were all similar in colouring to Rusty, particularly the boy. He had a short, smooth coat which looked almost painted on, a large head with drop ears and a strong tapered muzzle. His undercoat was a muddy grey while he was mottled with dark red patches with seemingly no design. He had one unique splotch over his right eye, and his entire front left leg was the splotchy dark red. 

The female pups were rather aloof while the male clung to you, whining fitfully if you didn’t cradle him or stroke him in some manner. You’d fallen in love with him in an instant and, somewhat reluctantly, Spencer agreed to take him home. 

Now at close to eight months old, Copper was close to fifty pounds and still growing. By the time he’s two years old he could be anywhere up to ninety pounds. He had a thick, muscular neck, a long curved tail and stocky, rectangular build. He was intelligent and focused, their breed being known for herding and hunting. He had an abundance of energy which he worked off swimming in the creek and running laps of the fields. 

He was inquisitive and sometimes fiercely independent but he was also incredibly loyal and protective. You’d trained him quickly to be off leash and didn’t grow concerned when he spent some days roaming, only to return at night and cosy up with you on the couch in front of the stone fireplace or on the porch on warmer evenings. 

You grew a little wistful now as you thought of Copper and by extension, Rusty. What would happen to them if you couldn’t return to the ranch? Copper and Rusty were you faithful companions, you couldn’t imagine your life without them. 

You spent more time with the animals than you did with Spencer. You’d both gotten jobs in Tombstone in an attempt to assimilate with the locals and for the most part worked opposing hours, leaving little time to spend together. 

Four days a week you worked on guided pony trail rides. You rode upon Rusty while Copper followed along as you led groups of tourists through fields and deserts on the variety of ponies on offer. You also helped clean out the pony stables and groom the steeds when you weren’t leading tours. 

Spencer split his time between two jobs, both on graveyard shift. Three nights a week he led the guided Gunfighter and Ghost Tours from downtown Tombstone. It was a history packed walking tour which included such highlights as the legend and lore behind the Courthouse hangings, John Heath and Bisbee Massacre, China Mary’s opium den in Hop Town and the Tombstone General Hospital where patients died excruciating deaths. 

Another two nights a week he tended bar at the Four Deuces Saloon. Usually by the time you were returning home for the day, he was just leaving for the start of a shift. At least once a week you went with him to the Four Deuces and spent at least half of his working night propped up at the bar, keeping him company as it didn’t always get very busy. You would take Copper and he would curl up at your feet or flit between the locals for attention. 

But you’d gotten used to seeing each other less, it just meant the time you did get to spend together was all the more fulfilling. You often used your free time to read together in the library or curled up in front of the fireplace with Copper. 

Your sex life had been steadily getting better. Once his stronger meds started taking effect he didn’t experience the same level of guilt after the two of you were intimate and rarely dissociated. 

He did seem to have a preference for foreplay, usually happier for the two of you to spend hours using your hands on each other than having intercourse. He was particularly keen on worshipping you with his mouth but never let you return the favour. 

You did have sex from time to time and it was always incredible but Spencer seemed to have to be in the right frame of mind for that particular activity. But when he did have the impetus for it, it never just happened once in any given sitting. 

Sometimes he would fuck you three, four, even five times in quick succession, often staying inside of you once he’d gone flaccid and remaining there until he was erect again. But then it could be weeks, even a month of nothing but foreplay. You couldn’t exactly complain, you were still getting off but sometimes you wanted more. 

On the whole, things were great between you, right up until they weren’t. 

About two months ago Spencer started acting differently. It was little things at first, he became irritable easily, he was often quick to anger over silly little things. He blew up at Copper for chewing on the living room rug, a rug which Spencer didn’t even like, scaring the pup half to death. 

He became incredibly restless, unable to sit still for more than five minutes at a time before he was jiggling his leg or tapping his fingers or sometimes getting up and pacing the room. You had a suspicion he wasn’t sleeping either, you always fell asleep before him and he was always up before you.

Then he started suffering from headaches, once a week then every few days. He said the headaches made him sick, and being sick made him not want to eat. As a result he’d been rapidly losing weight as of late. 

But soon things seemed to get even worse. He was anxious all of the time to the point of being paranoid. He grew depressed, barely speaking to you and rarely going to work. On occasion he would struggle to control his speech when he did talk and seemed hypersensitive to sounds, getting even more irate with Copper on the rare occurrences he barked. 

And then you found several empty bottles of whiskey hidden away in a cupboard in the barn. You hadn’t realised it before but when you found them it made so much sense. He always seemed a little disorientated, sometimes slurred his speech and he was often chewing gum, probably to mask the smell. 

You confronted him about it and he’d grown aggressive, one minute he’d been placidly reading a book but when you challenged him with the empty bottles he’d suddenly lost it. 

You wished you could say he’d dissociated but it wasn’t what happened. His eyes didn’t become vacant and unseeing like they did when his mind divorced itself from his body. Instead they were sharp, laser focused and unyielding as he glared at you. 

He all but threw you against the wall and got up in your face, screaming at you, spital flying like he was a wild animal. 

“Are you fucking judging me? With the amount you drink, you’re judging me?”

“I’m just concerned. You said yourself you don’t drink because of your addiction.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about my addiction! You have no idea!” 

“S-Spencer, you’re scaring me.” 

“Shut up! This isn’t scary, you’ve not seen scary. Not yet anyway.” 

He was right, you hadn’t. And he proved that point by slapping you hard around the face. You’d whimpered like an injured puppy and tears were quickly making their way from your eyes. 

He scoffed in response, taking a step back and grunting, “don’t fucking test me, Y/N,” before storming away. 

You heard him leave the ranch and less than a few minutes later you heard your car engine screech to life and then he peeled away in a flurry of dust. 

It was the middle of the night when he returned and you knew for a fact he’d been drinking. You could hear him stumbling on the stairs, knocking into walls. 

You were already awake, unable to sleep. Copper jumped up from his dog bed in the corner of your bedroom as soon as he heard the intrusion. 

You knew he’d driven home, you’d heard the engine and the tyres on the gravel again. You had no idea what to expect after his earlier explosion. 

He didn’t say a word as he entered the dark bedroom. You watched as he stripped out of his clothes to his boxers, almost tripping himself over on his pants legs. 

He crawled into bed and it was only then he realised you were awake. You involuntarily flinched when he raised his hand to the red mark on your face he’d caused earlier. 

His eyes, even in the dark, flooded with his sorrow. 

“I’m s-so sorry.”

His breath reeked of whiskey and his words were slurred. 

“I’m so sorry. I d-didn’t mean to. I love you. You know I love you, right?” 

You didn’t reply and instead he kissed you fiercely. And maybe it made you an idiot but you let him. You also allowed him to go down on you while he muttered how sorry he was and how much he loved you. 

In his state, the whole affair was rather sloppy and uninspiring and eventually you’d faked an orgasm for it to simply be over. 

And then he collapsed next to you and within seconds he was snoring. 

The following few months things just went from bad to worse. Spencer continued to drink and was quick to anger. He didn’t hit you again but he often shoved you out of his way or pinned you to walls while he yelled at you. 

He’d left bruises on your wrists a few times from holding onto you so hard in these instances. But they weren't the only marks he left on you. 

For the past two months his sexual appetite had been through the roof. The two of you had sex almost every night with increasing roughness from Spencer. 

He left bruises on your hips where he gripped you so hard whilst fucking you senseless, he left welts on your ass cheeks where he’d spanked so violently whilst pounding you from behind. He’d once even tugged your hair so hard he’d ripped some out at the roots. 

He’d gone from mostly foreplay to bypassing that step altogether. Sometimes you weren’t even prepared when his thick, heavy length was plunging into you, stretching you so much it burnt. 

And then his dissociations came back with avengence. Usually it was after sex and you could keep a watchful eye on him so he didn’t hurt himself and you could work to snap him out of it. 

A few times you hadn’t been present and you’d found him with a few new self inflicted wounds mostly confined to his legs and thankfully nothing that warranted medical attention. 

You should have known what was happening, you should have seen the signs. But you were so busy walking around on eggshells, trying not to anger him that you’d missed what was right in front of you. 

You’d tried so hard to cling to what you and Spencer once had, desperate to believe that this wouldn’t last, that the person he once was would come back to you. 

You still saw hints of that man. He was still able to make you smile in a way no one ever had. The small windows into the man he was gave you hope. Like when he surprised you with breakfast because he’d finally taught himself to cook bacon and eggs. Or when he read to you or held you so delicately you thought your heart might explode. 

When he took you for an impromptu picnic down by the creek just a week ago and between homemade sandwiches and making love on the grassy bank, he’d produced a ring. 

“Y/N, I know things have been…not great lately and I’m so, so sorry for that. But I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love someone and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

“I know it’s crazy, I know it’s fast. But when we decided to run away together we were kinda promising each other forever anyway right? And I know with you being a fugitive filing a marriage licence won’t exactly be easy, but we can figure it out. 

“Or you know, maybe we can’t get married for real. But at the very least I want you to have this ring as a symbol that I will never, ever leave you. And if you decide to wear it you’re saying the same. I promise I’m going to try and be better for you. I want to be the man you fell in love with. So, uh, will you marry me?” 

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of your name being called again, closer this time. You sucked in a breath, clutching the revolver for dear life. 

The reality of the situation was clawing its way up your spine like a slow shiver. It tingled harshly within your skin, as though it was beneath the surface, weaving between flesh and muscle. 

There were a finite amount of ways that this could go wrong and only a few in which they might work in your favour. 

You’d evaded the law twice before this should be a walk in the park. 

The voice grew louder still and you knew they were close. As you levelled the gun again, the vintage engagement ring caught your eye and you felt a pit forming in your stomach. 

You loved Spencer despite what he’d become and you’d agreed to marry him or simply wear his ring as it would put you in unnecessary danger to fill out any paperwork with your name on it. 

If you’d even have the chance. You were already in a grave amount of danger and chances were you would most likely never get to marry Spencer even if you could. 

You heard footsteps now, heavy and unrelenting on the gravelly sand outside. Then you heard the shotgun being cocked and a voice called out, worryingly close.

“Y/N, you can’t run forever. Games over, you can’t get away so you may as well just come out.” 

You clenched your jaw violently to stop from making a sound. Your chest tightened and your heart started beating somehow harder. Your palms were clammy, causing the revolver to slide in your grip. 

The air felt thick and heavy and it had nothing to do with the desert heat or the stale old air of the barn. The tension rippled through you, fear pulsed in your veins. 

The footsteps grew even louder and you knew they were extremely close. The shotgun cocked and suddenly fired, sending a bullet screaming into the wooden wall of the barn. 

You made a small whimper, physically biting down on your tongue to stop from making too much noise. You could immediately taste the blood pooling in your mouth from your teeth piercing the muscle. 

Tears hindered your vision but you blinked them back, needing to remain hyper focused. There was no time for tears. If you got away, then you could cry. Or if you were captured maybe you’d cry then too. 

But not now. 

You tried to steady your shaking hand, tried to keep it levelled at the door on the ground floor. It was immediately going to be breached, you just had to pray that they wouldn’t find you. 

Things were just starting to get better and now this? Life was intrinsically unfair. 

For a fraction of a second you allowed yourself to mourn everything you stood to lose. Your beloved steed and trusty dog. The homestead you’d been building for the past six months. 

The love of your life. 

You fought back tears again and forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. There was no margin for error. One misstep and it was all over. You had to come out victorious. 

The barn door suddenly flew open on its hinges, creaking and crashing as it hit the wall with the force in which it had been opened. 

You stifled a gasp, hand still violently shaking as you tried to level the gun on the head of the shadow who stepped into the room. 

The figure was in complete silhouette as was the shotgun resting on their shoulder, pointing out into the dark barn. His footsteps were quiet and deliberate, just as he had been trained to do so. If it hadn’t been for the homicidal way in which he’d burst through the door, you might not have realised he was there. 

His slow movements meant you could probably get a shot off. You were a pretty good aim but given the amount in which your hand shook you probably wouldn’t get a headshot. But you could at the very least disarm him. 

You didn’t want it to come to that, you didn’t want to hurt anyone else. However it came to his life or yours you may have to rethink that. 

He cautiously traversed the barn, so silently he could be floating. How many hundreds of times had he done this in the past? This was his bread and butter, chasing and stalking unsubs. How many of them had outrun him, outsmarted him? Could you be one of the few who got away? 

He stepped into the small patch of light on the floor created from the open door and the hole high in the wall, meeting perfectly in the centre of the room. The sun was dangerously low in the sky but it illuminated him enough to see his haggard features. 

The sweat coating his face glistened in the small sliver of light. His brows were heavily furrowed in annoyance, his nose scrunched a few times as he adjusted to the scratchy scent of old hay and abandonment. His finger coiled around the shotgun trigger, shoulders squared and back straight. You could make out the small spots of blood on his shirt sleeve, your blood. 

He made quick work casing the room, eyes briefly flitting up to the second floor and you hurriedly threw yourself back behind the hay bales. Your breath was viciously trying to escape in rampant breaths but you held it down, couldn’t make a sound. 

Hidden away again you could no longer see his movements but the removal of one of your senses heightened the others. Your ears could now pick up on the almost imperceptible footsteps, the slow and steady breaths leaving his lips as though the exertion of chasing you hadn’t impressed upon him in the slightest. 

You could smell him now, the sour and musty scent of sweat combined with the harsh lingering aroma of shotgun fire. The revolver in your hands felt smoother, heavier and the metallic taste of blood on your tongue became sharper. 

He took a few more hushed steps, each one causing your heart to beat more furiously inside your chest. He was hunting, tracking, creeping; it ran through his veins, as instinctual to him as breathing. 

You dared to peer out from your seclusion to glance down at him, the frustration rolled off of him in waves. And then suddenly he turned, a full one eighty degrees on the heels of his boots until he was facing towards the door again. 

He huffed out a merciless breath, hand tightening around the shotgun. His eyes cased the front corners of the dark barn, quickly ascertaining there was no one hiding in the shadows. 

“Goddamnit,” he grumbled under his breath as he stalked back towards the open barn door. 

He took one step outside before he turned and gave the barn another once over. He lowered the shotgun to his side, shaking his head in dissatisfaction. Even though he was nothing more than a gloomy outline once more, you saw his jaw clench. 

Before he stepped away and continued his hunt in the cavernous yet baron desert, he panted out another thick breath and shook his head briskly. And when he spoke into the seemingly desolate void, his voice was so unlike anything you’d ever heard from his lips that it struck you at your very core.

This man was no longer the same one you’d come to know. He was but a vessel of evil, possessed by some kind of darkness the likes of which you had never seen before. His fractured mind had finally torn in two, his psyche now owned by whatever demons had lived inside of him for so long. It might be his body, but his mind had been taken over by some other spirit.

Spencer Reid was no more. That was only confirmed by the way he cackled manically before spitting out the words, “I will find you princess, mark my words. I will find you.” And then he vanished into the desert, leaving you utterly petrified and questioning everything you thought you’d known about the man you loved. 

@kalulakunundrum @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

[hellbuticy]

Walker Brothers Hcs pt 2 (California Edition)

we all know the boys grew up in san diego and they simply, are the typical socal type.

every moment the boys weren’t in the woods or involved with Elias, they were at the beach.

they rode their bmxs everywhere. LIKE EVERYWHERE.

they would have little competitions to who can hit the best jump/trick and the loser bad to buy the winner an arizona from the local liquor store

they would drink SoBes: hesh’s fav was the piña colada and logan’s was the strawberry banana

in n out was and is always their comfort food

their family “trips” would be to in n out in the truck and they would all eat in the bed (extra points if its during sunset)

hesh got really into sublime and elias feared he was gonna start smoking weed

logan took the linkin park route n elias feared the kid was going true an existential crisis (he was like 13)

keegan calls logan “cali” when he wants to be a smartass n when hes not calling him “kid”

they were padres fans growing up but elias had a soft sport for the giants (norcal n socal UNITE)

they were never the surfing type but they were the “rush the waves n try to drown each other” type (sibling shit as per usual)

the boys never grew up normally bc they were military brats. so they spent a lot of time on the bases in sd for ghosts business but elias told them it was to finalize his retirement papers

growing up in san diego made the boys want to be navy but elias never really gave them the choice of choosing another branch. so when odin hit, there REALLY was no choice

every time the boys had to go back to no mans land it pained them bc that was HOME

they dont like fish. for how many fish taco places are in sd. they HATE fish

even tho their dad had always owned fords the boys realllyyyyy wanted a tacoma or a 4runner (yota for life dawg)

they werent surf kids. never had a knack for it. BUT they were skim board kids. and they liked bikes

hesh loves to bring up childhood memories.

but elias did the most. he would always tell the other ghosts about “his boys” and the shit they got into.

when the other started to get more comfortable with the walkers, they would recite the stories elias once told ‘em

mrs walker would always SMOTHER them in sunscreen before they went out, especially when going to the beach

cargo shorts and flip flops EVERYWHERE. but when they got older than it was cargo pants n boots