#id been calling him emily for years

[dyke-remy]

Picani using the term Hyperfixation for himself. Canon adhd (or autistic) Picani my beloved <3333

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.  

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?” 

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened. 

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible. 

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal. 

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment. 

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU. 

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. 

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting. 

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.” 

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort. 

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years. 

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him. 

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38,  and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness. 

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number. 

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind. 

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding. 

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered. 

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared. 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back. 

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him. 

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment. 

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself. 

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together. 

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back. 

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness. 

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours. 

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness. 

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity. 

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality. 

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time. 

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed. 

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room. 

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried. 

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect. 

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby. 

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words. 

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion. 

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you. 

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next. 

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace. 

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go. 

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. 

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. 

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive. 

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes. 

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile. 

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise. 

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical. 

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. 

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart. 

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite

[hotchscoffeecup]

drunk dial

pairing: platonic aaron hotchner/reader

rating: t

word count: 8.1k

tags: implied sexual assault, referenced sexual assault

summary: when you drunk dial your boss in need of rescuing from a night club, aaron hotchner doesn’t hesitate to respond. the only problem? you thought you’d called emily. hotch insists on you letting him take care of you for the night as you’re in no state to be on your own. as the night progresses, you find that you’re finally able to disclose a trauma you’d kept buried for years.

“Hotchner,” he answers groggily.

A harsh sob echoes through the receiver and he sits up, bringing the phone down to view the caller ID. The dark slash of his brow furrows as he views your name and photo.

There’s concern in his voice as he says your name, but you don’t seem to hear it.

You heave another sob through the phone. “My friend left with some guy. And now this one, he won’t—” Your voice suddenly sounds far away the music pounding in the background overtakes your words. He’s missing information as your voice becomes clear once more. “He wants more than I’m willing to give Emily and I just want to go home.” Your words are slurred. “I just,” another choked sob, “I need he—” The line disconnects.

“Hello?” Hotch questions and tries your name again. He redials your number and curses as it goes to voicemail. Throwing back the sheets, he climbs out of bed and dials Prentiss’ number as he pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt.

She laughs as she answers, “Hotch, it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He cuts her off and curtly explains the call he’d just received. “Where is she?”

“Oh, um, The 930 Club. She’s—”

“Thanks, Prentiss.” He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs his raincoat and keys and swiftly exits his apartment.

The club isn’t far from his complex, but with Saturday night traffic in the heart of DC combined with the summer storm raging on, it seems to take ages. He lays on the horn as someone cuts him off and curses as he slams on his brakes. Briefly, he considers throwing the red and blue lights on, but thinks better of it. He’s not far now and after making it through the next red light, the club comes into view. Disregarding the no parking signs out front, Hotch pulls up alongside the curb and throws the SUV into park.

Despite the rain, a line stretches out the door. Couples and groups of friends clad in leather, satin, high heels, and sleek accessories huddle under wide umbrellas to protect themselves from the storm. Hotch approaches the door and a bouncer stretches his arm across the way.

“There’s a line, old man.” The bouncer inclines his head toward the line of anxiously waiting club goers. “Get to the back before I put you there myself.”

Hotch is unfazed by the bouncer and the sense of power his job provides him. Standing toe to toe with the man, he stares him down, his eyes hard. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his badge. With two fingers, he flips it open and pushes into the bouncer’s face. “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he states flatly. “I’ve got an agent in trouble in there, so get the hell out of my way before I have you in handcuffs.” He’s bluffing, obviously, the bouncer has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t know that though, given how wide his eyes open in fear. He says nothing and steps aside, granting him entry.

“Thank you.” For good measure, Hotch drives his shoulder into the bouncer as he shoves his way into the noisy nightclub. His eyes dart around, scanning the scene. There are two long bars on opposite walls, a DJ against the short wall where dozens of people bump and grind against one another on the dance floor, and two levels of tall tables and booths for people to crowd around or sneak into to get away from the music.

On the phone, you’d sounded distressed. Your words were slurred and he could only hope and pray that you’d not been drugged by whatever “he” was with you at the time of the call. God, he could only hope that you were even still here. If he knew creeps as well as his job had accustomed him to, if a man was trying to procure a woman under the influence, he’d either leave immediately and attack her in a secondary location or he’d take her somewhere more private within the environment.

Pushing through the crowd, he shouldered past couples who shot dagger sharp glances at him and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. The music still pounded over the speakers up here, but this was clearly where people went to escape the bustle of the crowded dance floor and get away to drink or order food or conversate more

privately. He calls your name and begins scanning tables. Patrons dining or trying to steal a romantic moment glare at him. Some curse and tell him to fuck off. He pays them no mind. As he winds around tables, he begins losing hope despite there being much more of the club to explore. He has half a mind to shut the whole place down and call in the team, but that would be a gross overreaction. There is no evidence that you’re actually in danger or missing aside from a drunk misdial. Still though, his heart pounds erratically as he calls your name over the music.

He reaches the end of the second floor and at first doesn’t see that there are people in the booth they’re that far tucked into it. The man’s hulking frame blocks the girl from view and he knows it’s you.

“Hey!” he barks over the baseline.

“We don’t need anything,” the man says without looking back.

Fury floods his veins. Without a second thought, Hotch reaches for the man and grabs him by the back of the neck. He reels back, pulling the man to his feet. Catching his balance, the man pulls his fist back. As he aims to deliver a punch, Hotch ducks and sends his fist into the man’s gut. As the air vacates his lungs and he doubles over, Hotch fists his hands into his shirt and slams him back into the table. With the man immobilized, he looks up at you. A strap on your dress falls over one shoulder and your hair hangs limply, having fallen free of whatever style it had been in. You look at him from half hooded eyes, blinking slowly. The scene is spinning and your temples are throbbing.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. His knuckles blaze white as the man struggles beneath his grip.

“Stop moving!” he barks.

“Can somebody help me?” the man calls.

Someone is saying your name, asking if you’re ok. The music is loud and your ears feel like they’re plugged with cotton. Things seem to move quickly and slowly all at once. Where are you? You’ve not left the club yet, but where did Mariah go? There’s your name again. God, you’re really out of it. Mariah left, you remember. She left with Andrew’s friend and Andrew, God, he wouldn’t leave you alone. When was Emily going to get here? There’s your name again. You blink hard and try to get your bearings. Though things are hazy and tilted through your alcohol laden senses, a picture starts to form in front of you. Aaron Hotchner, your boss, has Andrew pinned against the table in front of you.

“Sir?” you question, though the word feels far away and unfamiliar on your tongue.

Hotch raises his eyes from Andrew, concern reflecting back at you in them. Your eyes widen as you take in Andrew’s form beneath him. You glance down at yourself and see your dress straps pulled down, exposing the lace of your bra. What the fuck had he been trying to do before Hotch got here?

Two bouncers approach as a crowd begins to gather, people are always hungry for drama after all.

“Is there a problem here?” the first bouncer asks. He’s tall, built, and wears sunglasses despite it being dark inside. His ginger beard is bushy and his brow is pierced. He looks pissed as all hell that he has to be up here breaking up a fight. Hotch recognizes the other bouncer from the door. When they make eye contact, his eyes widen.

“Yo, Liam, that’s that FBI agent I was telling you about.”

Liam arches a brow, but his expression softens. “What’s going on, officer? Or should I call you Agent?”

Hotch ignores him and pulls Andrew to his feet, pushing him toward the bouncers. “Get this guy out of here,” he orders. He looks toward you again, his eyes searching for signs of further harm. He turns his attention back to Andrew.

“Did you slip her something?”

Andrew’s face screws. “What? No!”

Hotch steps forward, his face inches from his, and repeats the question louder, “Did you give her something?”

Andrew flinches. “No! I don’t do that shit, man. She took a bunch of shots with her friend. Guys were buying them drinks all night. I just—”

“You just what?” Hotch questions, his voice low and dangerous. “Wait for a woman that can hardly stand, take her upstairs, hide away, and see just how far you can take it?”

“Hey, she was into it!”

Hotch grabs him by the jaw. “Look at her!” he says. “She can barely keep her eyes open! That’s not consent, idiot!”

Andrew swallows and he looks like he might wet himself.

“Hotch,” you say and try your best to sit up, the world spinning as you do so.

Hotch releases him, but first leans in close to his ear. “If you ever, and I mean ever try this again, with anyone. I will have you arrested and will personally make sure you never see the light of day ever again. I was a federal prosecutor, so I know how to make charges stick. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrew nods vigorously and a tear slips from his eyes. “Not so confident now, huh?” Hotch whispers, disdain dripping from his lips. “Get him out of here.”

He watches as the bouncers lead Andrew down the steps. Hotch immediately turns his attention on you. He slides into the booth beside you. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of what’s happening. The music is so loud. Hotch looks around and then back at you. “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” He stretches his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you out of the booth. When you find your feet, you stumble and he catches you, his arm bracing around your lower back.

“It’s raining,” Hotch says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Take this.” He drapes it over your shoulders, his little finger curling under the strap of your dress and pulling it back into place as he does so. The smell of cedar and teakwood reaches your nose, a severe contrast to the club’s overarching scent of vodka, sweat, and the amalgamation of various perfumes and colognes sprayed in earnest.

The second you exit the club your head feels a fraction clearer. The air is muggy, the humidity amping up with the cold rain coming down after a week of intensely high temperatures.

Aaron reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. He clicks the unlock button and the car beeps in response. He opens the door and helps you inside, his eyes lingering on you for a moment as you clumsily buckle your seatbelt to make sure you can get it on alright. Once secure, he gently shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

He slides into the driver’s seat and twists the key in the ignition. He places his hands on the wheel, but before shifting the car into gear, he looks at you, intensely. When he says your name, it’s gentle. It’s not the tone he uses in the office when he’s calling the team for a briefing or to review something you’d written in a report. There’s a warmth in his voice, and there’s real concern there too. “You don’t have to tell me,” he starts. “Just know that you can.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts on its axis. Your stomach roils and for a moment you’re afraid you might be sick. You take a deep breath and manage to hold it down. Hotch tilts his head, regarding you. “Is there anyone at home that can take care of you?”

“No,” you answer and this time you don’t shake your head to avoid aggravating the nausea. “My roommate is out of town visiting her family,” you speak slowly but your words still come out slurred.

Hotch nods and shifts the car into gear. “You can stay with me then, tonight.”

“No, sir I can’t let you do that. You’ve got Jack and—”

A smile cracks his stern visage as he pulls out into traffic. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve taken a mental snapshot as you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a genuine expression of mirth cross his face. “Jack is at his aunt’s. I wouldn’t have exactly been able to come out like this if he wasn’t. Beth has an event for work this weekend, which is why I’ve stayed back in DC. It’s no trouble at all.”

You sink back into the seat, a part of you unable to believe that this is happening while the other part of you is still trying to fully process what all had transpired in the last fifteen minutes.

“Hotch, how did you know—”

His eyes are on the road as he speaks. “You thought you’d called Emily. You called me.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, drawing out the last letter. A scarlett heat creeps into your cheeks and you cover your face with your hands. “So you heard—Jesus Christ. Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotch says, his words genuine. “I’m glad I can help.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. It’s not long by any stretch of the imagination, but the constant stop and go traffic of late night DC has your stomach doing somersaults. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the cool glass of the window hoping it’ll quell the churning in your belly.

A quiet groan escapes your lips as Hotch pulls into his designated parking spot at The Langham. It stopped raining. As soon as he shifts the car into park, your stomach feels as though it’s just been bounced around like. ping pong ball. “Oh god,” you moan and fumble with the door handle. Somehow you manage to undo the lock and fling open the door. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you rush over to the nearest bush, the vomit you’d staved off finally forcing its way up and out of your body. It’s vile, the way the alcohol and stomach acid burns your throat.

Footsteps rapidly approach and there’s a hand at your neck, gathering your hair. “Alright, ok,” Hotch says soothingly, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. “Get it all out, oh yeah, yep. There you go.”

When your body stops purging itself, you gulp down a fresh breath of air before spitting the acrid taste of bile from your lips. You stay like that, hands on your knees, and take a few deep breaths. “Do you have your gun?”

Hotch releases your hair as you stand, but keeps a steadying hand on your arm. His expression is puzzled, his brow arched. “No, why?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the sidewalk leading toward the front entrance to his building. “To kill me now so I don’t have to live with the embarrassment of knowing my boss just saw that happen.”

Something between a laugh and scoff escapes Hotch’s lips as he catches up to you in two long strides. Him and his long ass legs, you drunkenly muse.

The lights hurt your eyes and your temples continue to throb as you let Hotch navigate your way through his complex. The walk feels excessively long and you wonder if all apartment complexes are this maze-like. As he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment you realize you’re actually at Aaron Hotchner’s apartment. You’ve never been to his apartment. You’ve been to Emily’s, Penelope’s, and Spencer’s apartments; Rossi and JJ’s houses, but Hotch? Definitely not. Suddenly you feel like you are about to encroach upon the shadowy place Mufasa warns Simba about in The Lion King.

You blink and that clears the weird image forming of Hotch as a cartoonish fatherly lion from your mind. You stumble through the threshold as he pushes the door open and curse as he catches you again. “These fucking heels,” you grumble. As you reach down to work out the straps your stomach flips and you groan.

Hotch’s eyes flare slightly. “Why don’t you stay up there?” he cautions. “Let me help you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” you respond, voice tight as your stomach threatens revolution once more.

He bends down on one knee and begins to undo the straps from around your ankles. He holds the back of your calf as he pulls the heel off and places it against the wall. You have to catch yourself on his shoulder to keep from falling but as soon as your foot falls flat on the floor, a languid moan leaves your lips.

“Good God, that feels so much better.”

He helps you slide out of the other high heeled shoe and stands. Without the heels on, he has a decent amount of height on you. You have to look up to meet his eyes, those eyes still shining with concern.

“Let me take the coat,” he says, lifting his hands toward you. You turn and shrug out of it, your limbs feeling awkward and heavy as you do so. He hangs it on a hook on the back of the door and gestures down the length of the hallway.

“It’s just the one bedroom,” he explains as he leads the way toward the main room. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” you blurt. “No, no, no you don’t have to do any of that oh my God.”

Hotch chuckles in response. “I think you’ll thank me in the morning if you do.” Wordlessly, you follow as he leads the way to the aforementioned bedroom. He flicks the light switch on and the lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room. It’s simply decorated with store bought abstract paintings and dark blue linens on the queen sized bed. A framed photo of Jack sits on the nightstand, angled toward the bed. The idea of Hotch lying there looking at the image of his son tugs your heartstrings. You move past Hotch and plop down on the bedspread before reaching for the photo. You smile as you look at Jack’s crooked smile.

“He’s so precious,” you muse and poke Jack’s nose through the flat plane of glass. You look up at Hotch from where he stands in the doorway. “He’s lucky to have a dad like you, sir.”

Hotch smiles softly and crosses the distance to sit beside you, the mattress sinking beneath your combined weight. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be honest, it's hard to feel like a good dad some days with our job.”

You bump him with your shoulder, or at least that’s your intention.You more or less use your entire arm to nudge him just barely. “You give him all the time you’re able, we all see that. If we do, Jack definitely does.”

You pass him the picture frame and smile. Hotch smiles in turn, his lips together. “Thank you,” he says as he places it back on the nightstand. “I hope he grows into a good man.”

“With you as his father, there’s no doubt. There ought to be more dads like you out there to teach their sons how to be men.” Your smile falters and your voice grows small. “Maybe then they wouldn’t try to see just how far they can push the envelope.”

Tears spring to your eyes and you use the back of your hand to clumsily wipe them away. Turn off the waterworks, you chide yourself. Your temples already throb from how much the alcohol, first round of tears, and vomiting dehydrated you, no need to compound it now with more tears.

Hotch says your name quietly. “You can talk to me, you know.” He pats your hand that rests atop the bedsheets. “I’m not your boss right now, I’m your friend.”

Your lip quivers as you stare blankly at the wall ahead. “If I talk about it, that means I let it happen. I’m a fucking FBI agent, Hotch. I should know better than to drink that much. I should—”

Hotch’s brow pinches. “Woah, woah, woah,” he starts, “where is this coming from? You know better than anyone that how much you drink doesn’t matter, that doesn’t entitle anyone else to you or your body. And fuck if you’re an agent, you’re allowed to go and enjoy drinks and a night out without worrying if some asshole is going to try and take advantage of you. I think I scared him within an inch of his life, too. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

But it’s not about Andrew. It’s not about tonight anymore. Tears slip over your lash line.They’re hot and fat and you hate how they have little minds of their own, dropping freely down your cheeks. You know what he says is true. Hell, you preach it to everyone, especially when you teach self defense at the local university. What you wear is never an excuse for someone to touch you. How you dance isn’t an excuse for someone to grope you. How much you drink isn’t an excuse for someone to lay claim to your flesh. The only thing that means yes is explicit, enthusiastic consent. You know this. You teach this.

But right now, it’s so hard to believe because that’s what you had to fight so hard to teach yourself when you first had to learn what happened wasn’t your fault.

You drop your head into your hands and stifle a sob. “God, it was nearly ten fucking years ago.”

“What was ten years ago?” Hotch asks, his voice soft and kind.

Oh God. You’d said that out loud.

You scrub your hands over your face and curse as you smear mascara into your eye. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your hand flies to your eye instinctively.

“I’ve got something I think can help,” Hotch says as he rises from the bed and darts out of the room. From your point of view, you can’t see anything but you hear bottles rummaging around from where you imagine is the bathroom out in the hall. When he returns he carries a small green package in his hand. He crouches in front of you and peels back the plastic film on the container. With two fingers he extracts a wipe and folds it in half. As he reaches for your face he hesitates, wipe paused in mid air above your cheek. “Is this alright?” he asks.

Sniffling, you nod. With one hand, Hotch gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist. As he pulls it away, he uses his other hand to place the cool moist towelette against your eye. He holds it there for a moment before he begins to wipe and blot at the black swirls of mascara that had dried in tear stained patterns around your eyes and cheeks and whatever vestiges of eyeshadow remained. Once that wipe is fully soiled, he retrieves a fresh one; repeating the gesture on the other eye before moving on and clearing away what remained of your face and lip makeup. You don’t speak while he does this, and you don’t have to. You needed it. You needed that. You needed someone. You needed him. A friend. Someone that would ask no questions and just show up for you when you needed them most. No questions asked. And when he did ask questions, when Hotch did, there was no expectation to answer. But right now, in this strange moment, in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, in his bed no less, you felt like you could finally tell someone.

“I was a teenager,” you say as he takes one final swipe at your cheek.

His hand freezes along your jawline and his eyes lock on yours. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently, lowering his hand.

“If I don’t say it now on what courage the alcohol left in my system is giving me, I’m afraid I never will.”

Hotch sits back on his heels. “Alright.”

“I was dating an older guy at the time. I was a freshman in college. He was a senior; vice president of his fraternity. He came from a wealthy family, too. I was naive and so excited to be dating someone like that, someone with status. I grew up comfortably, but not that well off. He took me to nice dinners and bought me expensive gifts. We had a physical relationship, and it started out fine enough.” You pause and take a deep breath. “But we started fighting. He wouldn’t,” you pause. “I couldn’t get him to talk to me or communicate in any way that led to resolution when we did. He’d just keep apologizing and told me that he’d do better next time. He’d start kissing me to interrupt and then his hands would be in my pants and I just,” you stop and shake your head. “I thought if I could just deal with what he did physically, that things would be fine again if I just pretended I liked what was happening and got it over with. I thought that we’d go back to the fun, happy go lucky couple everyone knew us as. Until it happened again, and again, and again. When he graduated I finally felt safe enough to break things off once there was distance between us. I knew something had felt off about those experiences. It never occurred to me that that was assault.”

“You suffered through numerous unwanted physical advances because he emotionally manipulated you through stonewalling.” Hotch says quietly. It’s not an explanation, but validation of your experience.

A choked laugh escapes your lips. “I know that now. At the time, I thought assault was like what you see on TV. That it’s some stranger in an alley that blitz attacks you. I never thought it could be someone you knew, let alone someone you were in what you believed was a loving and committed relationship.” You shake your head again, a wry smile playing on your lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that the perpetrators were almost alway statistically someone the victim knows.”

A warm hand slips into yours. You look up and Hotch is looking at you intently. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You lick your chapped lips and drop your eyes, nodding. “It took a long time for me to learn that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” Hotch says. “To have gone through that alone,” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you reply, because what else was there to say? “I wasn’t completely alone. I did go to counseling throughout the remainder of my time in school, they had services for the students. There was a support group, too; one for people who’d experienced sexual violence. It was there I really learned that things weren’t my fault. Other people had experienced similar things. Without that, I don’t think I’d have made it through honestly. I definitely wouldn’t be here.”

His hand squeezes around yours once more. “I’m glad that you are.” He smiles and a dimple forms in his cheek. “I know I'm a better man for having known you. The team, hell, the impact you have on the lives of those going through the worst possible moments of their lives in these cases we work…you have touched so many lives for the better. Please never, ever forget that.”

You smile crookedly and it feels somewhat genuine. “What do you think gets me through the day?”

The throbbing in your temples intensifies suddenly and you screw your eyes shut, your hands moving instinctively to rub them. “God, I’m going to be so hungover in the morning.”

Hotch claps his hands together. “Let’s see if we can’t get ahead of that.”

He leaves the room and when he returns he has a glass of water. “Here,” he says and passes you the cup.

You graciously accept it and take a long drink, the cool water soothing your throat, raw from crying and vomiting. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“It would probably help if you got some sleep. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”

You scoff, “Ok, Hotch. I threw up and it helped a little bit, but I’m not that sober.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Let me at least get you some clothes. I know sleeping in a cocktail dress won’t be too comfortable.”

“Do you know?” you tease.

He presses his lips together. “Let me go see what I can find.”

You exhale a short laugh as he disappears from view and you fall back onto the mattress, a dull thud echoing as your body hits the sheets. You heave out a big sigh and stare at the ceiling. “This is a weird fucking night.”

You close your eyes and behind closed lids, it feels like you’re spinning. Yep, definitely not sober. You open your eyes and lazily reach up to start pulling bobby pins from your hair.

“Alright, I’ve got a pair of sweats and an old academy hoodie that should fit you.”

At the sound of Hotch’s voice, you let your head loll to the side. “You look absurdly tall from this angle,” you muse.

Hotch chuckles, “Spoken like someone desperately in need of sleep.” He steps into the room and drops the clothes onto the bed.

“Hotch?” you question, ignoring his last comment.

You roll onto your side and push yourself back into a sitting position. He arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why is it you’ve got makeup wipes in your apartment?” You inhale sharply. “Ooo, are you secretly a drag performer?”

Hotch laughs. “I am not a drag performer, though I do think Anderson does drag brunch on Saturday mornings if I remember right.”

You blink twice. “I’m sorry, and you’re only telling me this now?”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Garcia does.”

Your jaw drops. “Garcia knows?? Oh, when I get my hands on her—”

“To answer your question though,” Hotch butts in, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “They’re Beth’s.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Beth keeps things at your apartment? What are we talking, like, a couple of things on the counter? A drawer?”

Hotch’s eyes drop to the floor as a scarlet blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, this is serious isn’t it?” You feel the apples of your cheeks as your smile widens. “Spill, Hotch! Should I be looking at outfits for the wedding?”

To that, Hotch raises his hands as a smile splits his lips. “Calm down,” he laughs. “We’re not quite at wedding bells, but we do see each other almost every weekend. With the commute on the train, it is easy to have a drawer or two at one another’s apartments.”

You feel like kicking your feet, you’re so happy. If anyone deserved this kind of joy and love in their life, it was Hotchner. God knows he deserved it after all the hell he’d been through, all the trauma he survived.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say. “Beth is a remarkable woman”.

Hotch nods, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “She is.”

You reach over and pull the clothes onto your lap. “Thanks, again, Hotch.” You toy with the sleeve of the hoodie in hand. “As horrified as I was when I realized I’d called you instead of Emily, I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was you.”

“We’re a team. We’re family,” Hotch replies. He leans against the doorframe. “Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a bit more protective of you, anyway. So, when I heard your voice on the line, there was no hesitation. I’d like to think if I had a daughter and she were in trouble, that someone in her life would do the same.”

You spring off of the bed, a little uncoordinated due to alcohol still gently buzzing in your veins at this point, and throw your arms around him. You bury your face in his neck and though, muffled, you say, “Thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, for everything.” You don’t need to say what for, he knows. Your gratitude extends far beyond just rescuing you from the night club.

His arms snake around you, his palms pressed flat against the middle of your back as he squeezes you tightly.

“You’re so welcome,” he says into your hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know. Don’t ever forget that.” He pulls away just so and presses a fatherly kiss to your hairline, “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

You nod and brush away a stubborn tear. God, you’d think you’d have nothing left in the tank at this point. You stifle a yawn as you close the door. The clothes Hotch left you fit well enough; the warmth and coziness of the fleece lined fabrics acting as security blanket as you tuck yourself in between the sheets. You barely remember to flick off the lamp on the bedside table before crashing onto the pillows where the heaviness of sleep finally drags you under to the sweet realm of nothingness.

Three things are incredibly clear the second you wake up: one, it’s too bright and you have to squint against the white rays of sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds; two, your mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, you swallow but there’s not even an inkling of saliva to wet your dry throat; and three, it feels like someone has been slamming on a timpani inside of your skull.

You exude a long, slow groan into the pillow before rolling onto your side to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on Hotch’s nightstand. The red numbers blink back 10:23AM. There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand alongside two tablets and a folded piece of paper.

Your brow furrows as you prop yourself onto your elbow and reach for the note. You unfold it with one hand and in Hotch’s tight, neat scrawl it reads:

Ran out to grab a few things. I left some aspirin there on the table. You should probably take them.

-Hotch

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you mutter as you toss the paper onto the bed.

You try not to gag as the pills start dissolving on your tongue and quickly chase it with the glass of water. After washing them down, you make a rather unattractive display of gulping down the remaining water. You drink it so quickly that some spills over the glass and you have to use the sleeve of your sweater, well Hotch’s sweater oops, to wipe off your face.

It doesn’t sound like anyone else is home. Pushing back the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand and for the first time, the room isn’t spinning. Even though Hotch is out, you still walk on the balls of your feet as if you need to be quiet. It feels strange to be stepping out into the hallways and walking into his bathroom. Sure, you’d swung by his apartment a few times to drop off a file or other work necessities. You’d never been in his house though.

Walking in and using his bathroom feels so strange, like an invasion of privacy. Like his bedroom, it’s simply decorated. A shower curtain decorated with blue and green swirls lines one wall. Plush bath mats of a similar blue line the area in front of the shower and sink. His very few toiletries sit in a neat row to the left of the faucet on the sink. He’s a Gillette guy, interesting. You’d always taken him for an Old Spice sort of man. You hear the front door and stop profiling his bathroom, instead, quickly using it for its intended purposes. You can’t help yourself though as you dry off your hands. You pull open the two drawers beneath the sink and smile to yourself. The one holds all of Hotch’s things: razor, comb, toothpaste, the usual; the other is clearly Beth’s: makeup, hair elastics, and the green makeup wipes sit neatly inside among other items. You bump the drawers closed with your hips before making your way back out into the hallway.

“Hey, Hotch,” you say, “Thanks again so much for—” Words fail you as you look up and see JJ and Prentiss in his living room.

Wide smiles spread across their faces. JJ spreads her fingers and holds her hands in the air, “Surprise!”

Brow furrowed, you cross the room and let them pull you into quick hugs.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but what’s going on? Where’s Hotch?”

Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she tilts her head, “He thought you could use a pick me up.”

“So, he called you guys?”

JJ nods. “We’ve all had rough nights, followed by even rougher mornings.” She inclines her head toward Emily. “Remember the morning Hotch ran that triathlon?”

Emily cringes. “God, don’t remind me!”

“Where is Hotch, anyway?” you ask, craning your neck around Emily and JJ.

“Oh,” Emily says, her lips forming the shape of the word. “He should be right behind us he—”

Just then, the front door swings open and it’s not Hotch.

“There she is!” exclaims Penelope. She waltzes into the apartment, adjusting the massive purse on her shoulder as she does so. Her knee length pink skirt swishes around her legs as she crosses the room to pull you into an embrace. The smell of jasmine clings to you as your face is buried in her chest and neck. She pulls away after a long moment, though her hands don’t drop from your shoulders. Her eyes scan your face. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. Do not fret! Penelope is here to help get you feeling refreshed and revitalized!”

You look to JJ and Emily for help. “I look like shit, don’t I? Be honest.”

JJ shakes her head. “Noooo.”

Emily presses her lips together and tilts her head back and forth, “Well—”

JJ slaps a hand against her stomach and Emily winces. “What?!”

“Drink this,” Penelope says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of yellow liquid. You take it and turn to read the label, Crisp Lemon Berry Pedialyte. “It’s got electrolytes. You need those!”

“Yes ma’am,” you say agreeably and crack open the bottle. The label makes it seem like it’ll be better than it is, but the taste is bearable. You need as much hydration as you can get at the moment, so you don’t complain.

“Sorry I took so long!” Hotch’s voice fills the room as he enters carrying a drink tray of coffees and an extra one in his free hand. “Line at the cafe was nearly out the door.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee?” you ask, salivating at the thought.

Penelope points a purple polished finger at you. “Finish that, then you can have coffee.”

He sets a cup down on the kitchen table before approaching them in the living room. “Non-fat, vanilla latte for you,” Hotch says, passing a cup to JJ. “London fog for Emily, can’t quite shake England there, can you?” he teases as Emily accepts the cup, not before flicking him off though with a cheeky grin playing on her berry red lips. Iced matcha green tea latte—”

“With soy?” Penelope questions, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

“With soy,” Hotch confirms and she accepts it happily.

“Last but not least, almond milk mocha for you.” He holds the cup out and smiles warmly. You hold his gaze for a moment, the exchange carrying more than a simple ‘thank you’ would allow for. He dips his chin just slightly in acknowledgment. As you reach for the cup, Penelope’s hand shoots out to intercept, her bangles jangling against her wrist.

“I’ll take that!” she chirps before taking a long sip of her own drink.

“Hey!” you whine.

Penelope gestures toward the Pedialyte with your coffee. “Finish!”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly chug the remaining liquid. “There,” you say and shake the empty bottle. “Happy?”

“Very!” pipes Penelope. “Oh! Here!” she reaches into her bag and withdraws a drawstring bag. Did she own the Mary Poppins bag? How did all of this fit inside of her purse? “I stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Toothbrush, deodorant, change of clothes, the works.”

“Oh, Penelope Garcia, you are my angel!” You gratefully take the bag into your hands and disappear down the hall into the restroom.

The aspirin has started to kick in alongside what attempts you’ve made to rehydrate and the throbbing in your skull has dwindled to a soft drumming. Searching through the contents of the bag, you praise Garcia’s name as you find your skincare and toothbrush.

It takes all of ten minutes for you to brush your teeth, wash your face, and style your hair up and out of your face. Garcia had packed you two different styles of underwear, (leave it to her to give you the choice of thong or bikini styled undergarments. She’s probably also one of the only people you’d feel comfortable rummaging through your underwear drawer if you’re being honest) a pair of leggings, and a cropped Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You change quickly and fold the sweats and sweater Hotch had lent you. You throw all of your toiletries into the bag and shrug it over shoulder before scooping Hotch’s clothes into your arms.

Hotch and the girls are sitting around the coffee table on the couch and recliner, enjoying their beverages. Penelope smiles widely when you emerge.

“There she is!” she exclaims. “I brought your Birkenstocks too. They’re by the door. Hotch said you’d worn heels out and I knew you definitely wouldn’t want to be in those.”

“Good call,” you say and take your coffee from Penelope. You take a slow sip of the warm mocha and moan.

Everyone laughs. Emily checks her watch and shoots up. “We better get going if we’re going to catch Anderson’s performance.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait.”

Emily smiles and nods. “Yep. He comes on in about an hour. We figured you’d need a nice greasy brunch after last night. The place he performs at makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

“And potatoes with sausage gravy!” Penelope adds. “Though I’m more partial to mushroom gravy because precious baby piggies should not be slaughtered for my breakfast.”

“Okayyy, Penelope,” JJ teases as she loops an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure they added veggie sausage to their menu just for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “They were probably afraid she’d hack their system and mess with their food shipments otherwise.”

Penelope looks over her shoulder as JJ guides her to the door. “I could do that!”

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that!” Hotch calls after them as JJ and Penelope leave the apartment.

“I wonder if they remember I’m the one with the car keys,” Emily says, her lips drawn into a warm smile. “Meet you downstairs?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.”

Emily nods and leaves. You cross the living room toward the door where Hotch stands, one arm holding it open.

“Hotch I—

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“No, Hotch. I’m serious. What you did for me last night, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he says, his tone firm. You look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “I would do it again without question. Like I said last night, we’re not just a team, we’re family. We look out for each other. We pull each other up when we’re at our lowest. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.”

You can’t help the quizzical expression that pinches your features. “For what? All I did was wake you up in the middle of the night, throw up in your bushes, and kick you out of your own bed on a Friday night.”

Hotch laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, well when you say it like that, it definitely doesn’t look good. What I was going to say though, is thank you for trusting me. I know that I wasn’t who you expected last night, but I’m glad I could be the one to help you when you needed it. Furthermore, I’m incredibly grateful that you felt as though you could trust me to tell me about your past. I know that can’t have been easy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope it’s clear now that you’ll always have a listening ear with me.”

A surge of emotion courses through you in that moment and you can’t help but launch yourself at him. You loop an arm around his neck and awkwardly attempt to hug him with the other arm that stills holds his clothes, the bundle of fabric creating an odd wedge between your bodies. Hotch is taken aback by the gesture, but his arms comfortably fold around your back and he squeezes you gently.

“I could’ve used someone like you, you know.” You say after a moment. “I didn’t really have any older male figures I could talk to at the time it happened.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he assures you. “And I’m not going anywhere. That is, until Strauss gets sick of me.”

You pull back and scoff. “Yeah, like that’ll happen any time soon.” You hold the clothes out to him. “Here! Before I walk out with them.”

“It’s actually a bit breezy out there,” Hotch says as he takes the bundle and passes you back the sweater. “Why don’t you take this?”

You reach out and accept it, pulling it back into your chest. “I’ll bring it with me to the office on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile. “Oh! And you’ll probably want these.” He walks away and while he’s off grabbing whatever it is he’s talking about, you scoop your heels up off the floor and slide into your Birkenstocks.

Hotch returns with a pair of black Ray Bans. “If I know one thing about hangovers,” he says as he passes them to you. “It’s how horrible a sunny day can be on the eyes.”

He reaches for the door knob and pulls it open for you. “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As you slide his sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, you curse. “Shit! The report on the McPherson case. I was going to work on it today. I’ll email it to you first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hotch explains. “Emily and JJ took care of it for you before coming over this morning.” He’d orchestrated everything with them as soon as he’d woken up to make sure you had nothing to worry about today except for fighting your hangover. He’d not told them everything of course, he’d never betray your trust like that. Some things the team didn’t need to know, and that was okay. If you were ever ready to tell them, he knew you would in time. For now, he just told them that you’d had a tough night and would need some TLC from the girl gang. They hadn’t even bothered with follow up questions. The three girls were ready to drop what they were doing and change their plans to be able to bring comfort and fun to your Saturday morning. He’d have done the same thing for any of them if they’d been in your shoes.

Your lips quirk into a small smile knowing further words weren’t necessary to convey your gratitude and appreciation for all he’d done and continues to do. “I’ll see you, Monday.”

He smiles in turn, “See you, Monday.”

[rebelliousstories]

Did You Know?

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Light Fluff, Allusions to Pregnancy

Word Count: 1,083

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part Two: I Know Now// Part Three: Somebody Knows// Part Four: What We Know

Summary: Spencer is sent to prison and is waiting on his team to get him out. Meanwhile, his partner is there for morale support.

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much preforms much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.” Vincent Van Gogh

Never in a million years did she think she would be in this position. Getting a call from Emily in the middle of the night was not what she expected. But to be told that her husband is currently in federal custody and awaiting trial, that was another. But she took it as it came. There was nothing she could do for her husband except just to be there for him. She would never be able to get the image of him in handcuffs in the BAU out of her head, but she was glad she was able to hug him.

“Spence. Oh my Spence.” She hugged him over the handcuffs that were hidden with the jacket. His fingertips were just barely able to grasp on to her shirt to pull her as close as physically possible.

“Hey honey. I’m sorry you have to see me like this. How’s my mom?” He whispered into her ear. Spencer was thankful that everyone decided to keep a healthy distance as the husband and wife reunited.

“She’s good. Wondering when you’re coming home, but I am helping Cassie take care of her. I don’t care about seeing you handcuffed, sweetheart. I’m just glad I can see you and hold you.” Her reply made Spencer want to cry. He knew it was not fair to her to have to deal with this whole situation. Stepping back, she pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and tried to convey all of the lover she felt into that kiss. Pulling away completely, she watched as he accepted embraces from his teammates.

If only they knew at the time, how much of a roller coaster this was going to be. She sat on the prison bus waiting to be taken to the facility. Being able to see her husband was wonderful, except for the fact that she would be sitting across from him in a cubicle, with a sheet of glass separating them. The bus ride was bumpy, but thankfully it was over quick. Stepping off, her hair was swept away in the windy weather outside.

Walking inside the correctional facility, her eyes kept scanning the room, looking for any threats. A side effect from working for the FBI all those years ago. Now, it only served as a reminder of where she had once been, and of how her husband became that title. She walked up to the reception desk and placed her id down.

“Inmate name?” The officer asked. Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

“Spencer Reid. I’m his wife.” She supplied her name, and waited as the officer scanned a list and then her ID again.

“You’re not on the list. Next!” The officer yelled, pushing the woman off to the side. She stood there dumbfounded as she was handed back her ID, but knew better than to fight with the officer. Her body, especially her heart felt numb as she walked outside and waited for the bus to take her back to the car lot. Why was she denied access to see her husband? JJ was able to see him; so why was she not?

After the numbness wore off, rage fueled her. It kept her going all the way to the FBI headquarters where she signed in for a visitor’s pass silently. Marching her way into the BAU’s office on the sixth floor, she noticed how everyone was still there thankfully. She made her way over to JJ, who was surrounded by Tara, Matt, and Stephen.

“Hey,” JJ greeted, ”how are you doing?”

“Don’t give me that.” She snapped, leaving the agents in a state of shock. Never had she ever snapped, not even raised her voice.

“Whoa, what is going on?” The blonde woman asked, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Did you know?” Mrs. Reid growled, with her patience wearing thin.

“Did I know what? You’re not making any sense.” JJ tried to reason and de escalate the situation, but Emily and David were already out of their offices and looking out at the bullpen.

“Did you know when you went to visit Spence that he had put me on the ‘no visit’ list?” There it was. The million dollar question. JJ remained silent for a minute, but her face did the talking before her words caught up.

“Listen, you have to understand his reasons.” She tried to reach for the woman, but she slipped out of the way.

“You knew? And you didn’t tell me? I just got back from there, hoping to see my husband and check in on him. Only to be turned away at the gate. And you never told me?” Now, she was yelling. It was scary to see the former profiler turned professor yell. She spoke sternly sometimes sure, but she never raised her voice in anger.

“He wants to protect you from the inside. Spence asked us not to tell.” A slip of the tongue and now her fury was leveled to everyone.

“You all knew?” Prentiss and Rossi made their way down the stairs by this point.

“Yes, we did.” The dark haired agent said, walking along with her right hand man.

“Spencer doesn’t want you to see him like that so he asked if we would not tell you that he had put you on that list.” Emily placed her hand on the woman, and it was like her strings were cut. Rage left and was followed by intense depression. Sobs wracked her body as she crumpled to the floor. Emily tried to grab her, but Luke was the one that actually got his arms around her.

There was nothing left for her now. Everything came crashing down around her; her world was shattered. She thought about every interaction that she had ever had with Spencer. There were probably some that she was missing, but she was not blessed with his memory skills. But every major moment came to her at that time. The first time they met, their first date, when he introduced her to his mom, their proposal and wedding. Rubbing her stomach, she wondered when she would wake from this nightmare and be safe in her husband’s arms once again.

Zsa Zsa Gabor said, “To be loved is a strength. To love is a weakness.”

[north-noire]

north!! i hope ur doing well!! im really interested and curious abt jennifer emily shes seems very giving in tough love but i hope i request some hcs or sketches im already in love with her i love her i love her id do anything for her

I've been doing well the best I could, but thanks for asking! It's been an exhausting time for me, but I'm getting by :] Here's a colored sketch of her, as you requested! Still working on her reference so she'll take a bit (same to the others as well), but I hope this suffices!

Thank you for being interested in my grumpy gal, and for the lovely ask! I'll try my best to explain my headcanons and that kind of thing for her! And honestly same, I would just do whatever she wanted so that I don't get on her bad side lmao.

Plus I really like the idea of Henry having an older sister - originally she wasn't really in the story, but I really liked the idea of an outsider from the Freddy's drama finding out what kind of thing Henry got himself into, and I thought Jennifer suited that role nicely.

Jennifer Emily in my AU - she's a very tough love and blunt kind of woman (Henry unintentionally got his bluntness from her partially), preferring to just be straightforward rather than sugarcoating everything. She just prefers having things done first before she deals with the ungodly things called emotions - she can be a bit brash and can get easily irritable, but she means well, she just says what's on her mind sometimes, so she can sound pretty harsh and brutal. And sadly, she's not really the best at consoling someone or helping them get through their emotions, but she tries her best to console in a different way.

She's a car mechanic, but genuinely has an interest in racing cars (even got racer's jackets and photos of race tracks/racing tournaments she had watched - she's a racing fan, damn she would've loved the Cars movie lmao) and custom car stuff (I imagine her car is like modified a bit to look like a race car for the aesthetic - probably would've collected sports car toys and the like) and that kind of thing - she really wanted to be a racer someday, but alas, that's simply just a child's dream, but she's happy enough to be someone who fixes something she loves as a living, but she was definitely frustrated with the whole misogynistic remarks she gets for just being a car mechanic. Also she doesn't Henry to repair his own car and would rather find him and his run-down car in the middle of nowhere than get him to try and repair it on his own. Another thing, it's never explicitly said in the story/treated as a big deal at all, but my Jennifer is a lesbian woman, and Henry doesn't really care and loves her all the same regardless (and honestly he's not even surprised mostly because he sort of knew she dated women before). She never really found luck finding love though, but she tries her best to go by her life regardless.

Back when Henry and William were just new friends back in college years, she highly disliked William - Henry always argued back/stood up for William, but she just never really liked him. Her personality would always clash with William's, and she really doesn't like how wishy-washy William can be and how much he puts on a show for people, and how much he can be a "people-pleaser" in her perspective. The British accent also made her feel like he was being pretentious and posh individual. Of course, years down the line, Jennifer just sort of got used and just kept her dislike for William all to herself/to Henry, but Henry sometimes alludes to it sometimes in a light-hearted manner.

She also lives alone, with her dog (A Doberman, they're very sweet) :] She never really saw herself as someone who can take care of kids, let alone know how to deal with them, so she's honestly living the best life she could! It's honestly why she doesn't mind Henry coming over every once in a while, she doesn't like to admit it but she gets a little lonely there by herself sometimes.

Sorry for another long post, but I really hope I've explained her stuff well! Thanks for the ask as well it was really fun answering this question!

[aliciameade]

Darkness at Dawn - Ch. 6

Title: Darkness at Dawn Author: aliciameade Rating: M/E Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Even Bonnie & Clyde met their fate eventually.

Set five years after "Baby."

Also on AO3

Happy Pride Month. 😈

“Back so soon?” 

Stephanie smiles at the guard manning the visitation desk after passing her freshly printed Rhode Island driver's license through the window. “Couldn’t stay away. You all make it so hospitable.”

He registers her in the system with a laugh and returns her ID. “Make sure you stay on this side this time, Ms. Smothers.”

“I’ll do my best,” she replies politely, though she knows she’s about to wish she was on the other side. She drops her wallet into her purse and takes a seat, waiting until they call her name.

It has taken months to resurrect her old life, to get her documentation in order, and to work with her attorney to dismantle her manufactured identity. Most of what they’d established in Santorini had been seized by the government; Greece didn’t hesitate when it came to finding sources of money. But she was able to transfer ownership of her bakery to her assistant manager. Was able to send a note to Emily’s football team, assuring them that Coach Reid was okay and that she’d had to return to the USA for a family emergency and sent her apologies and is cheering them on from afar. She could only hope that news of their arrest and deportation hadn’t gotten to the students, even if all the parents knew.

She spent hours on the phone with their friend Helen, who’d been so good to them for so long and looked after their boys without question. She had a lot of questions and Stephanie answered them as politely and vaguely as she could get away with, mostly deflecting to ask about their friends in the community.

It’s taken months to petition the court to finally allow her to visit Emily. Detective Summerville had the district attorney fight it every step of the way, arguing the two of them together were too dangerous, but her attorney had won out: the argument? Emily Nelson is in prison. There’s nothing Stephanie visiting her could possibly do that would result in more broken laws.

She can’t help the tears that come when she sits down across from Emily for the first time, a pane of glass and a lifelong prison sentence separating them. She picks up the receiver and presses her hand to the glass. Emily does the same.

“Hi, baby,” Emily says, emotion evident even in her own usually steady voice. “You look good.” She’d put extra effort in today; she wanted to look especially nice today.

Emily looks good, too, despite her time in prison. Emily will always look good to Stephanie.

“Are you okay?”

“Surviving,” Emily says cooly. “But I miss you. I miss knowing you’re close.”

“I miss you, too, Em. Why did you do it?” she asks, voice croaking as the tears overwhelm her. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t deserve any of this. You’re too good for this. Too good for me.”

“That’s not true at all. Don’t say that.”

Emily shakes her head. “Look at me, baby. This is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been.” Stephanie knows she’s harkening back to her life before she became Emily Nelson. That she and her dearly departed twin sister had burned down their home and killed their father. “Enough about me; how are the boys? Tell me what’s going on. Tell me everything.”

Stephanie gives her as much of an update as she can in the thirty minutes they’re allotted. She and Miles are living in a small apartment in Providence. She’d chosen it, much to Sean’s dismay, to be close to Nicky as Sean was now a professor at Brown University. The boys had been through so much; they deserved to be allowed to remain brothers. Sean finally agreed to allow Stephanie to see Nicky, but only in public, in a controlled setting to ensure she doesn’t kidnap him. Not that she would, not now. His life is finally stable again. He’s in his first year of high school, like Miles. He still calls Stephanie ‘mom.’ It irritates Sean something fierce, but he doesn’t interfere with it, and he doesn’t monitor their phone calls anymore. She has a job at a local bakery. Miles had played baseball in the Spring and was now thinking about hockey. Nicky was trying out for wrestling.

She’s been working on explaining to the boys everything that happened, though she’s elected to leave out the violent details. They’re old enough to know their mothers didn’t make the wisest choices, even if, at the time, they felt like the correct ones to make, that they were chasing a utopia that perhaps they weren’t owed. She’d explained that Emily had a twin sister who was troubled, and they’d used that to their advantage to erase Emily and her secrets, to collect life insurance benefits, and to live a new life together. She’d explained that it was wrong and selfish and that it had been what they thought was the easy way out.

Time proved that it was not.

“I’m working on it,” she answers when Emily asks if Sean will ever allow Nicky to visit her. “He might be coming around. Your confession took the wind out of his sails. He wanted you to suffer and I think he’s starting to realize you’re suffering in your own way now. Give it time.”

Emily wipes away a shed tear and nods. Stephanie was released six months ago. Emily hasn’t seen her son in more than two years. “All I got is time.”

“Five minutes!”

Emily bitterly laughs at the coincidence of the officer on her side of the glass warning her that she’s almost out of time.

“Do you need anything?” Stephanie hurries along the conversation. “How’s your commissary? I can make a deposit today while I’m here.”

“No, I’m good.” Emily looks down at her lap. “Listen, baby, you have to go live your life now.”

Stephanie’s heart stops. “That sounds a lot like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I am.” When she lifts her head, there are tears on her cheeks. “You can’t throw away your life for me. You have to live it or I did this for nothing. You deserve to be happy.”

“But you’re the one who makes me happy!”

“I can’t do that anymore. Not from here.” Emily presses her left hand against the glass again and Stephanie remembers how it used to look with the wedding band Stephanie had placed on her ring finger. “If you meet someone, don’t shut them out. Promise me you’ll let yourself find happiness. I need you to promise me that.”

Stephanie hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected Emily to break up with her. She’d expected today to be the first of a lifetime of visiting her wife in prison, and had already been organizing her life to take the situation into account. She aligns her hand with Emily’s and struggles to reply.

“I love you, baby. That’s never, ever going to change.” Emily says it with such conviction that Stephanie can feel her heart crack. “Promise me you’ll let yourself be happy.”

Stephanie’s shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “I promise,” her voice cracks over the words. “But I’ll still come visit you. I’ll bring Nicky as soon as I can. And I’ll bring Miles; he wants to see you, too.”

“I’d like that,” Emily says as she pushes tears away with the sleeve of her maroon sweatshirt. “Thank you for giving me the best years of my life.”

The sob that escapes Stephanie makes Emily follow suit.

“I love you,” she says, trying in vain to reach Emily through the glass. “I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.”

“I know, baby.” Emily kisses her fingertips and touches them to the glass in front of Stephanie’s lips. “I know. Listen, I gotta go.”

She hadn’t noticed the guard standing right behind Emily. They’d gone overtime.

“No! Em!” She watches Emily hang up the phone as the guard pulls her away by the chain around her waist until she disappears through a metal door.

Her own receiver falls to the counter and she drops her head to her hands, sobbing uncontrollably until a woman, another visitor she supposes, takes her gently by the shoulders and helps her all the way out to her car.

She doesn’t remember the drive home.

~*~*~*~*~*~

[walker-extended-universe]

4x06 Review

"We All Fall Down" was another pretty apt title and it only has me concerned for future episodes. The promo for this episode made me think it would be a lighter one but I really should've known better.

This time, I'm going to take this review in order of which plots occupy my brain, in order from least to most Brain Spin-age.

We're starting off with the only actually fluffy part of the episode: Liam and Ben! They don't have much of a role but it does well in progressing their relationship.

We start with Liam doing PT under Ben's supervision. When Cordell comes in to voice his concerns over Stella and August potentially avoiding him and Geri, Ben speaks up about Normal Teenager Behavior but lets Liam steer the conversation toward Cordell's own insecurities about his future.

Later in the episode, we get a sweet moment between them discussing their own future. Ben says he wants to quit his job at the liquor store and start doing event planning with Abby full time, which is likely going to lead to him moving to the ranch as well. Liam is happy about this but cautions him that eventually his parents are going to retire and Ben will probably have to take on more when that happens. Luckily for him, it seems Ben was aware of that and doesn't mind at all.

This was a sweet break in the middle of all the angst we go this episode. Speaking of....

Let's talk about what our Amateur Investigators were up to.

After a thrilling flashback of Hoyt stealing the necklace five years ago with his friend, Mehar, we find out that Stella and August have been continuing their search by asking Cordell and Geri pointed but non-suspicious questions and going on their own little adventures trying to find where Hoyt might have hid it. When Geri points them to Mehar, Stella sneaks his phone number out of Geri's contacts to set up a meeting.

While August is still mostly on board, he is starting to question if it's smart to do this on their own. Do they really want the first adult to ask for help to be a known criminal? Stella is too frustrated by the situation to really listen to him and insists she's all the adult supervision they need.

Side note: They're probably going to have to come clean eventually and I very much look forward to the fallout.

They get their meeting with Mehar but he's not inclined to help them. Fortunately, Stella thought ahead and decided to set him up for a robbery, prompting him to steal her wallet for her university ID to break into an exhibit.

They ditch family dinner for the robbery and Stella creates a distraction by blaming August for stealing her wallet so that she can approach Mehar and offer him help in exchange for information. This all miraculously goes off without a hitch, promptign Mehar to tell them everything he knows, which is unfortunately not much- except that he met with a man named Duke before fully ditching him and losing the necklace. That being, Duke Culpepper.

We get two more flashbacks that relate to this story. The first is a flashback of Hoyt meeting with "Duke". Cordell is 3 months undercover and he's not doing well, so he called Hoyt to ask him to deliver some letters to Stella and August, just in case. Hoyt takes the letters but refuses to deliver them, because Cordell will make it back.

The second flashback is Hoyt visiting Emily's grave with the necklace and running into Geri. I love a lot about this scene but the main things that stick out to me is 1) the reference to Hoyt and Emily having their own friendship outside of Geri and Cordell and 2) showcasing that Geri was clearly considering stepping out of her relationship with Hoyt before she'd even considered a relationship with Cordell. It's a nice touch.

Side note: We all agree Hoyt hid the necklace in Emily's grave, right?

We pick back up with the kids when they come home to their missed family dinner, which leads us right to our next plot: Cordell's inability to handle and empty nest and how he's taking that out on everyone else in his life.

In this episode, Cordell is excited at the prospect of asking Geri to move in. He's been trying to get this train rolling all of winter break but Stella and August seem to be avoiding him and he thinks it's because they don't like where his relationship with Geri is going. He tells them to be back for dinner that night as a last ditch effort to have this conversation and make it happen.

Unfortunately, they don't show up as they're busy with Other Things and Cordell starts letting some of his frustration show. Geri tries to calm him down and while they talk he lets it slip that he wants her to move in. Geri is initially ecstatic about this idea and accepts when he finally asks her.

But the night only gets derailed from there, both with James coming in and with the kids finally making their way home. Cordell is beyond pissed at them and starts finally letting some of his frustrations show. He admits that he never really agreed with letting them have their "space" and "independence" and just did it because he believed he should. He also lambasts them for having a "problem" with him and Geri getting more serious and announces that she WILL be moving in, no further discussion, which is a surprise to everyone in the room- including Geri. Stella and August try to get a word in but he's not having it, instead demanding that they both be home more because he's tired of them always running away.

Side note: Really proving your brother's point there Cordell.....

The next day he seems awfully proud of himself for how he handled all that and hands Geri a furniture catalog so that she can start decorating, which will surely make everything better. No way that could go wrong :)

Geri instead pumps the breaks on her moving in. She does want to move in, but she didn't want it to come out the way it did. She wanted Cordell to talk to his kids and get their blessing, not drop a bomb on their relationship. She says they'll talk when she gets back from OKC but he needs to get a handle on himself first.

This is, of course, not what Cordell wants to hear and shortly after she leaves, he starts gravitating toward James personal notes on the Jackal case.

Finally, we need to talk about James and how poorly he's handling this case.

We start this plot out with Cassie and Trey setting up a meeting room for the Jackal Survivors Network to meet with the rangers on the case. While they set up, they speculate about the nominations for the new lieutenant position. Before they can talk too much about it, they're interrupted by James who gives them the agenda for the day. Cassie will be meeting the JSN with him while Trey meets up with the crime labs to put together a psych profile with the new evidence they've received.

Later, we see the meeting isn't going too well but James seems to be mostly holding it together. During a break, Cassie approaches James about the new position and appears to think she's a shoe-in for the role. James firmly reminds her that he can't give her any guarantees, which Cassie takes offense too since she gave up a great opportunity with the FBI because he promised her more opportunities here.

Side note: between this scene and her reaction to Luna asking if she'd ever worked a serial killer case before, I have a feeling we're going to see her get her ego checked a bit later in the season.

In another scene, Trey also pokes the bear about the new position and James is just as cold about it, but Trey also notices that his captain isn't doing too well. He looks tired and unfocused. James assures him he's fine, but later we see that's not true when he shows up at the Walker ranch, drunk and officially kicked out of the house.

This is the lowest point we've seen James at so far and I have to admire Colby's acting in this scene. James explains that Kelly found out he broke his promise not to fall into drinking and kicked him out of the house in front of DJ. Cordell tries to assure him they can fix this and pick his friend back up, but James is self-aware enough to know it won't be that easy. He tells Cordell he's taking a step back from the case and asks him to take over, even leaving his personal notes in Cordell's hands. Cordell takes it and again tries to assure James that they can figure this out; he picked himself up once, he can do it again.

The next day at HQ, James is looking better. Trey and Cassie both try to apologize for overstepping about the lieutenant position and he assures them that it's fine. In fact, they're both in the running. They just need to prove themselves worthy.

This episode was so much more intense than I was expecting and, since we've reached the halfway point, I can only imagine it's going to get more intense from here. Our two biggest plots are ramping up and, looking at the synopses for upcoming episodes, it's only getting crazier. And I have so many questions for how that's going to work. Is the Jackal really related to this mess with the necklace? Will the necklace be found and will that solve Stella's problems? Will Mehar return? Will Geri return after the mess Cordell made? How will James bounce back from his rock bottom? Will Cordell manage to keep a balance where James failed? Who is going to be lieutenant and why was this position not open before? And why should it be Randall?

See y'all next week

[talaok]

I've dreamed of this | Pt. IX

Summary: You are a part of the BAU, and for the longest time you and Dr. Spencer Reid had been best of friends, even when it was clear to everyone else, and at times to you, that you should be more than that, and when something almost happens on a night out with the team, everything is destined to change.

This is a double pov story (each chapter will be alternated between y/n's and spencer's pov)

Chapter summary: Penelope calls you, and causes a chain reaction

warnings: angst (please don’t be mad at me)

<if you want to be added to the tag-list comment or write to me>

previous part | next part

*I'm really sorry for the long wait*

y/n

even his couch felt more comfortable than your own.

It was like you were meant to be here, it felt, like you were meant to be here.

The moment you woke up this morning, your head against his chest, and his sweet amber eyes looking down at you, the only question scratching your mind was why? Why have I waited this long for something I now see, was everything I've always wanted, if not needed?

It didn't make sense,

but then again, it did.

He had told you not to move, begged you even, to promise you wouldn't leave, and you didn't know how to tell him that that wasn't even a possibility you had weighed.

He had, unwillingly, left for work, and left you in his sunny apartment, feeling at home in one that was not your own.

You had been here before, dinners with the team, crashing at his place, movie nights where he either spent the whole time translating the film, or complaining about the improbability portrayed in the ones you chose.

You had been here, sure, but never like this,

now, it was as if you were looking at a whole new flat, a whole new world, one where things did, work out, and where his dark green walls maybe weren't so bad after all.

You had this feeling in your chest you couldn't describe as you smiled brainlessly at the off tv, relieving every second of the past 12 hours.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't want this- a lot, for a very long time"

"I don't think I've ever meant anything more"

"would you just please let me kiss you?"

" I could too"

"I like you y/n, I've liked you for a very long time, In a way, I had never had before, and I know this isn't ideal, that there are a lot of things we should consider and talk about, and I'm willing to do that, but I just thought you should know"

"I like you, and I'm serious about this"

All of it in your brain, a constant background above the silence around you.

it felt like a dream,

this couldn't be real,

right?

You had spent so much time fighting it, rationalizing all of it, your feelings for him, the way your heart would melt every time he blushed or smiled, and now there you were.

It all felt surreal.

This wasn't supposed to happen,

This was the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden,

and still,

you had taken a bite of the apple,

and nothing had happened,

not yet anyway.

Ring Ring

Your phone was ringing.

"Hello?" you hadn't even looked at the caller ID

"hi gorgeous, how's it going?" You recognized Penelope's voice.

You smiled at that "great" you said "it's going great"

"Really? Emily said she talked to you yesterday and you seemed down"

"Oh yes" you recalled "well, everything is better now"

"Really?"

"yes, really Pen" you smiled at her thoughtfulness,

"So did you find some things to do?"

You had to hide a laugh "Yes-yes I definitely did"

"Cool like what?"

fuck

it wasn't like you could tell her the truth.

oh yeah, so I basically got into a relationship that I'd been avoiding for years with Spencer, our coworker.

That didn't seem like it would work out

"I- I started watching- " you looked around frantically, and your eyes spotted a book "I started watching the lord of the rings"

"the whole saga?" she asked, shocked

"yes, it's been keeping me occupied"

"Spencer's gonna be happy about that" she scoffed amusedly.

Your cheeks flushed just at the mention of his name "Speaking of which" she said, and you could hear the smirk on her lips "Wonderboy arrived late today" she snickered "word on the street is he's got a girlfriend"

"What?" the words fled your mouth before you could stop them

How was it possible they already knew?

Yes, they were profilers, but no profiler was that good.

"Yes, let's just say he must have forgotten about some marks the lucky lady left on his neck"

Shit

Shit shit shit

"oh" you could only breathe

"not to mention how distracted he is " she chuckled softly "he hasn't even done his crossword this morning" she whispered as if it was some sort of profanity,

which, of course, it kind of was,

Spencer never missed a day, the whole team knew it.

You didn't know what to say, and so you stayed silent.

You could feel Penelope's attitude shift "Shoot- listen I know you two were kind of... I don't know- something-" she trailed off "but maybe this is better you know, with the whole Hotch thing and you being friends"

"I mean it's not like a woman like you doesn't have a line of men waiting for her"

"We weren't- anything" you clarified

"Sorry, I probably shouldn't have told you" you could hear the sadness creeping up her voice.

"It's fine, Pen, I'm-I'm happy for him"

"alright," she said, even though both of you knew she was still mortified "well anyway I and the gals thought we could come by this afternoon to keep you company"

Oh fuck

they couldn't come by, you weren't even there.

"oh no don't do that"

really y/n? that's the best you could come up with?

"why?" Penelope asked

C'mon think of something

"I just- I'm feeling a bit sick"

"oh" she hummed "I'm sorry," she said, " why didn't you say anything before?"

"I just didn't want you to worry"

"I'm- I'm not " she lied plainly "I could make you some soup you know? I could bring it to you. Yes, you know what, I'm gonna get off work earlier and get started on it-"

"Wait Pen"

"yes?" she stopped her rambling, and it surprised you she still had air left in her lungs.

"I think it's best if I just rest a bit y'know?"

"Sure" she smiled, but you could tell she was disappointed and worried altogether "I understand"

"thank Pen, say hi to the team for me"

"of course" she nodded "take care of yourself"

"will do" you joked "bye now"

"bye"

You stared at the colorless reflection looking back at you from the black screen,

Your smile had faded,

The feeling in your belly had mutated,

more bitter now, the warmth slowly dissipating against the cold breeze.

You should have been happy right?

You had gotten away with it,

both of you had,

Yes, the team thought Spencer had a girlfriend, but they had no idea it was you.

And you were able to convince Penelope not to come by your house.

Everything went perfectly,

so why did you feel like this?

like a puff had just caused the unsteady house of cards to fall to the ground.

You had everything you wanted,

you had him,

you had you, together.

this wasn't how it was supposed to be,

you should be feeling ecstatic,

happy,

on fucking cloud nine,

but it was as if you had to woken up from the dream, from the fable, and reality was starting to hit.

You had lied to her,

to Penelope,

one of your best friends, a person who knew everything about you, a person who'd seen you cry and laugh and puke more times than you'd like to admit.

You had to lie

Make up a bunch of things and lie to her face like it was normal, like nothing was wrong with that.

But so much was wrong with it,

And not only because it made you feel dirty, and shitty, no, but because she didn't deserve it.

She would never do it to you, you knew.

And still, you hadn't even hesitated before doing it to her.

And as much as you liked to think that it was necessary, and that it wasn't gonna be forever, you had no real guarantee that that was the truth

You had never really thought about it,

and apparently, all it took was a phone call for the pandora's box lid to fly off, and your mind was now flooding with doubts and fear, and second thoughts.

When were you gonna be able to tell people?

never, was the only answer you could think of,

You weren't allowed to date,

because of Hotch's rule,

And it's not like you could have told everyone but him, that seemed practically impossible.

So that was it, either one of you left the BAU or you would have to keep it a secret forever, continuing to lie every single day.

The thought of it terrified you,

And with it, millions more started clouding your mind.

__ __ __

"hello"

you had been crying

"hi" you smiled weakly from the couch

He threw his sachel on a chair and walked up to you immediately, bending to meet his lips with yours.

It felt good, too good.

"I've missed you" he sat next to you, a big smile on his face "I couldn't wait to get home" he confessed shily "I don't think anybody suspects anything though, so we're in the clear" he moved a lock of hair behind your ear, and his brows furrowed "what's wrong?"

You didn't know where to begin,

a tsunami of emotions was going off inside of you, and you had no idea how to get them out.

"Penelope called" you finally said

"ok" you could tell he was confused "that's good right?"

yes, Spencer, that's supposed to be good.

God, you felt like you were going crazy.

"I lied to her"

"what do you mean?"

"she said she wanted to come to my house, and I said I was sick"

"Oh" he breathed "that's-that's ok, I mean that's like a - white lie"

You could only look at him, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

"And you know, you could have gone back home, that would have b-"

"that's not the point Spencer" your voice broke " I lied to her, and- and I'm gonna have to keep doing it"

"what? no that's not true" he placed a hand on your thigh, trying to reassure you.

"We can't tell anyone Spence you know it"

"Well I mean we could tell her, just not Hotch"

"and how that gonna work?" you asked way too harshly.

"I'm sorry I just- there's a lot of things we haven't thought of"

"I know y/n I know" he stoaked your cheek "but we can work it out"

Oh, you so wanted to give in, to tell him that yes, maybe you could and that he was right, but you knew that wasn't the truth, as much as it pained you to say it, he was wrong.

"How?" you said "We're gonna get fired if Hotch finds out, and unless one of us wants to leave the team we're gonna have to keep it a secret," you explained with a weak voice "and I don't know-" you couldn't believe you were about to say it "I don't know if I can do it, Spencer"

It was like you had just punched him in the face,

his eyes went blank, as his smile disappeared.

"I'm sorry" you cried "I'm so sorry Spence this is all my fault I should have never come here, please- i'm so sorry" you reached for his hand.

"y/n-" he tried to talk but you interrupted him

"no, please don't try to change my mind" you begged "It's- It's not only Hotch, Spence" you confessed

"You're my friend," you said "before this, before everything you're my friend Spence, and- and you mean everything to me, y'know" you sighed "and if- if this doesn't work out I don't wanna lose you, I can't, I can't lose you, I don't think I could do it without you"

"And I know this is gonna mess things up for a bit but I hope we could still be friends because I need that Spence, I need you as I friend, and I'm scared that if we do this, like really do this, and learn we've made a mistake, then I'm gonna lose you forever, and I can't let that happen"

You hadn't noticed the tears fleeing your eyes, because your sight was fixated on him, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes still in shock.

"I-" he swallowed thickly, his eyes scanning your face "You're never gonna lose me y/n" he said "we can work this out"

"This can't be how this ends"

"I'm sorry" was all you could say

"Y/n the moment I met you, the moment you smiled and introduced yourself, I knew I wanted this, the first time I saw you laugh I thought I was gonna have a heart attack y/n, I-I- I spent the last four years of my life stealing glances at you, and planning things to do or say to make you happy." he breathed "you can't do this y/n, not now"

"I'm sorry" your lip was trembling

"please forgive me Spence but I think it's best if I go" you got up and quickly grabbed your purse just to dash to the door,

but he followed

"y/n" you turned, and he was just there, inches from you, just like that night at the bar "y/n, I lov-"

"no, don't" you covered his mouth, a sob creeping up your throat "please don't"

You let your hand fall, taking a step to be flush against him, your mouth ghosting his "this is for the best" you breathed, hopeless "I can't lose you Spence" you kissed him, fully, desperately, like it was the last time you were ever gonna do it, because, of course, it was "please understand"

you whispered,

and without looking back,

you were out of his apartment.

previous part | next part

taglist (if you want to be added comment or write to me.)

@jazzerbelle14 @nerdory10   @milivanili99   @cyb3rdollq  @ssababe​   @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ ​   @simpforspence​   @loviseamms  @gojutsu​ ​  @youbrokemelikeallyourpromises​   @baucriminalsstuff​     @fall-myriad​   @twelfthnightorwhatyouwill1998  @eevee0722​   @simrah1012   @queenofnothing07​   @ashray07   @wrenreid​    @moonmark98   @iloveyou-iknoww    @swxxtsour   @donttamethebeasts    @s1errasposts    @the-sun-died-out    @vthe​    @cherrypie5​    @hellooitsrose    @soundsprettyhumantome    @rrrogertaylor    @lilicy-secrets    @dankfarrick29    @lex13cm​    @zuckker-blog     @munson1968     @maybanksluvr    @halsteadssneakylink    @yourbloodyqueen​    @orangebitchsworld    @melinewton54     @mushy-mushroom04​    @killing-gremlin    @jaywinchestersalvatore    @fluffy-bnny    @r5court     @usuallyunlikelyfox​    @bella-columbus    @ineedsomezzz    @dellalyra    @classiclitfreak    @reidingspence    @l1lacthec0lor    @jaywinchestersalvatore    @mee22022    @lovejules888    @thornfield-blog    @instabull    @mspenguin99 @mokuflower @mommy-maia @bella-columbus @morningswewerehigh

[librarycard]

would love your country music recs!! been trying to get into the genre but haven’t really listened to a whole bunch and would love some suggestions <33

YAY thnk u for reaching out. um most of these artists i havent trawled their entire discog but each has some things i really really love. many of them explore serious topics such as addiction, discrimination (racism, homophobia, sexism, classism, etc), and more (like a lot of less commercialized and more traditional country music does).

its important to note that there is a lot of crossover in country, soul, blues, americana, and folk, so some artists might be more leaning to one of the other genres but their relation to the country style compels me to include them.

i will also say that afaik these are mostly modern artists because nothing makes me fucking angrier than people saying that new country music isnt good. please pull yourself out of the country billboard top 100 for the love of god.

ok here it is: > yola (one of my faves, lots of crossover with soul in her style) > brandi carlile, maren morris, natalie hemby, and amanda shires are all good individually and are part of a collective called the highwomen (theyve collaborated with yola several times!) > robert finley (i could cry with how much i love his work, sharecropper's son 2021 is just fucking. perfect) > john fullbright > rhiannon giddens > gillian welch > shakey graves > charley crockett (his work all feels so fresh and unique to me, i never get sick of it) > courtney marie andrews > brown bird (one half of this duo has passed on so they havent made any new music since then, but i still suggest checking them out) > mary gauthier (drag queens in limousines is a total classic) > the war and treaty > sturgill simpson > allison russell > paul cauthen (he's collabed with orville peck, who im sure a lot of people here know! if not i rec him too ofc) > emily nenni > john r miller > lucette (shes had work produced by sturgill simpson iirc) > the secret sisters (very dear to me) > katie pruitt > shovels & rope (<3) > parker millsap > margo price ( i love her i love her i love her i love her what can i say. thats how rumors get started 2020 changed my life) > kaia kater > robert ellis (less familiar w him but i like what ive heard) > jaime wyatt > arlo mckinley (another artist i havent checked out extensively but ive heard good songs from him and like his voice) > the chicks (forever and ever <333333333) > amythyst kiah > mercy bell > justin townes earle (who has unfortunately passed away in recent years, i think 2020) > waylon payne > the devil makes three > evil > jason isbell and the 400 unit

i also dont want you to think i dont want people to listen to classics, i do. i love classic country music — if you havent checked them out, id especially recommend john denver, charley pride, dolly parton, willie nelson, hank williams, johnny cash, the carter family, glen campbell, kitty wells, robert johnson (hes blues, but hes mississipean blues and has influenced country music through and through), patsy cline, judy collins, waylon jennings, and marty robbins.

this isnt comprehensive but its what comes to mind right now. i hope it was helpful!!! <3

[eadanga]

The Press Secretary Part 12

Summary: Chris the mayor of town is married to his wife Becca. When he hires a new press secretary who happens to be his lost love old feelings resurface and Chris finds it hard to resist the desire he once had for her

Parings: ChrisxMC

Chris sighs as he walks down the street his jaw clenched Ugh I’m so sick of her I regret the day I even married her His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out and frowns at the caller id Great just what I need “Hello?”

“Chris! Becca just told me everything! How dare you sleep with another girl?!”

“Mr. Davenport…”

“Come over to the house and you better have a good explanation for this!” The call clicks off

Chris sighs Ugh he’s even worse than Becca Chris calls for an Uber and heads over to the house

****

Emily sat in her living room she sighs I feel bad I shouldn’t have done that while he was still with her and his wife is powerful I probably messed up his entire mayor election She sighs Maybe I should end things with him to avoid a scandal but I can’t do that to him I love Chris I want to be with him I don’t know what to do

****

Chris walks to the house and knocks on the door the door slowly opens and the scowling face of Becca’s father appears “Come inside and we’re gonna discuss this”

Chris sighs and heads in he walks into the living room and turns to face him

He pours himself some scotch “Now what did you do to my daughter?”

Chris sighs “I’m sure she told you already”

“I want to hear it from you”

“I’ve been sleeping with my press secretary for a couple of months now”

He takes a sip “Why?”

“I’ve had feelings for her since college I know I shouldn’t have done it while I was with Becca”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have!” He walks up to him “She told me about you wanting to divorce her”

“Sir I’ve had that way before I was sleeping with her me and Becca can’t be compatible we fight all the time”

“You can’t divorce now everything we’ve built up together to get you to where you are today”

Chris rolls his eyes “Yeah I know you and Becca have been holding that over my head for so many years”

“Because it’s true you need the two of us to make you mayor again if you listen to us”

“I’m sick of this! I don’t need either of you!”

“Chris we made you and you think you can get far without my connections and all the help we’ve given us you’re nothing without us!”

“I rather be nothing than be your pawn I want nothing to do with the two of you!” Chris walks to the door

“You walk out that door and I’ll expose you you’re not gonna win the election you’ll be on the streets or working at a convenience store!”

“That’s just fine with me!” Chris slams the door “Jerk” He runs his hands through his hair “I don’t care anymore even if I don’t win I can still be with Emily that’s all that matters to me”

****

Emily sighs as she looks at her phone Nothing yet please let Chris be alright There’s a knock on her door and Emily goes to answer it she smiles “Chris”

“Hi”

She steps aside to let him in “What happened? I’ve been worried about you”

“Well Becca ruined my stuff and both her and her dad threatened to ruin my campaign”

“Oh Chris I’m sorry I didn’t mean to”

Chris smiles “Hey look at me it’s worth it long as I have you it’s worth it nothing is your fault don’t feel bad let them do their worse”

“You sure Chris?

“Positive I love you Emily”

Emily smiles “I love you too Chris”

He kisses her deeply then pulls away “Now I know I have to leave the house do you mind if I stay here for a while I need to find an apartment”

Emily smiles “Of course and I’ll help you out”

“Thanks Em you’re the best”

Chris’s phone buzzes in his pocket he frowns as he looks at it “Great”

“What happened?”

Chris hands her the phone “They’ve already started”

Emily looks at the article headline

Mayor Chris Powell is an unfaithful husband How will this affect his reelection?

Tags: @indiacater @mfackenthal @jared2612 @darley1101 @the-soot-sprite

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

3rd Life: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

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

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

Hotch calls the local police and the coroner to come take care of the body. As soon as they arrive, your team heads back to the police station with the pictures you took of the body and of the crime scene. Jack and Pat were eagerly waiting for your arrival, and Hotch told him everything that they found like he promised.

"A teenager did this?"

"He was involved. There is no evidence he actually hurt Katie or Lindsey."

"So, do you think she's still alive?"

"I do, but I also think you should let us do our job. Can you do that?"

Jack sighs and steps back to signal that he will step back from this investigation. You can't believe Rossi told him anything since he is too close to this. Your team has gathered enough evidence to put together a profile, so following hotch's orders, Detective Payton gathers his men and women to hear the profile your team put together. Jack and Pat are stuck in the conference room since they don't need to be part of this.

"Defensive wounds, bite indentations, and scratch marks on his face, hands, and arms all indicate that he was involved in the murder and abduction of Katie and Lindsey," Hotch starts off.

"He's just a teenager."

"So were the Lords of Chaos," you point out. "Three teenagers were bewitched by a boy named Kevin Foster. Kevin persuaded his friends to murder their own high-school teacher. It's the social dynamics of teenage boys. In this case, intoxicated by drugs and alcohol. When worked up into a frenzy by a dominant male, the adolescent mind can be pushed past what the adult mind perceives as acceptable.

"What started out as a good time quickly devolved, and Katie fell victim to the violent drunken rage of a juvenile gang. We believe this unsub got scared and wanted out, and the dominant male, in order to maintain control, attacked him."

Spencer isn't part of the profile since he is working with Penelope to ID the young man you found, so when he walks into the main room with determination in his eyes, you know he's got something.

"The victim's name is Douglas Silverman, eighteen years old."

"We need to interview kids in his class, parents, and teachers to find out who his friends were."

"It's at least two or more boys. One older, early to mid-twenties. He'll think of himself as a real badass, somebody who broke the rules and defied the system. He might have flunked out or gotten kicked out of high school, possibly the same one. He'll also have a record--petty theft, and larceny."

"But Douglas Silverman's been missing for two days. How come no one's called?" Payton asks.

"It's a three-day weekend. His parents are out of town, or he called and said he's okay."

"Now that the weekend's over, I can tell you that with what's happened, it's gonna end violently. Thank you."

"Do you want to come with us? Prentiss and I are talking to Doug's father," Hotch offers.

"No, thank you. I'm sure you and Emily can handle it. I want to stay here and watch Jack. I still think something is wrong here. I can't pinpoint it."

Hotch nods and leaves with Emily to talk to Doug's father. Katie's parents are called into the police station to talk about Doug, but JJ and Derek can handle that. You want to keep a close eye on Jack, so the best thing for you is to be inside the conference room while Rossi is talking to him.

"Did you figure out who the teenager is?" Jack asks.

"His name's Doug Silverman. He went to the same high school as Katie and Lindsey. All we know right now is he was involved. There are others."

"Well, I vetted every boy that came into Katie's life and made sure I knew everything about them. I had to. I can't afford to forget a face. His, I've never seen."

"Maybe she didn't want you to meet these guys. Maybe she was afraid of what you might say or do," you say.

"Lindsey and I don't have any secrets."

"That's not quite true, is it?"

"No, it is true. She knows who I am... what I was."

"Ten years ago, your wife died in a car accident. Is that why you turned state witness?" Rossi asks.

"I promised my wife on her deathbed that I would do whatever was necessary to protect Lindsey."

"Did you tell Lindsey it was supposed to be you in that car and not her mom?"

"Yes."

Rossi is getting bold, but it seems to be working. Jack is talking and revealing a lot about himself for this investigation.

"Why, then, with all that you taught her, would she allow herself to get caught up in this?"

"She wouldn't."

"What about Katie?" you ask.

"Lindsey protected Katie like a sister."

"So, what if a few boys pulled up and offered Katie a ride?" you ask.

"Lindsey would have gone along to make sure she was okay."

"Lindsey is still alive because of what you taught her."

"I taught her to stay away from men like me," he says regretfully.

The door opens and Bruce walks in. You look at him and freeze from the unexpected amount of emotion coming from him. He is unusually calm, and he is masking his anger with sadness. It's almost as if he recognized Doug.

"I'd like to speak to Jack if I may, to apologize," he says regretfully.

"Sure."

Everyone leaves so that it's only Jack and Bruce inside the room. You have suspicions on Bruce which is why you keep an eye on the two of them. You cross your arms and shake your head lightly, catching the attention of Rossi.

"What's wrong?"

"You know, ever since I arrived in this state, I couldn't read Jack because of who he is and what he's done. I've been able to read Bruce like an open book. He's been emotional and in denial of what happened to Katie. He's actually angry, and he's masking his anger with sadness. Something isn't right, Rossi. I'm going to see what Spencer has. Keep an eye on them."

You leave Rossi's side and head over to Spencer who has been trying to work with Penelope on whom Doug used to hang out with. Hotch and Emily told Spencer that Doug used to hang out with a kid named Ryan, which is why Spencer is using Penelope's abilities to figure out exactly who Ryan is.

"Okay, I got three Ryans," Penelope says over speakerphone.

"The Ryan we're looking for probably went to high school with Lindsey and Katie a few years back. He got expelled or at least flunked out."

"Ryan Phillips. He was expelled for smoking pot years ago."

You look back at Rossi who isn't watching Bruce and Jack. Your eyes flit to the conference room and they widen when you see Bruce leave... and Jack is nowhere to be found. You rush out of the room Spencer is in and over to Rossi.

"Rossi, Jack is gone. I knew something was wrong."

Pat comes rushing into the room with his hand to his head. Blood is trickling down from underneath his head, and you can only assume Jack got to him before escaping. Bruce was open and emotional before, but now he's tight-lipped and silent. Bruce had something to do with Jack's disappearance, and you have an idea of what happened.

"He's taken my car. The bastard took my car." Pat takes out a radio so that he can communicate with the local PD. "This is Pat Mannan. All units, all units, I want an APB out on Jack Vaughn."

"Where's he gonna go? He can't know where Lindsey is."

"No, but he might know who's got her."

"How?"

"You showed Bruce Doug's photo. He recognized it. He knows the kid who killed Katie and who has Lindsey. So, now he's sent a psychopath after his daughter's killer."

"Garcia's got a name. Ryan Phillips, twenty-eight," Spencer reveals.

"You need to get a unit over to Phillips' house before Jack turns up there," Hotch says to Payton, who gets right to work.

"One thing's for sure is that we know Ryan won't be there."

"We'd better figure out where he is before Jack does."

Half of the team splits up to head to Ryan's house, and the other half stays at the police station. You decided to stay with Spencer at the station because something inside of you is telling you to stay by him... and you're never ignoring your gut ever again. Spencer gets to work on creating a geographical location of where Ryan could be by draping on the map with different colored markers.

"You gotta find him and fast," Pat rushes him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Coloring a map."

"Pat, all the activity is focused on the southeastern district of this state. We need to create a geographical profile of where Ryan could have Lindsey."

"There's gunshots coming from Jackson street. Are you two coming?"

The rest of the team but you and Spencer leave with Pat to head to Ryan's place to help out. Spencer still works on the map, even after Hotch calls to ask how it's going.

"Reid, Y/N, good news, please."

"After inputting all the sites, I've come up with a two-dimensional probability service overlay map that indicates where the offenders' are operating."

"Reid, where is he?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but I think he's taken her to the Mayford High School two blocks from here."

"I'll meet you there, and Reid, Y/N... be careful."

"You got it."

Suddenly, you remember how scared you got when Jack confronted you inside his house when you were looking at his computer. He reminded you too much of Frank, and that is the exact reason why you're not going to let Spencer go at this alone. You knew why your gut was telling you to stay behind with Spencer.

You two quickly get one of the cars and head over to the high school. Jack must have just arrived because he is letting his anger show through pretty easily. You're able to use this energy to follow wherever he might be.

"Come on, I can see his energy. I'm not leaving you this time."

"I don't want you to."

You and Spencer don't wait for the others to arrive, but you're okay with jumping head first. There are two of you now instead of just Spencer. You hold your gun out in front of you and let the energy lead you into one of the buildings and to one of the bathrooms.

"Kill him! Kill him, daddy!" Lindsey says from inside.

You two barge inside the bathroom to see Jack standing there with a shotgun pointed at Ryan's face. Ryan is whimpering on the ground, pleading for his life.

"Put the gun down, Jack!"

"Please! Please help me!" Ryan cries.

"Jack, put the gun down."

"She begged him to stop and he laughed at her! He laughed at her!" Lindsey antagonizes her father.

"I didn't laugh at her. I would change it if I could, but I can't. Please... just don't kill me."

Ryan is telling the truth, so you can't let Jack kill him. Jack is teetering on the edge of doing it and not doing it, so you have to be stronger than Lindsey..

"Jack, remember what you promised your wife? You'd do anything to protect Lindsey. Do you hear what she is asking you to do? She's begging you to kill someone right in front of her," Spencer tries.

"Jack, what did your wife want you to protect Lindsey from? Your life has been nothing but violence, and if you do this, Lindsey's will be too. Please, Jack. Do you want that to happen?" you also try.

"No, you don't want that!" Ryan yells in agreement.

"When does it end, Jack? Put down the gun!"

"Kill him," Lindsey presses.

"When does it stop?"

"Tomorrow."

Jack pulls the trigger and kills Ryan right in front of his daughter and right in front of you and Spencer. Spencer is frozen to the spot, but you have tears streaming down your cheeks. Two seconds later, Hotch, Derek, and Rossi come barging into the bathroom. Jack and Lindsey are escorted out of the bathroom, but you can't seem to leave.

You start to cry for the loss of Ryan's life when you know he was telling the truth. You kneel down next to Ryan, not caring that your knees are getting soaked in his blood. You sob and drop your gun on the tile, causing it to make a loud noise.

A hand places itself on your shoulder, and you jump at the touch. You look back at Derek who has a sympathetic look on his face.

"Are you okay?"

"What's going to happen to Jack?" you sniffle.

"It depends on how important a witness he is," Rossi says.

You turn back to Ryan and continue to cry, even after Derek helps you to your feet and escorts you out of the bathroom.

"It is a wise father that knows his own child." - William Shakespeare

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

What's your new book idea?

ypu guys enable me sooooooo much i luv it 💞💞💞💞💞💞

so theres this kid. vincent. (i keep almost calling him victor whoopsie doopsie!) vince is freshly 18 and he WOULD be a dorky kid- he wears red color contacts for godssake- except everyone is wary of him bc he has a Record. he's acutely aware that most people think hes gonna pull a columbine and tends to use his reputation to his advantage

his only friend is a loud autistic girl, emily. theyve been besties ever since first year of high school and she doesnt really find him intimidating at all. she KNOWS hes intimidating but she can follow the logic vince has wrt the things he does. vince also has an identical twin brother named theo. he's a weeb! their parents tried to drive a wedge between them since they see vince as the Bad Child and theo as the Good Child, except it didnt really.... work....

vince n theo's parents range from neglectful to outright abusive depending on the day. theo shrunk inward while vince developed conduct disorder. sorry vince

anyway vince gets diagnosed with aspd Literally on his 18th birthday. once again sorry vince. at least ur therapist got u a keychain! (its a keychain of izaya but idk if i can namedrop him in the book)

so vince is reeling over that and doesn't think he's all that bad mentally- and what IS there, he can control. he's also piss bored and NEEDS a distraction from his recent diagnosis

so he uh.... does. a questionable move

this is where i say the plot deals HEAVILY with sexual assault, rape, (vince is NOT the assaulter) and child abuse, medical neglect specidically so uh. under da cut is the rest

so vince gets wind that one of the teachers is, uh, molesting students. and instesd of being normal about it, he decides he wants a closer look. namely, he wants to expose the teacher while using himself as bait. emily, a csa victim herself, tries to talk him out of it but he doesnt listen :|

this goes About as well as you'd expect! so its a novel about vince kinda like, grappling with the fact that he really cant control his piss bad mental state, and both his choldhood trauma and his newfound trauma! and also some fucked up New Shit his parents did. plot twist vince has a heart condition!! this is gonna be foreshadowed in that he does get dizzy spells and faints a lot and when he has panic attacks his heart rate and blood pressuee spike WAY high, even by panic attack standards. anyway his parents didnt do anything abt it bc they were kinda hoping itd kill him :| bc theyd rather he be dead than they have to deal with him

and then theres a prom chapter in the middle of all this. vince and emmy go together as friends- shes a little into him but hes gay and shes kinda getting over her crush lmao. shes bishrexual

this didnt rly grt too in depth wrt the plot but yeahhhhhh psychological horror coming of age novel??? except with accepting a mental health diagnosis too? yea

this all started as "what if i wrote a book eith an aspd main character except i didnt SAY he had aspd explicitly so itd sell, but id heavily hint at ir throughour???" and now its this

[rai-knightshade-art]

"I missed you."

"....I missed you, too."

Prompt #2, Pitch Perfect RarePair Week

This scene now has a Part 2! Check it out here!

Artist thoughts, links to the other prompt days, and a Close Up under the cut, Image ID in the alt text!

*drags myself in out of sheer force of will, collapsing immediately on the floor, holding this post aloft like a hard-won trophy* I did it. I got the drawing for today's prompt done. Here you go.

So, backstory: this is technically related to what will now be three posts later this week (because there's supposed to be a second part of this drawing based on Prompt #7, "I can't say it so I'll sing it", that will now be posted along with my original unrelated idea for #7 on Sunday), all of which are based on a fanfic I've been writing for a couple months now. Said fic (and two of the three posts) is Jeca-centered, but it's based in a little pocket verse that has a LOT more going on in it than just their whole... Thing, and that includes other RarePairs hanging out and generally being adorable in the background. (This includes all of the rarepairs I'm featuring this week, btw.)

Enter Chaubrey, who have their own side story going on that includes at least one gay panic (Aubrey), years of pining (Chloe, literally from their freshman year at Barden onwards), a mutual realization of "holy shit there might be something here, actually!" (Seen above, more on that below), a few months of hesitant flirting and maybe-sorta-kinda dates, and, finally, a reveal of feelings through meaningful glances during a duet featuring the rest of the Bellas (and a subsequent mutual decision to sneak off and talk things through after... Which may or may not lead to smooching in a broom closet somewhere. Maybe. Yes, Fat Amy finds them, and, no, she never lets them hear the end of it, even at their wedding a year later). It's a lot, is what I'm getting at here, that unfortunately goes mostly unsaid in-story due to the POV(s) I'm writing in, but I felt it was important that y'all know about it anyways because they live in my head rent free. Constantly. So.

Now, as for this scene specifically: set roughly 1 and a half years after PP3, Aubrey and Chloe are helping Beca pick out a wedding outfit as the Chief Bridesmaid and Maid of Honor, respectively (a position that Chloe threatened to fight Fat Amy for until Beca, in fear of "the Kraken has been unleashed!", declared that Chloe was Maid of Honor and Fat Amy would officiate, end of story), a month or two after Beca announced her engagement via a group zoom call (and Chloe's excited reaction subsequently provoked a Gay Panic™ in Aubrey as she suddenly had the realization that "I want to see her smile like that for the rest of my life", a Totally Normal and Measured Reaction to have for your best friend of course). Stacie would help but she's trying to wrangle a flower girl dress for little Bella across the country in New York, and Emily is splitting her time between song writing and helping with other logistics ("I've been researching venues, did you know there's actually an old movie theatre here in LA that can be rented out for weddings?" "rEALLY?!?! 😍" "NO." "Come oooonnnn, Becs, you gotta admit that's cool!" "Not. Happening."), So it's down to Chloe and Aubrey to help find the perfect wedding gown suit for Beca, because, and I quote, "Just because I agreed to a wedding does NOT mean I'm gonna be like every other bride on Say Yes to the Dress or whatever, if we're doing this we're doing it my way, and I'm not wearing a poofy overpriced dress that I can only use once, got it?" ("But, Beca, don't you wanna, I dunno, dress up for your husband-to-be? Go the whole nine yards?" "Are you kidding?! Jesse offered to just go up to the courthouse and be done with it, he's still amazed I said yes in the first place. It was only after I reminded him that you pitches would hunt us down and murder us if we got married without you that he agreed to do an actual wedding." "...Damn. You two really are made for each other huh." "You're also correct, there would be nowhere on this planet you could hide from our wrath if you'd eloped. Fat Amy has connections.")

Anyways.

In the midst of the chaos of trying on outfits and assuring the sales associate at each shop (because there are multiple shops visited, by the way) that, yes, she really does want a suit instead of a dress, and no, she won't be persuaded otherwise, and in trying to find matching bridesmaid outfits for the rest of the girls, Chloe and Aubrey find some moments to just... Talk. They haven't been able to talk much since the tour, at least in person, and they've missed that. They've missed each other. (Hence, the prompt!) Herein comes the realization that they're both single (rip Chicago you'll debatably be missed), and the mutual blushes and unusually shy glances start clueing them each in that, huh. It's almost like... She might... Reciprocate??? My feelings??? But they don't quite get to unpack that because there's still suit shopping to do!

But they'll get there, don't worry! We'll get the resolution to this little storyline on Sunday, because what better way to finally confess your feelings than with the same mashup that first truly brought you and your friends together! 😎

In the meantime, I've got bonus posts going up tomorrow and Thursday (because I couldn't come up with anything for either of those prompts, though I did try), then we're back with the last 4 true Prompt Entries™ starting Friday, with two entries for Sunday!

Days I've participated in (and Entries I've posted):

Day 1 (This is me trying): Link

Day 2 (I missed you): You Are Here!

Day 5 (if honesty means telling the truth... Well then the truth is I'm still in love with you): Link

Day 6 (there's no way that it's not going to happen with you looking at me like that): Link

Day 7.1 (I can't say it, so I'll sing it): Link

Day 7.2 (part 2): Link

Plus a relevant bonus Post for this particular scene can be found here!

Close Up:

[masterofd1saster]

CJ current events 26sep24 part 2 b/c tumblr stinks

You thought he couldn't ID you?

DENVER (AP) — Three Colorado men were accused of tying up and torturing their housemate for 14 hours, according to an arrest affidavit, The Denver Post reported Monday. The three men, Jason Carlson, 49; Sherell Allen, 48; and Luke Anaya, 41; are now in custody, facing charges including attempted murder, assault, false imprisonment and kidnapping, court records show. The 45-year-old man told deputies he’d lived in the house in Jefferson County, just west of Denver, for only a few weeks when he overheard his three housemates talking about attacking him at about 2 a.m. on Sept. 15, the court records said. The man tried to barricade the door, but the three busted it down, shooting him with rock salt loaded into “Airsoft-type firearms,” assaulting him and stepping on his neck until he went unconscious, the man told law enforcement.***

***

Belongs in prison or on a gurney

Boulder King Soopers shooter found guilty of 55 counts The three-and-a-half-year saga surrounding the Boulder King Soopers massacre came to a grueling end Monday as families of the 10 people killed inside the store alternated between offering forgiveness, calling on vengeance from God and begging America to end the horror of mass shootings. Ahmad Al Aliwi Alissa has been convicted of 55 crimes in the March 22, 2021, mass shooting at a King Soopers on Table Mesa. He killed Kevin Mahoney, 61; Denny Stong, 20; Neven Stanisic, 23; Rikki Olds, 25; Tralona Bartkowiak, 49; Teri Leiker, 51; Boulder police Officer Eric Talley, 51; Suzanne Fountain, 59; Lynn Murray, 62; and Jody Waters, 65. Boulder County District Court Judge Ingrid Bakke sentenced Alissa to life in prison without the possibility of parole for the 10 counts of first-degree murder. She also gave Alissa 1,334 years in prison, to be served consecutively, for 38 counts of attempted first-degree murder, one count of first-degree assault and six counts of illegally possessing a high-capacity magazine.

***

Speed?

A Los Angeles bus has been surrounded by LAPD amid reports of an incident in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Various reports online are claiming the bus has been hijacked, and that it may have hostages on board, including the bus driver. Online images and a live stream from local news reporters show an MTA bus stopped at the side of the road, with an armored police vehicles in front of it, and an armed SWAT team at the scene.***

***

Remember what I said about disappearing people?

***

Latest rape charge against Dirtbaggy

*** Thalia Graves alleged that she met Combs when she was 25 through her boyfriend, who worked at Combs' record label Bad Boy. Around the summer of 2001, while in a vehicle with Combs and Joseph Sherman, his bodyguard and head of security, she accepted his offer of a glass of wine and began to feel "lightheaded, dizzy and physically weak," the lawsuit states. She lost consciousness and later awoke naked in a studio in Manhattan with her hands tied behind her back, the lawsuit states. Combs came into the room and raped her, and he smashed her head into a pool table as she tried to resist, according to the lawsuit. Sherman sexually assaulted her as she came in and out of consciousness, the lawsuit states.*** In November 2023, she learned from her former boyfriend that Combs and Sherman had recorded and published video of the assault and shown it to others, according to the lawsuit.*** Combs was moved into a dorm-style room at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn on Monday, a space that he now shares with former FTX CEO Sam Bankman-Fried and former Honduras President Juan Orlando Hernandez. The facility's high-profile inmates stay in this larger holding unit that's isolated from the general public and don't go to prison common areas, a source told CNN.

***

[riveriafalll]

OC introduction

Emmy Campbell (Winchester)

Emmy’s been going around my head lately, so I figured I’d share with you exactly who she is.

Emmy Campbell (born Emily Winchester) is the twin sister of Sam Winchester, raised alongside him by their older brother Dean on the road.

Being female, Emmy received way more shit from John than the boys did, and as such, saw through his platitudes and apologies far earlier than they did. The second Sam had been accepted at Stanford, Emmy put her plan into place to leave, asking Dean to come with her to start a life in a new city away from John. Dean refused, and she hasn’t spoken to him in the four years since she’d left.

The thing that I like most about my lore for Emmy is that she was raised by John as a boy. John, bastard that he was, would hate any reminders of Mary, and as such refuse to raise a daughter. Whenever they were in public, John referred to her as Michael, would only buy boys clothes and keep her hair short to make her as masculine as possible. When speaking to other hunters he always referred to his children as his sons, and when Emmy left, told everyone that his middle son was dead, which is why no one recognises Emmy as a Winchester.

The funny thing about this is that John (who was most certainly homophobic and transphobic) essentially raised his cis child as trans, which is just irony in the purest form. For the first eleven or so years of her life, Emmy wasn’t too bothered about being called a boy, but as she moved into puberty and started to feel more girly, she grew to hate being forced to present that way, wanting to grow out her hair and wear proper clothes. Both Dean and Sam helped her do this in secret, having “girls nights” when John was away, painting nails and teaching themselves how to use extensions. Being able to mess around with femininity actually helped Dean feel more masculine (speed run character development lets go), and made Sam surprisingly popular with the girls at Stanford, seeing as he was able to keep up with a conversation about hair and nails.

Once Emmy left, she moved to New Orleans (I’m ignoring the time it takes to travel anywhere since canon does that as well), with a vague idea of opening up a shop selling things to help hunters.

Four years later, she has one of the most extensive hunter networks in America, owns a shop specialising in the Occult, which does under the table deals for Hunters, selling weapons, IDs and information. Most of her friends think she’s part of the mafia, she thinks this is hilarious and does nothing to dissuade them of the notion. She’s managed to speed run connections in the show, having found the Road House years before Dean ever did, and is the richest of the three Winchester’s.

She and Sam are in constant contact, Emmy visiting Stanford every few months (she gives the shovel talk to Jessica and then promptly decides they are best friends). Dean calls her every couple of weeks, but after the first few months, when it becomes clear Emmy isn’t going to pick up, he starts leaving voicemails instead. Emmy listens to every one, but refuses to call him back.

Since they are Winchester’s, none of them communicate with each other, and so neither Sam nor Emmy know that neither of them are in contact with Dean. They both think that the other is calling at least every few months, but in reality Dean hasn’t heard from either of them.

Emmy doesn’t want to see Dean at all, and she has no plans to, right up until the day she gets a call from Sam, saying that their dad is missing and Dean wants their help.

Just one last weekend, she promises herself, then she’s done. Spoiler: it’s not just one weekend

(Also lesbian!Emmy is my Roman Empire, she flirts with half the demons and more than half the women they encounter, much more successfully than Dean, might I add)

[jodilin65]

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1988 Without saying a word, I called Kevin to see if he’d say anything. He did. He said, “So, you’re gonna move to the Hamden East condos, huh?”

This is in response to my mentioning that during my little phone games. Anyway, the little asshole sounded nervous as all hell, breathing heavily.

Ma called this morning at 9:30 to say Daddy was fine and that they were able to do a triple bypass on him.

I was pissed last night cuz Tammy went down there without me, but Philip said if God forbid anything happens he’ll take me down to Florida. Uncle Marty was pissed at Ma cuz she never called him about dad. They found out by me cuz yesterday I tried to reach Tammy in Salem and I found out through Bill’s parents.

I almost missed Ma’s call last night cuz Crystal keeps turning off the ringer on my pink phone and forgetting to turn it on again, so this morning I told Crystal not to shut the ringer off if she couldn’t remember to turn it back on.

At 2:30, I have to see Dr. Franklin. I’ll walk there. In fact, I’ll start walking now.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1988 Today is my usual appointment with Rose at 3:00 but I doubt Community Care is open today because it’s Washington’s birthday. I called PCS and they said the buses are running.

I also called Emily, but she was a bitch cuz she just woke up so I didn’t even waste my time talking to her.

Crystal is still asleep as I thought she’d be. She goes to sleep late like I used to.

It looks like she did get fired from McDonald’s. I don’t think she ever gave a damn about the job and I don’t think she wants to work. What with all the money she owes her old landlord for rent, the gas company, the phone company, the electric company - she’s up shit’s creek. All I know is I better get my rent money.

I guess she’s never gonna get the garbage bags she said she’d get. Looks like I’m gonna have to get them, but the bitch is gonna pay me back. She’s gonna buy her share of household needs and do her share of chores or she can pack her shit and go.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1988 I’m so pissed at myself! I bought 2 packs of cigarettes. It seems I can never quit. I’m so pissed! I can’t breathe, and I wanted to save the money.

Tuesday I must remember to go to my sign language class. I was so pissed off at myself for forgetting last week. Nervioso was so jealous he couldn’t take me to my classes. I haven’t seen him in 4 days and I never felt better.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1988 Crystal came home early with a bad ulcer. She said she went to the ER. She can’t work tomorrow or the day after. I hope she doesn’t get fired.

I have smoked only 4 cigarettes today, but it pisses me off that I just can’t cut it out for good.

Got some books in the mail today. I was pissed that they sent me a book I already have. I wonder when I’ll get my books for getting Crystal in as a member.

Later…

I didn’t do too much today but tomorrow I am going to go down to welfare to pick up my photo ID. I’m also going to call the bank to see if my other check came and pick up a few things at Food Mart.

Crystal is listening to the radio now. Earlier I was teaching her some signs.

It’s been quite pleasant not seeing Nervioso for a few days. I really want nothing more to do with him.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1988 Today I woke up at 9am. I went to get that Nicorette gum the doctor gave me a prescription for yesterday to try to help me quit smoking. He said my lungs were so bad and that I needed to quit. I think I’ve had 9 cigarettes altogether today, but a few hours ago I became deadly determined. I’m only 22, so it’s now or never. Better to get it over with and to have smoked for 8 years rather than for 40. Besides, singers shouldn’t smoke, and I could save $80 - $100 a month.

Later…

Just a little while ago the urge to smoke was quite bad but I didn’t touch it! I chewed the gum.

I’m so damn pissed, though. I forgot all about my sign class tonight!

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1988 I’m downtown now and I have been for almost 4 hours. At 9am, I walked down here and went to SIS, my bank. It looks like I have gotten my checks. Thank God!

Afterward, I went to Friendly’s, then saw Rose. Personally, I think she sucks!

I’m now on Chestnut St. waiting to see the doctor. What much can he do? I need to quit smoking, but it is just so damn hard!

The nurse just weighed me at 118 pounds. I’m so fat! I sure as hell hope I lose it this spring like I usually do.