will and mike from rival schools and they're both into debate and they get so into it every time and they're so competitive and there's so much tension and they both get so flustered every single time for đ¨đ¤đ˘đ đ§đđđ¨đ¤đŁ
I havenât had a crush on anyone in a year and a half and Iâm going crazy, I wasnât built for friend groups, I was meant, I was destined, to be in a relationship, and you may be thinking âgirl you are a teenager calm down you have foreverâ I need to experience teenage love, I need it like the moon needs the sun, I need it like the bees need pollen, I need it like the stars need the sky, I need it so terribly bad and I canât take it
when is it my turn
when do I get to experience the romantic love that I am so willing to give
And yes I am going to type a freestyle poem thank you very much
I want it all
I want to be held
I want to be held in the way that the sky holds the sun
I want to be treasured
I want to be treasured in the way that an octopus treasures a rock
I want to be admired
I want to be admired in the way that a fawn admires her mother
I want it all
I want to be kissed like thereâs all the time in the world
I want to be hugged like weâre the only people that matter
I want to let you see my soul
I want to let myself see your soul
I want to cuddle like the songs all talk about
I want to feel warmth like the sun on the back of a cat
summary: âwe would love for you and finn to co-host; we have a fun show plannedâ: in which the running jokeâ as a jab at your close friendshipâ is you and finn somehow making out in every sketch.
warnings: rated tv-14 ! suggestive dialogue, sexual themes, costar!reader, secret bf!finn, flirty frienship ploy, secret relationship, f! reader, reader and finn have been shipped since kids, mentions of ship wars, making fun of ships, reader has been criticized by fans her whole career, lots of kissing, make outs, suggestive comments, this kind of spiraled out of control tbh đĽľ
those singular, out of context posts on x, had sent the internet into complete chaos. finn never posted on social media, so that small little sentence after the snl hosting, after a completely inactive account, had turned into that monthâs hot gossip. the whisperings and talks about your relationship was not new to anyone. you had grown up together and were obviously the closest of anyone in the cast. you hadnât been private about sharing hotel rooms, staying at each otherâs place when the other was in townâ the gossip was never lacking. every public appearance led to speculation and edits and arguments and a few tears. and you loved it. finn would look look at you with amused exasperation as you showed him edits or a particularly worked up fan post. you had been private about your six year relationship, or the fact that you were now living together. it was the not so innocent comments that were always pulled off as playful, the way finn always pulled you slightly closer on red carpets or public events, how your eyes always found each other in interviews, and how his entire face lit up when you were brought up, the few times you werenât with him.
hosting snl was more nerve wracking than you had anticipated. finn always thought you were hilarious, but that was one of his boyfriend guidelinesâ he had to think you were funny, even if you werenât; it was one of the exchanges for sleeping with you.
the running joke for the episode had been agreed to without hesitation, always loving toying with the fans and hanging the obvious right in their faces. every sketch, no matter the context or inappropriate timing, the two of you had to kissâ fully hot and heavy. it wouldnât be explained, it wouldnât be acknowledged, but it would be painfully obvious and uncomfortable. for everyone elseâŚ.
finn had just smirked at you, entirely too into the idea and already getting ideas. the catch was neither of you knew when it would beâ or how inappropriately timed. they wanted you to get each other to break character. they wanted it to be as uncomfortable as possible. unfortunately, you didnât embarrass easily, and your poor boyfriend got entirely too worked up entirely too easilyâŚ
you would spend an hour on sunday, scrolling through comments and fan reactions, finn stretched out with his head in your lap, now understanding the great amusement you got from watching it all unfold.
â GENUINELY WHAT THE FUCK WERE THESE TWO ON LAST NIGHT!? â attached pictures and screenshots showed various smirks, a few incriminating positions, and finn very red in the face but holding it together surprisingly well. lots of ship names in all caps, lots of screaming, more tags than you had ever seen in a day. celebrity news headlines of your most guilty looking scenes and more screenshots.
god, this was almost more fun than actingâŚ
â i just want to know wtf they were told before filming bc she did NOT hold back â
âł girlâs probably been waiting for this for years
âł genuinely look at finnâs face and tell me that man is not EXACTLY where he wants to be
âł do yall think they even made it homeâŚ
âł weird af they are ACTORS
the first sketch was as if you were simply in an interview. you had a rough outline from the script, but no one really knew how much you had plotted as soon as you were told anything, that doesnât need to be sensored. you sat down beside finn, treating it as if it were a regular interview and not the most famous and long running sketch comedy show that had given you permission to be as unhinged as you felt comfortable.
âitâs so good to have you both here today!â the jimmy fallon wig and set was really selling it. this is exactly how you would act if it was deemed appropriate. âthanks, jimmy, itâs great to be back.â finn glanced over at you, as you slowly inched closer, eyeing him with an innocent, sultry expression. you watched his jaw tense just for a second, before turning back to jimmy.
âi hear a lot of talkâŚâ not jimmy pressed his lips tightly together as you scooted even closer, putting one leg over finnâs lap. finn, with all that was in him, did not flinch. he just shifted his hand on top of your leg, resting it there casually, as if you did this in every interview. ââthat you two are closeâŚâ you shifted again so you were fully in finnâs lap, shifting just enough to wrap an arm over his shoulder. finnâs breath caught but it was only noticeable to you, pressed up against him. finn put an arm around your waist and rested it on your hip, âwe are close, yes⌠pretty close, i would say.â
there were snorts from the crowd and you sighed, starting to massage finnâs head and play with his hair. this is what you had always done if his anxiety was high, or if he was having trouble falling asleep. finn almost closed his eyes, immediately relaxing under your touch but not quite forgetting your surroundings.
âwhat do you think of the rumorsââ not jimmy did stare at you, blinking slowly and trying not to smile as you leaned even closer, lips brushing against finnâs ear. there was an immediate reaction, though he played it off quite well, as if he was exasperated with you and trying not to break character.
there was a cough from your left as the tonite show card covered his laughing face, âsorry, did you say something to him?â you hummed, âoh, no⌠continue.â
âwhat do you think of the rumors and speculation that you two are more than friends?â
âoh, well, thatâs ridiculous.â you shifted further, until you were completely straddling finn. there were screams and shrieks of laughter. finn eyed you like you were in trouble, âyeah, thatâs crazyâŚâ he brushed his lips against yours, pulling you in for a full tongue kiss as you tried to break away. you almost laughed against him, but instead covered it by throwing your arms around his neck and fisting his hair. a full fledged, hot and heavy, overly dramatic make out ensued, both of you breathing out a laugh every few kisses.
âohâ weâll be right back, i thinkâŚâ
you pulled away, breathless and laughing, taking a slight bow as you were applauded for your sheer audacity. finn eyed you, shaking his head just slightly, expression promising that you were in trouble.
â i need to know what finn said here!! someone who can read lips PLEASE â
âł FR IâVE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE IT OUT
âł u guys are genuinely so insane
âł NO BC HE SAID SOMETHING AND THEN SHE SMIRKED WHY DID HE COVER THE MIC
finn had taken your shameless improvised stunt as a personal challenge to outdo you. he was giving you eyes from across the set, leaning into the flirty side he reserved for at home. he would make you break character. he would push you and make sure you suffered. the end of the world sketch ran in itâs scripted intentionâ the president panicking and not knowing a single protocol or being able to make a decision. you, the quiet secretary carefully talking him through his bare minimum knowledge and understanding, then getting into arguments with the military advisorsâ one of which was finn.
finn was now on a war path to make you break and was fully intending to win this little battle of the willsâ and hormones. during a scripted heated argument, finn suddenly grabbed you and dragged you to the floor. âfinnâ!â you shrieked, bursting into surprised, amused laughter; you nearly screamed as you both fell to the floor. finn just smirked as the cameras scrambled to track you. laughter had exploded from the crowd; screams and shrieks echoing. finn straddled you, giving you the most smug, dangerous expression. you were breathless, completely caught off guard and staring at him like he was insane. he smirked once more and you sat up, dragging him back down. you were laughing before you could actually kiss you.
you screenshoted one particular post about your favorite sketch of the night, â on GOD she really said if you see me handcuffed to an alien emperorâs throne, donât save me, iâm exactly where i want to be â
âł oh my god they are SO PATHETIC
âł okay but yall didnât think this was weird af
âł if you told me they wrote this sketch themselves, i would believe you.
âwell, does this work for you?â finn turned to you in the make up chair, alien empire leathers and all. you glanced at him and tilted your head, âhow much would you judge me if i said yes?â
finn snorted, smirking, âonly slightly.â
âat least you donât have handcuffs and a chain.â
âthatâs a shame for youâŚâ
the cast really did not know what they were getting themselves into, asking what they had. this had been your banter since you were fourteen; though it got a lot less innocent and a lot more obvious as friendship shifted into something else. there was amused glances as they realized they were in for a good show. you narrowed your eyes, âdo you have a princess leia costume?â
finnâs eyes snapped up from his phone, wide with genuine terror. âa what?â he stared at you like you misspoke. hair stopped fidgeting with your four braids, glancing over to costume, ânot exact. just something similarâŚâ
there was amused and a few slightly exasperated stares. and when you walked out of wardrobe in a leather sports bra and leather leggings, you knew you had won right then and there. his jaw fell open, eyes scanning you like he was in disbeliefâ like you were insane. you did feel rather insane as his eyes took you in.
âcurtain in five.â
you shifted the strips of fabric around your legs, wishing you had worn something this unique and suggestive in literally any of your roles. finn was still staring at you, jaw tight.
âare you ready, highness?â you smirked as you drawled innocently. wardrobe fastened the plastic cuffs around your wrists, setting the attached plastic chain in your hand with a playful smile. you smirked down at the attire, âdo you want to take me for a walk, wolfhard?â
for what itâs worth, you really did think he looked damn good up there on his stupid throne with his stupid wig and his goddamn smirk. he spun the end of your chain around in his hand, you stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. finn truly did look like he was having the time of his life. another questionable item was held out to him and he snapped his fingers, âmy lady. hand feed me.â your jaw ticked and you fought back the smirk, âyes, highness.â you dropped your tone, voice coming out as sultry as you could muster. finn glanced up at you, expectantly, âtoday, pleaseâ or i shall replace you with another.â you almost scoffed, âsorry, highness.â you pushed the other out of the way, taking the plate in your hand and bending low. finnâs eyes sparkled as they met yours, mouth open expectantly, almost managing not to smirk.
âanother treat for his majesty!â
you snatched the bowl away, eyeing it. you glanced at finn, who snapped his fingers again. you bit back a smile and cleared your throat, âthis looks messy, your majestyâŚâ
finnâs tone didnât shift, his expression didnât change, âall the best things are. get on with it.â you assumed it was chocolate pudding, but dipped your finger in it to make sure. you touched the faintest amount to your tongue and hummed, âi should say itâs not poisoned, your majesty.â
finn watched you with a look that was almost pathetic. oh, this night may very well never end⌠you flicked your tongue out and smiled innocently, draping yourself over his shoulder, âhere,â you swiped your finger through the bowl, coating your finger thickly with it, âi should think itâs to your majestyâs liking.â and you stuck your finger out to finn, swiping his lip just slightly, then smearing the tiniest bit on his nose and chin. you bit your lip with a sultry, stupid smile, âapologies, majestyâŚâ you grimaced, giving the quickest innocent side eye before scooping up even more pudding. finnâs breath caught instantly, but he didnât flinch. he looked up at you, eyes dark and daring. you knew this was pushing it. you knew this was very likely going to get you in trouble in more ways than one. and finn, never taking his eyes off you, didnât hesitate to put your finger right in his mouth, slowly pulling the pudding from it with an unwavering expression. the crowd had gone from snickering to screaming to whistlingâ a few people sounded hysterical, a few others were actually fanning themselves. you forced yourself not to move, keeping that same soft, neutral expression. as finn licked his lips, he returned his eyes straight ahead, âand itâs highness to you.â
that absolute little shitâŚ
â oh, so itâs porn â
âł what an odd thing to say ??
âł did you even watch it ?!?!?
ummm hahahah whatâs the context of thisâŚ
wtf was even happening at this point
IS THIS WHAT THE TWEET WAS ABOUT DVHBSJSJSHSDJI
you glanced at the camera by the dressing room, knowing this was likely the last chance to break him. this was the sketch that was not a sketchâ but was a sketchâ but actually wasnât. and that is why it was your favorite one of the night. you waited for action to be called; standing just against the closed door, finn smirking at you as he waitedâ impatiently and anything but professional. your hand was on his tie, his shirt partially unbuttoned and crooked, the suit he would wear for the ending bunched in your fist on his ribcage. action was called and the smile on your face was entirely too real as your back bumped against the door and you and finn giggled and hushed each other, sure your breathing was heavy and exaggerated. you held back real laughter at how much fun you were having and how ironic this all really was. your names were called in the distance, several times, each more irritated, each getting more and more laughter.
there was screaming from the crowd and you knew your surprise guests had arrived.
âdude, where are they?â
âdonât ask me, man! they ask us to show up as a surprise and then they miss final curtain!â
you nearly shook with anticipation, now both of you looking equally as excited and devilish.
ten seconds.
âdid you find them?â
âno.â
you heard gaten sigh and you held your breath.
âi know where they are...â
the knock on the door came.
finn slammed you against the door, almost gasping at how hard it had unintentionally been. you bit back a snort, covering your mouth immediately. finn fought back a snort, immediately fixing his expression as the door opened. you were all over each other then. hands roaming, fist pulling at fabric, pulling on his tie until he was flush against you. finn almost sighed into the kiss, but your hands in his hair pulled him back to fake reality. the kiss would be legendary. it had been unscripted, the way it was all heat and tongue and hands. there was a cough of surprise and gaten and caleb fighting back their amusement.
finn finally broke away from you, cheeks red and breathless, smiling stupidlyâ in a way that you just knew wasnât acting. âshit, sorry,â he wiped your smeared lipstick from his mouth and adjusted his clothes, âare we late?â
caleb and gaten rolled their eyes, both glaring at you in disbelief, though amusement and a flicker of pride hid behind their roles. and gaten just closed the door on the two of you, sighing as he ran a hand over his face, âevery fucking dayâŚâ
âyouâd think after six years, they would have a little more self control.â
final curtain really came, as you and finn walked out hand in hand, both smiling like you had gotten away with stealing the entire world. you both bowed as the rest of the cast came out, followed lastly, by caleb and gaten, who joined either side of you and finn. finn had let go of your hand, gesturing fully to you with a small bow. he returned his arms around gaten and your cheeks were starting to hurt from the smiling.
finn went on with his monologue, passing you a small flask. you fought back a smirk as you swallowed it, thankful it was just water. he leaned in then, hand over his mic, despite the cameras and lights flicking off, âdo you even know how much trouble youâre in, when we get home?â
you didnât fight off the smirk, dipping your head slightly, but not letting yourself look at the desperate look in his eyes, âoh, iâm counting on itâŚâ
oh mother i'm eating UPPP the ex!luke stuff i lowkey need more
texts with ex bf!luke castellan
if you ever need him, he'll come running
a/n: this is quite different from the usual ex bf!luke content, but i love it cause it truly shows how complex their relationship with each other really is. these two don't just run back to each other's arms for sex, but also because there is this emotionally deep and unmatched connection that only they have with each other. i hope u still enjoy it though! thank u so much for this req <33
SUMMARY: Rossi has to face his own past when the new case reminds him of you - a girl whose parents' murder he had once investigated. When the unsub sets his sights on you, both you and Rossi have to accept that you've always been each other's family. That revelation puts Spencer in a tight spot. A veteran FBI profiler is hardly an agreeable father-in-law.
In short: Rossi kind of has a daughter, Spencer is kind of in love and you're kind of in trouble.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 6k (idk what happened)
Rossi can't remember the last time he felt so sick. It isn't just the twisting, piercing feeling in his stomach that brings back memories of suspicious food. As something deep inside his chest clenches painfully, the man continues to look at the pictures inside the folder. His hands tremble noticeably.
The features, the eyes, the hair - all of it seems too familiar for his liking. The victims look just like you. Not to mention, they live around the same neighbourhood in Manhattan.
He looks at his watch again. Is eighty minutes really such a long stretch of time? Every minute he spends on this god forsaken jet is another minute heâs not watching over you. Those bastards need less than a minute to grab someone and take them away. He could already be lateâŚ
Hotchner easily picks up on Rossiâs agitation.
âWhatâs wrong?â
Rossi tosses the file on the table and lets out a ragged sigh. His eyes flicker towards the window. Glass skyscrapers and baux-arts buildings peek from behind milky clouds. Somewhere out there is the unsub and you. Hopefully miles apart.
âHave you heard of Anthony Beauford?â Rossi asks, his gaze returning to Hotchner.Â
Aaron is staring back at him with a stern expression. Metaphorical cogs inside his head are turning swiftly, as heâs trying to listen to what David isnât saying. âProfiler profiling a profilerâ sounds like a drama school exercise.
âTony the Executioner,â Spencer chimes in. He was just leaving the bathroom when he heard the conversation. âKidnapped, tortured and killed seventeen couples in less than two years. During his interview, he claimed he was saving children from their âevil foremenâ. His parents, James and Caroline Beauford, used to prostitute Anthony in exchange for drug money.â Only after sharing a piece of his vast knowledge does Spencer realise something. âRossi, you worked that case, right?â
âI did.â His voice doesnât carry pride, only shame. âCaught the bastard but I was too late.â He shakes his head, ever so slightly. Old disappointment resurfaces. âThe couple was dead. They left behind a daughter.â
Hotchner glances at the macabre pictures inside the folder. The connection is obvious.
âAnd she looks just like the victims,â Aaron says the quiet part out loud.
âLives in the same area, too,â Rossi adds. Thereâs no point in hiding the truth from his colleagues. Whether he wants to or not, they will find out anyway.
âYou kept in touch with her?â Spencer asks. His question is more out of surprise, rather than uncertainty. David wouldnât know where you live if he didnât call you every now and then.
âShe was just a kid,â Rossi explains. As though these five words could absolve him of any crime he could have accidentally committed.
âAll of them were,â Hotchner argues. âSeventeen orphans but you care only about this one.â
Rossi doesnât answer right away. He stares at the skyline of New York outside the window. The buildings grow bigger as the jet lowers its flight. Youâre so close, yet so far away from him.
âShe wasnât like other kids,â he speaks up after a while. âSure, she did cry and miss her parents but she did something no one else did.â Rossiâs gaze returns to the two men in front of him. âShe said she forgives me.â Hotchnerâs and Spencerâs sudden change in expression makes David think back to that conversation with you. Heâs quite sure he also made an equally confused face. âThat itâs okay because even Spider-Man couldnât save Uncle Ben and Iâm no superhero.â An airy chuckle brushes past his lips. âI couldnât just move on and forget her, not after that.â
Something shifts in the way Aaron is looking at Rossi. What used to be suspicion is now a profound understanding. Fathers have a curious, innate ability to recognise other fathers through the smallest tics.
âI know you want to keep her safe, Dave.â Hotchnerâs tone is surprisingly soft. âI would do the same thing for Jack.â The man exhales, his lips pressed into a thin line. He knows that Rossi wonât like what heâs about to say. âBut right now, she might be our best lead to catch the unsub.â
âHotch is right,â Spencer interjects before Rossi can dismiss the suggestion. âIf heâs after similar-looking women from the same neighbourhood, she might know him already.â
David looks between Spencer and Hotchner, weighing his chances at convincing them otherwise. His shoulders fall as he sighs. As much as he doesnât like it, Rossi knows that they are right.
âAnd we will ask her about that,â he says. âAfter we get her someplace safe.â
Hotchner nods in response. In some cases, compromise is the best you can get. One of those is children.
Youâre watching the world outside the shop window with a fond smile on your face. Living in a big city can be tiring and intimidating but thereâs always a silver lining: Manhattan doesnât wait, it doesnât crumble. If you take a day longer to respond to an email or ask for an extension on your manuscript, the Big Apple will continue as it always has. Even when you feel that the world is shattering under your feet, the rats of New York still squeak and dine in garbage cans. As long as Manhattan moves on, maybe you can too.
A ringing phone pulls you away from your thoughts and back into reality. As you look at the caller ID, you canât help but sigh in contentment. You pick up the phone, happy to talk to him. Like you always are.
âHey, Dave! What-â
âWhere are you?â
The question stumps you. As does the demanding tone of his voice. Itâs more of an order than an inquiry.
âIâm at Bread & Batter, as usual,â you answer slowly. Your eyebrows furrow. âWhatâs going on?â
âCan you look around the shop?â he continues. Still unsure what to make of this bizarre phone call, you lift your gaze, searching the crowd. âIs there anyone suspicious? Maybe someone you recognise? A regular, maybe?â
Trying to look candid, your eyes trace every face within your sight. Nothing in particular grabs your attention. The girl who works Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays is remaking sandwiches. The boy who usually works with her and makes obvious passes at the girl is wiping down a table. The square-jawed man with thick glasses is drinking an americano, typing on his computer and handwriting notes once in a while. There is also a woman, probably in her 40s, who always wears something red. Sheâs sitting at the same table she always does and nibbles away at the crepe cake she always gets. The recent addition to familiar faces is a man around your age, probably a university student. He keeps absentmindedly stirring his chai tea while reading a thick textbook. Nothing about the customers is suspicious - at least in laymanâs understanding of the word.
âThere are a few regulars and the staff,â you say. Most of these people you know from sight but have never learnt their names. âEverythingâs normal. Why are you asking?â
âI need you to stay there, no matter what happens.â Thereâs a tremble to Davidâs voice but you assume itâs just a quirk of technology. Everyone sounds a little different over the phone. âDonât talk to anyone,â he stresses. âDo you understand?â
You canât help but look around you once again. Your gaze meets that of the man at his computer. He gives you a polite, though awkward, smile and nods as a way to acknowledge your familiar presence. On any other day, you would slightly raise your glass as a silent greeting. Today, however, you cower away. Your eyes flicker back to the street on the other side of the window. Suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, you make a futile attempt at burrowing yourself further into your corner booth. In a city of millions, you find yourself too visible.
âYouâre scaring me, Dave.â Your voice is quiet, fearful. Could someone be eavesdropping on your conversation? âWhatâs going on?â
âIâm sorry, kid. Itâs justâŚâ He hangs his voice. The moment of silence makes your heart race. People donât do that when they deliver good news. No, they need a second to think about how to sugarcoat reality. âYou fit the type of a bad guy weâre looking for,â Rossi says, his voice strangely flat. He means to hide his true emotions, accidentally sounding robotic. âEverything will be okay, I promise.â Words spoken in a soft tone calm you down slightly. Somehow, he could always talk you down from panicking. âJust stay put and donât go anywhere until I get there, alright?â
âOkay,â you whisper.
âIf anything happens, Iâm just a phone call away.â
Nervous and confused, you fail to stop your half-hearted joke from slipping out:
âJust donât take a coffee break on your way.â
You hear an airy chuckle on the other side of the phone. David has told you many times how strange and wonderful it is that your reaction to a crisis is cracking bad jokes. In his words, âcrisis exhibits peopleâs true characterâ.
âI donât like coffee breaks without you, kid,â Rossi says before the call is disconnected.
You squeeze the phone in your hand. The only thing you have to do is wait for David to show up. He is worried, so he will surely come as fast as he can. You just have to stay put. Thatâs easy, very doable. Thereâs nothing to be afraid of when youâre in a public place, waiting for someone. After all, this isnât the first time heâs rushing to get to you. Heâs yet to be too late, to leave you hanging.
Everything will be fine, like he said. You just have to wait.
Despite your relentless questions, Rossi is more than reluctant to indulge you with any specifics regarding the murders. He doesnât see the point in letting you know what the unsub does to his victims, before and after their death. This doesnât concern you in any way because you will never be close enough for the man to hurt you. At least, thatâs what he keeps telling himself.
Walking through the precinct, you feel his hand against your back, nestled between your shoulder blades. Rossi is gently guiding you through the mob of policemen, family members and potential witnesses. Always a step behind you, he has the perfect view of anyone coming into your vicinity. One of the officers comes up to him but before he can say anything, David barks out a ânot nowâ.
Entering the conference room, youâre met with curious eyes studying you from head to toe. Five FBI agents, suddenly frozen in time. Like a lodge of judges, they seem to be deciding your fate. Looking past their unreadable expressions, you see a large glass board. Something is scribbled in different coloured pens. The random words mean nothing to you. Your focus shifts to pictures. At first, itâs hard to discern what is shown in the photographs. Thereâs mostly beige, brown and red. The longer you stare at the pictures, the more you realise what youâre actually looking at - body parts.
âMy God,â you whisper. âAre those-â
A woman with shoulder-length dark hair circles her arm around your shoulders and turns you around to look at Rossi and the busy policemen behind the door to the conference room.
âYou donât want to know, believe me,â she says. Seeing her hardened expression, youâre inclined to trust her words.
Rossi gives you an apologetic look. Thereâs almost a sense of pity in his dark eyes. He might not say it but you have a pretty good guess what heâs thinking about - he thinks itâs unfair that you have to go through this mess again. To feel like thereâs a beast stalking you in the shadows. Only this time, he will make sure he has the upper hand.
âYou stay here,â Dave orders, âIâll bring you something to drink.â
âYou donât have to.â
âI know,â he answers casually, before leaving the room and disappearing among rushing policemen.
Unsure what else to do, you sit down at the table. From what you know, and that isnât a lot, the only danger this killer poses to you is strictly theoretical. Sure, you do look like his victims and live in the same area but you would notice a maniac stalking you, right?
The tense silence continues for a minute or two. The rest of Rossiâs team doesnât know how much heâs told you or how much heâd want you to know. They look between themselves, quietly deciding what to do now. Do they carry on as though you werenât there? Or should they immediately start questioning you?
The short period of indecisiveness ends when Spencer shows you a photograph of a familiar face:
âHey, do you know a guy named Mike Simmons?â
The answer is stuck in your throat as your gaze slides off the picture and focuses on Spencer. You know his name only because Rossi once mentioned that you would probably get along with him. What Dave forgot to mention, however, was that Spencer Reid is unfairly pretty. The soft brown eyes, slightly parted pink lips, and coiffure of dishevelled hair. Despite his anxious demeanour, you notice the quiet strength residing somewhere deep inside him, put to slumber until danger appears. You know that type of man: rarely defends himself but will put his life on the line for others, no hesitation or questions asked. Unfortunately for you, itâs this very kind of man that makes your knees weak. Maybe itâs good that youâre sitting.
âThatâs her neighbour.â Rossiâs voice makes you tear your eyes away from Spencer and look towards the glass door. âLives one floor below, apartment number seven,â he continues, while putting a paper cup of coffee and a chocolate bar in front of you. Youâre surprised to notice that he remembers your favourite brand. âHis brother, Patrick, was arrested several times for domestic violence.â
You look at Dave with squinted eyes. Rossi may be a federal agent and a fantastic profiler but heâs not an oracle.
âHow do you know that?â you probe, crossing your arms on your chest. Curious glint dances in your eyes. âDave, are you cyberstalking me?â
His eyebrow quirks as he hears the question. âI have better things to do, kid,â Rossi answers. He almost sounds believable. âI only asked our technician to make sure you live around good people.â
You nod slightly, pondering his words. If it were anyone else, youâd be calling the police. The fact that itâs Dave looking out for you, even if he doesnât have to, makes comfortable warmth spread through your body. Maybe guardian angels do exist?
âI donât know if thatâs extremely invasive or extremely nice,â you say.
âYeah, dads tend to be like that,â the dark-haired woman chimes in. She and two other men exchange amused looks.
âA dad would beat that guy with a baseball bat,â Rossi argues. âI didnât.â
âBut you thought about it.â
âThatâs not a crime.â
Jokes and niceties end there. What follows is two hours of detailed questions, often unconnected. Someone asks about work colleagues and then another person inquires about the clothing brands you wear. Itâs beyond your understanding how those pieces of information can help them catch a murderer. Even so, you brave through the almost-interrogation. Every now and again, Rossi asks if you want a break. You keep telling him youâre fine, but he seems to believe he knows better. After every thirty minutes, he makes others leave you alone for a moment. Itâs in those short pauses when he lets his strong resolve slip. For just a second, you can see the sadness inside him. He doesnât have to say anything; you know it - Rossi would do anything to have you safe and sound in your apartment, blissfully unaware of the madness surrounding you.
Little did you know, the invasive questions were only the beginning of the second-longest night in your life:
âAbsolutely not!â
Rossiâs words are the first thing you hear after returning from the bathroom. You were gone for no longer than five minutes and yet the calm conference room has suddenly turned into a war zone.
âThis might be our only chance to catch him,â argues the man in the suit. His unmovable stoicism is unnerving.
You feel a warm hand being gently placed on your shoulder.
âMaybe we should ask the girl in question, boys?â
Everyoneâs eyes turn to look at the dark-haired woman beside you. Itâs impressive how easily she can command a room full of men.
âMe?â you ask sheepishly, still confused about the topic of the conversation. Why would they be talking about you and catching someone?
âYouâre a smart one, sweetheart,â begins the dark-skinned man. âIâm sure youâve figured out that you share a lot of characteristics with the other victims. We think that this unsub is already aware of you, probably watches you and a few other girls. Our best chance to arrest this guy is to catch him red-handed. You can help us with that.â
âYou donât have to do it, kid,â Rossi chimes in. Judging by the tone of his voice, he means you canât or shouldnât do it. Anything that puts you in harmâs way is stepping over the line.
âI know,â you answer.
Silence fills the room again. Their eyes are fixed on you, waiting for the answer. The prospect is terrifying but you know you wonât be able to live with yourself if you donât even try to help out. Not every girl on the block has a grumpy FBI agent looking over her shoulder. A personal tragedy brought you a guardian angel with a goatee but itâs not a fair exchange. People shouldnât go to pits of Hell just to find a sense of safety and belonging.
âCan you promise me that Iâll be fine?â you ask. âThat youâll be close by all the time?â
âHey, kid, look at me.â The dark-skinned man gives you a soft, yet confident look. He gives the impression of someone who doesnât back out of a fight. He may not start them but he always finishes them. âI promise that not a single hair will fall from your head.
âAlright,â you say under your breath. âIâll do it.â
Rossi immediately starts walking in your direction. âIâll go with you.â
âNo.â The commanding voice of the suit-wearing man makes David stop in his tracks. âIf you visit her regularly, the unsub definitely knows you. Reid will go.â
âM-me?â Spencer repeats, vaguely pointing his index finger at himself.
âIf you let anything happen to her,â Rossi warns in a stern tone, âIâll bring that baseball bat.â
Spencer only manages to answer âyes, sirâ in an absent voice. Something about the way he clenches his jaw makes you think that he knows Dave isnât just joking. The baseball reference might be amusing but the sentiment remains unchanged: if Spencer is anything but perfect at his job tonight, he will wish it were the unsub who gets their hands on him.
Standing on the balcony, you close your eyes. Cool breeze fans against your shivering skin. Your ears are filled with music from nearby bars, laughter of drunk friends and late commuters losing their patience. Thereâs a distinct smell in the air, one you could never name. Itâs the fragrance of millions of lives carrying on, of tears shared by strangers on the subway and of street vendors opening up their small business as the nightlife goes into full swing. Maybe the smell belongs to the very spirit of the city, the unmistakable genius loci of New York.
A smile appears on your lips as you take in a deep breath.Â
You open your eyes when you feel a jacket being placed around your shoulders. The soft padding tickles your exposed skin.
âYou looked cold,â Spencer says in a low voice. Only now do you realise how close he is to you, as his warm breath brushes against your neck and cheeks.
âThank you.â You can only hope that the dim twilight hides your blush from him. âItâs lovely, isnât it?â
His hands remain on your shoulders. With each of his breaths, you can feel his chest against your back.
âYeah, I guess it has⌠its charm.â
You look up to meet his gaze and immediately regret it. Low lights of the street glisten in his brown eyes, making them look almost gold. Cold wind tugs gently at his curls, swaying them to the ever-unchanging rhythm of the ocean. The yellow hue from your living room lamp gathers around his head, creating something resembling a halo. Is this what the artist saw before painting his first angel?
âYouâre a terrible liar, you know that?â You try to hide your fluster with a giggle. If Spencer is aware of your ruse, he doesnât let on. âLook, if you lean just right over the railing-â
A strong arm wraps around your waist before your head can leave the safety of the balcony. âMaybe donât do that.â Spencer pulls you back against him. âIâd like to avoid Rossi with a baseball bat, if itâs all the same to you.â
For a moment, you wonder if he knows how hard heâs making things for you. Can he feel your heart rapidly thrumming against your ribs? Can he hear his own name being called in the breath he so easily steals from you?
âFine, then you lean over.â You feign indifference. Grown women shouldnât lose their heads for some guy theyâve known for less than a day. Then again, Spencer isnât just âsome guyâ, is he? âIf your head is far out enough, you can see it.â
Spencer strategically pushes you behind him. With one hand propping him up against the railing, he cranes his neck as far as possible.
âIs that the Brooklyn Bridge?â he asks. If you didnât know any better, youâd assume the strange uptick in his voice is awe.
âOne and only.â
The quiet moment doesnât last long. Spencer seems to notice something in the street below. He gets up immediately, pushing you further into your home.
âYou know, maybe we should go back inside,â he says, still staring at whatever caught his attention.
He closes the balcony door and locks it. Checks the lock twice, then pulls the curtains. Just to make sure no one can get inside this way, Spencer puts a chair against the door. The back of it prevents the handle from being pushed all the way. Turns out thereâs some truth to action movies.
The two of you stand there, in the middle of your living room. Unsure what to do now. Having a cute guy all to yourself would be great in any other circumstances. The longer you stay idle, the more awkward this situation will become. Remembering that Rossi thought youâd get along with Spencer, you start looking around your apartment. What can a genius FBI agent have in common with you?
Your gaze falls on the shelves right behind Spencer. Black-and-white casings litter the wall from the floor to the ceiling. There may be a way to make this strange arrangement more comfortable and the hours of the night to pass faster.
âYou wanna watch something?â you ask him. âI have an embarrassingly large collection of old movies.â Flustered, you point at the shelves behind Spencer.
Curious, he turns around only to let out a surprised gasp. He definitely saw the wall of cassette tapes when he entered but now he can really look at it.
âKurosawa, Hitchcock, Huston, Curtiz,â he reads the labels. âBiggest names of the New Deal Era.â
âSpoken like a true connoisseur,â you nod in approval. âSo, Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon?â
A half-grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. If it wasnât for the brown doe eyes staring at you, youâd say Spencer looks cocky. âHumphrey Bogart fan?â
âI guess I like handsome men with firearms,â you tease.
The comment must strike a chord in his heart as Spencer stands still. He blinks quickly, finally realising that he does, in fact, fall into that category. He desperately wants to say something and keep up with your banter but he remains quiet. As much as he likes where your thoughts are going, he very much dislikes the idea of Rossi finding out.
Against his better judgment, Spencer sits down on the couch next to you. If only his body allowed him, heâd sit on the opposite end. His yearning heart, however, sat him right beside you, thigh brushing against thigh. The opening scene rolls when he feels your head against his shoulder. A comforting smell of lilac and vanilla takes over his senses. How weird would it be if he just stuck his nose in the crook of your neck and drowned in that fragrance?
The movie continues but Spencer canât focus on anything happening on the screen. His mind is occupied by you. Heâs all too aware of the way your body is positioned against his. Treading the waters, Spencer puts his arm around your shoulders. You respond immediately, tucking in even closer to him. Your head fits just right under his chin.
You feel a strange sensation as though someone is watching you. Maybe youâre just starting to be paranoid, or maybe thereâs more to it. In any case, you lift your eyes from the screen. Youâre expecting to see Spencerâs profile, his attention on the TV but the view is a lot nicer - heâs already staring down at you when your gazes meet. The tips of your noses brush ever so gently with each breath.
âNot watching the movie?â You whisper.
âCanât focus,â he answers, voice equally low.
âWhat are you thinking about?â
His fingers trace faint circles on your arm. Those brown eyes stare at you with purpose, as though Spencer is attempting to read your mind. If he could, heâd probably see only himself.
âHow much I want to risk getting my head bashed in with a baseball bat.â
A giggle escapes your lips. Spencer canât help but smile at such a sweet sound.
âIf it hurts, I will kiss it better,â you promise.
Spencerâs other hand trails up your thigh before its fingers find your jaw. Heâs caressing you softly, still debating whether he should indulge himself. What if the baseball bat wasnât rhetorical?
Any doubt he might have disappears when he feels your soft lips against his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. His thoughts turn fuzzy and, even if he wanted to, he couldnât possibly string a coherent sentence.
With a firm, yet gentle hold on your jaw, Spencer presses his lips against yours. He inhales deeply, the smell of lilac and vanilla not only surrounds him, but penetrates his very spirit. Fixing the angle, he kisses you deeper. A strange hunger pulsates inside him, its greed only growing with each stolen peck. You let out a whine and Spencer takes that as the highest form of approval. He pushes his knee between your thighs, forcing you to lie on your back underneath him.
Breathless and completely smitten, you need to use all of your willpower to turn your head to the side. While youâre trying to catch your breath, Spencer isnât so keen on taking a break just yet. His lips leave warm, wet kisses along your jaw and neck.
The sound of your giggle makes him suddenly stop, if just to look at your angelic, blissful face.
âYouâre definitely getting that baseball bat,â you whisper.
Spencer laughs along with you.
âIâll worry about that later,â he breathes out against your ear before continuing his ministrations.
Before the moment can get any more explicit, someone knocks on the front door. Heavy, angry bangs echo through the dimmed apartment. Spencer and you immediately stop your affections, exchanging worried looks.
âIâm not expecting anyone,â you say.
âExcept for the unsub,â Spencer adds.
âYou think itâs him?â
âThereâs only one way to find out.â
He gets off you and stands up from the couch. Before Spencer can take another step towards the front door, you grab him by the shirt.
âWait.â That panicked tone of your voice makes him consider cradling you in his arms again. You will definitely be safe if the unsub has to shoot him first. âYouâre not actually going to open the door for a deranged murderer?â
As gently as he can, Spencer pries away your trembling hands. He gives them a reassuring squeeze.
âItâs either that or Rossiâs baseball bat,â he attempts to joke. The humour falls flat as you notice his own anxiety.
You donât think itâs important at the moment to tell Spencer that Dave does not, in fact, own a baseball bat. When everything is over and both you and Spencer are okay, then youâll tell him. Surely, the two of you will laugh about it and soon forget about the joke.
The banging on the door repeats. This time, the hits are even stronger, making the pane bend under the pressure.
âI know youâre in there!â comes a scream from the other side of the door. âI just wanna talk, sweetie!â
Still sitting on the couch, you curl your body into the tiniest ball possible. Maybe if you tuck your knees a little closer to your chest, you could simply disappear. You would find yourself in some faraway place, where the man behind the door can never reach.
âLet. Me. In!â He punctuates his howls with forceful bashes against the door.
With a weapon drawn, Spencer stands in the hallway. Heâs standing right in the middle of the distance between you and the unsub. Each bang on the door makes him jump slightly. Whoever is trying to get inside doesnât sound like a man possible to kill with just one bullet. Spencer will have to take his chances.
âHey,â he calls out. âYou want to talk to that girl who lives here, right?â
The banging suddenly stops. After all this commotion, silence should be welcome but it feels rotten through and through. This is the calm before the tsunami.
âWho the Hell are you?â answers a hoarse voice behind the door.
âIâm uhâŚâ Spencer hangs his voice. With a quick look over his shoulder, he checks up on you. Curled up on the couch, you look like a wounded animal, begging to be spared. âIâm her boyfriend.â
Silence.
Then, a crash.
The front door bursts open as a large, burly man stumbles inside. He roars in a way so inhuman, blood curdles in your veins. Whoever barged into your home is not a person - hasnât been for a long time. Even though he looks identical to the maintenance man who always greets you and warns you when the weather gets cold.
Spencer knows that words are futile. Wasting no time, he shoots the unsub straight in the chest. The man stumbles, falls on one knee. He stares at the dark spot on his black t-shirt. Blood seeps through the material, quickly spreading. Still, he manages to get back up on his feet. Another shot is fired, this time into the intruderâs back.
The unsub falls on the ground. Any other person would surely be dead but as heâs proven already, he can take much more than an average man. The corpse, like a boutique mannequin, lies motionless. Black puddle spreads across your hallways at a terrifyingly quick pace. Screams, footsteps and sirens all merge into one uproar. A painful ringing fills your ears, accompanied by rhythmic echoes of rushing blood.
You canât feel your hands or your feet. Everything is terribly numb. Has it always been so cold in here?
Spencerâs face appears before you. His lips are moving but you canât hear a word he says. You see his eyebrows furrow with worry.
âI want my dad,â you choke out.
He continues to stare at you in confusion. Youâre not entirely sure what he finds so hard to understand about your wish. Then, his face lights up, as though some divine force granted him the understanding of basic English.
You feel your lips moving against your will. They form the same four words over and over again but you donât know if youâre actually saying them out loud. The ringing is deafening.
Time seems to slow down as youâre watching Rossi rushing to you. He holds you close against his chest, shielding you from the macabre scene taking place in your hallway. Your face is hot and wet. When did you start crying?
The ringing in your ears slowly subsides as you begin to make out hushed promises:
âIâve got you, kid. Iâve got you. Everything is alright, youâre safe with me.â
Feeling circulation return to your extremities, you put your arms around Rossiâs neck. One of his hands is caressing your back in soothing motions, while the other firmly holds your head against his shoulder. Even if you wanted to, you couldnât look at the intruderâs body. Here, in this little cage of Rossiâs doing, you feel small and vulnerable. Strangely enough, it isnât scary. It feels good to let him see you so raw and helpless.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spencer standing behind the couch. Apologetic, glossy eyes donât dare leave you for a second. Fearfully, he reaches out to you. His fingers brush against your shoulder blade.
Rossi looks at this little sign of affection with reasonable suspicion. He looks between Spencer and you, quickly realising just what had happened before the fatal confrontation.
âI donât need to give you all that fatherly talk, do I?â Rossi asks, watchful eyes glued to Spencer.
âWhat-â Confused, Spencer gives him a doe-eyed look. âWhat fatherly talk?â
âThe baseball bat rule,â the dark-skinned man chimes in. He doesnât even try to hide his amusement. âYou break her heart, he breaks your neck.â
Spencerâs expression falls, his already pale face turns into a shade of grey. It turns out that the rhetorical baseball wasnât rhetorical after all.
âYeah, something like that.â
âI, uhâŚâ Spencer trails off, trying to gather his thoughts after one of his colleagues just promised to maim him. âI think we should get her out of here.â
As much as Rossi is reluctant to have you out of his sight when youâre in such a fragile state, he knows itâs for the best. Besides, he doesnât actually want to bash Spencerâs head in. That means he needs to delegate somebody else to take care of you. In some way, Rossi is glad that this somebody is none other than Spencer Reid. Any other man might not realise what it means to Rossi to leave you vulnerable.
âCome on, kid,â he whispers into your ear. âGo with Reid, heâll take care of you.â
For the second time that day, Spencer answers with a âyes, sirâ. Only this time, his voice isnât absent. Thereâs a sense of awareness, a heavy weight, to his response. Neither Rossi nor Spencer means something temporary. Here, on the couch of your apartment, they make an agreement - father-in-law to son-in-law.
âI donât want to look,â you argue in a meek voice.
âYou donât have to,â Spencer reassures you softly. âThe paramedics already took him.â
Rossi watches as Spencer takes your arms and hangs them around his neck. As though you are without a will, your body follows the young man wherever heâs leading you. One of Spencerâs hands keeps your forehead glued to his shoulder, the other holds you securely around your waist. The two of you walk out of the apartment without you ever seeing the entirety of the aftermath. Perhaps itâs for the better.
As Derek, Spencer and you are gone from his sight, Hotch makes his way to Rossi. A faint smile dances along his lips. Once again, thereâs that glint of profound understanding in his eyes - the look of a father recognising another father.
âYou lied to me,â he says, forcing a cold tone.
Rossi looks up at him from under furrowed eyebrows. âExcuse me?â
âYou said you donât have children.â
David Rossi looks around the living room. His eyes wander along the titles of movies from the 1940s, self-help books and a single picture frame beside the TV. The photograph shows you and Rossi at your graduation. How come he sees the truth only now?
"mikes gonna hear good luck babe in 40 years and lose his mind" "mikes gonna hear conan gray in 40 years and go crazy" mike is gonna watch dead poets society like a week after will leaves hawkins and in a fit of insanity is going to fly to new york and show up at his door unannounced like the messy gay disaster that he is
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