It's Bubba

Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Seven years after failing to become an LAPD officer, you return to Los Angeles as a literary analyst with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit to catch a serial killer.

Warnings: angst, violence, discussions of autopsies and forensic science, literary references, fluff and banter, improper use of a meat locker

Word Count: 13k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

As the slick black SUV with US government plates parks outside the LAPD Mid-Wilshire station, you try not to reminisce. It would be too easy to remember how excited you were to walk in on your first day after the police academy, too easy to remember the devastation and heartbreak you felt walking through the same doors after surrendering your badge. You open the car door and focus on the current job, keeping your head down as you follow your team into the station that once felt like home. After finding an empty space out of the officers’ way to wait while your boss speaks to the watch commander and captain, you unlock your phone and scroll through the case details you reviewed on the flight, looking for anything you might have missed.

“Can I help you?”

You look up from your phone, the case detail email disappearing as you press the power button and smile at the LAPD officer standing before you.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for the rest of my team,” you explain before brandishing your badge.

“Oh, no worries. This is my first time working in a task force,” she replies. “It’s exciting.”

You nod and subconsciously tug on your sleeves. Officer Chen is obviously a rookie, and her enthusiasm is refreshing.

“Is this your first time in LA?” she asks.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Chen, Bradford wants to see you before roll call,” another officer calls.

“Is Bradford your training officer?” you ask.

“He is. Do you know him?”

You look around, then say, “Tim is on, what? His tenth plain clothes day washout?”

“Eleventh,” she answers, surprised.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Chen.” You offer your hand and say, “I’m number five.”

Chen’s jaw drops before she asks, “And now you’re FBI? How did that happen?”

“Long story… But I’m a literary analyst for the behavioral analysis unit, not exactly a field agent.”

A passing officer stops, then steps backward to look at you. “Are you on Hotchner’s team?”

“I am. I assume you remember him?”

“You know an FBI agent, Officer Lopez?” Chen asks.

“He was responsible for over 100 convictions of corrupt cops six or seven years ago. Five of them were LAPD, and one was our watch commander,” Lopez explains. “Chen, we need to get to roll call.”

You nod to Lucy, then return your attention to an email from Penelope.

“Your phone should be at least twelve inches from your face to limit blue light exposure,” Spencer says as he enters the station. “Sixteen to eighteen inches is preferable.”

“Spencer,” you reply, smiling as you turn toward him. “Penelope used what appears to be 6-point font and then zoomed out. I appreciate the concern for my eye health but take it up with her.”

Spencer frowns and murmurs, “Sounds like a job for Morgan.”

“What’s that, pretty boy?” Derek inquires as if he was summoned by the utterance of his name. “Gettin’ girlie here a date?”

“In Los Angeles?” you ask incredulously. “Hard pass.”

“Right, because the location is the issue with the plan. Not the fact that we’re working a case, and new evidence was discovered this morning,” Hotch deadpans from your side.

“I can multitask, boss man,” Derek defends, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

“Psychologists have determined the human brain isn’t designed for successful multitasking,” Reid begins. “It can cause switch cost, which results when attention and information retainment are suddenly redirected from one task to another, and cognitive efficiency and performance diminish-“

“Says the walking brain with at least fourteen tabs open,” Derek jokes.

“They’re waiting for us,” Hotch reminds. “I mean, only if you’re ready.”

“Your station,” Derek tells you, shaking your shoulders gently as he follows you toward the roll call room.

“… and there is no excuse for failure to communicate,” Sergeant Wade Grey continues as you follow Hotch into the roll call room.

You stand between Hotch and Derek as he speaks and look around the room. Fourteen officers are seated at the tables, listening intently even as their eyes stray to the case board. JJ joins you a moment later, mouthing an apology to Hotch before passing him a folder.

“More evidence?” you whisper.

She nods, then whispers something to Spencer, who furrows his brows and squints at the case board. You know the look, and it increases your concern about the case. Though there have been two notes and a book tied to the previous crime scenes, you’re unsure why  Hotch decided you needed to join them in LA. You could have stayed in Virginia with Penelope, you think, but you trust him and the rest of your team. Turning away from JJ, you fight the urge to peek into Hotch’s open folder as you run your eyes up and down the rows of officers. You recognize Chen and Lopez from this morning, but stop when you see Tim Bradford.

Hotch notices your shoulders stiffen in the split second before you relax, and he taps his elbow against you. You look up at him, and he nods once to reassure you. You’re not alone, and unlike the last time you were in this station, someone else knows the truth of what happened.

“Any questions about the case?” Grey asks. He sighs when someone raises their hand and says, “Yes, Nolan?”

Nolan doesn’t seem concerned with Grey’s lethargy. “What’s the connection between the zoo and the first victim?”

Spencer shifts beside you, and Derek shakes his head in amusement. You can imagine the rambling fighting to get out of Reid, and you smile at Derek rather than laugh.

“I should’ve been clearer. Any questions about our side of the investigation?” Grey amends, and this time the officers stay quiet. “In that case, I’d like to introduce Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the FBI, the BAU unit chief, who has brought his team across the country to assist in this case.”

Hotch walks to the front of the room and sets his files on the podium. He fixes an evaluating glare on the officers before him, then nods.

JJ leans toward you and asks, “Remember how intimidating that look used to be?”

“Still makes me stand up a little straighter,” you admit.

“We’re here to help,” Hotch begins. “But that means that we need you to be as committed to solving this case as we are. If you’re not ready for that, you’re free to go.” No one moves, so Hotch says, “Good. Sergeant Grey has briefed me on each of you. You’re good officers, but street smarts and police procedure won’t get this monster off the street.”

“But talking about the suspect’s feelings will?” one of the officers jokes.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise, and his serious look fades into a knowing glare. “You must be Bradford.”

JJ takes your hand, and Derek exhales. They know more about your history in LA than the people in LA do, and you appreciate their friendship and presence.

“Sorry, sir,” Tim replies. “I only meant that there is tangible evidence at these scenes, and it seems to me that concrete proof will help us find this guy faster than dissecting his mind through his habits and words.”

Hotch returns behind the podium and admits, “I understand how our process could seem like a waste of time, and criminal profiling is not an exact science, we’re wrong sometimes, but you know as well as I do that there’s no one right way to solve a crime. The important thing in this situation is to get a killer off the streets before he claims more lives. If our behavioral analysis can assist in that, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“I can assure you that you have the LAPD’s complete cooperation,” Sergeant Grey interjects, looking pointedly at Tim. “And anyone unwilling to do so will be removed from this task force.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and nods, a position you remember well from your limited days as a rookie. You expected this type of attitude from him and possibly more cops. You truly believe that the BAU can offer insights Tim can’t glean from analyzing a crime scene or going through the processed evidence.

“Do any of you have questions for me or my communications liaison?” Hotch asks.

Several officers ask questions about task force protocol, what your team does, and other run-of-the-mill inquiries about the federal agency and its duties.

“I believe it is time for introductions?” Hotch says, stepping to the side as he welcomes Sergeant Grey back to the front of the room.

“The LAPD has selected fourteen of its best officers-“ He turns away from the room and lowers his voice to tell Hotch, “If you’re against rookies on the team, I’ve got some other officers on standby.”

“If you trust them, they’re welcome to stay.”

Grey nods and turns, then continues, “Officer Lopez, Officer Bishop and her rookie, John Nolan, Officer Janssen…”

You tune out most of the officers’ names, trusting Spencer to fill in any blanks for you, until you hear, “Officer Bradford and his rookie, Lucy Chen.”

You were in Lucy’s position just over seven years ago, and now you’re looking in from the outside. You love your job and appreciate the FBI and the BAU for giving you a home and a rewarding career. Yet, sometimes you’re still plagued by the inevitable wondering, what if?

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Hotch responds. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, behind you is my team: Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau…” Hotch meets your eyes before introducing you, and you watch him rather than Tim, who turns quickly in his chair and stares wide-eyed at you before controlling his expression and returning to his usual composed demeanor.

“How is a literary analyst helpful?” someone questions softly.

“This unit has taken down more serial criminals than you can name,” Wade snaps. “Show a little respect.”

“We’d like to brief you before the media,” Hotch explains. “If it’s possible to reconvene before tomorrow’s patrol begins, of course.”

“Not a problem. I want all of you back in here fifteen minutes before beginning of shift tomorrow,” Wade tells his officers. “Keep the conversation in this room, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the officers respond as they stand and file out of the door, some whispering together, others leaving quietly and alone.

“I think that went well,” Derek says as Hotch gathers his things.

“Socially speaking, there was a divide and a complete lack of faith in us,” Spencer argues. “Though there is the question of authority and a misunderstanding regarding our purpose and purview.”

“Pretty boy and I are going to go find some coffee.”

As Derek and Spencer leave, and JJ excuses herself to answer a phone call, you’re left alone with your current supervisor and former watch commander.

“It’s good to see you,” Wade says, smiling as he pulls you into a hug.

“You, too,” you respond. “Sorry I haven’t been back as much as I’d like.”

“I understand,” Wade assures. “And it seems that you’ve found your perfect place in the BAU.”

“We like to think so,” Hotch agrees. “Although…”

“Bradford won’t be a problem,” you interrupt.

Hotch tilts his head questioningly, and you add, “He fights back on new things, but he’s a good cop, so he’ll do what’s right in the end.”

Hotch hesitates, then asks, “Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“He’s the best I’ve got,” Wade comments. “But if there’s a question about him…”

“He’s Morgan, but more serious,” you tell Hotch. He doesn’t change his stare, so you sigh and promise, “I want him here. There’s no bad blood between us and he’s going to be invaluable in this.”

Hotch nods and looks away from you finally and begins asking Wade about one of the files turned in the night before, which you understand as your cue to leave. After you step out into the bullpen, Derek returns to your side.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Telling Officer Chen about the health benefits of doing something boring. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Hotch doesn’t seem to think so.”

Derek gasps and holds your shoulder to exclaim, “You have two overprotective father figures to work for now!”

You consider arguing for less than a second before you realize he’s right. Wade stayed in touch after you left LA. Hotch has never left room for you to wonder how he sees you and his need to protect you. So, you’re working on a case that feels like two different versions of your personality, and parts of your life have combined into one perfect yet terrifying case. And you haven’t even talked to Tim yet.

“I hope our hotel has a hot tub,” you lament.

“Plain clothes day washout number five, huh?” Lucy asks Tim as they patrol Los Angeles.

Tim shakes his head and doesn’t answer. He’s gone seven years without talking about you, only having to relive the heartbreak on your face and the disappointment he felt during his loneliest nights. Tim saw great potential in you, considered you more than a rookie, and taking your badge had affected him in a way he never expected. Now, you’re in the FBI, which is news to him, and you’re working on a case that he hasn’t been able to solve even with ten crime scenes to work with.

“What happened?” Lucy tries.

“None of your business, Chen,” he snaps. “That case, Hotchner’s team, all of it stays in the roll call room for now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A bell chimes above your head as you enter your favorite Los Angeles diner. It’s your first night in the city, and since you don’t know how long you’ll be here, you wanted to revisit it while you had a chance. When you mentioned the diner, your team gave you their orders to bring to the hotel, where they’re currently reviewing the autopsy reports. It feels wrong to leave them, but you sigh in the comfort of a place that once provided you a refuge after long days.

“Old habits?” you ask as you approach the counter.

Tim looks up from the laminate and watches you. You don’t meet his gaze but look at the menu while you wait for the waitress to return. This was your favorite diner when you started at the LAPD, and Tim has never given himself time to wonder why he kept coming back even after you left.

“Something like that,” he says. “So, uh, the FBI. That’s incredible.”

You shrug. “Not what I wanted, but I love it.”

Tim nods, unsure what else to say. You’re not the girl you were on day one in the academy, not even the girl who left the station in tears after washing out. Tim still sees you, the woman who fought for what was right never gave up, and was smarter than she ever realized. That’s not the person he saw your last week on patrol, but he knew you were still in there somewhere.

“How long have you been with the BAU?” he inquires.

The waitress returns, and you take the excuse to not answer Tim. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and read a large order from the screen, then pass a shiny, FBI-issued credit card over the counter.

“It’ll be a few minutes, hun,” the waitress informs as she returns the card. “Feel free to have a seat.”

You thank her and slide onto a stool, ensuring you leave an empty seat between you and Tim.

“Failing to become a police officer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced,” you confess. “A few months later, Aaron Hotchner knocked on my door. There was a case nearby, a serial rapist who was leaving personalized love letters with every single victim. He found my résumé on a local job board and came to ask for help because of my background. The rest just fell into place, I guess.”

“You get to carry,” Tim points out, gesturing toward the holster on your hip, concealed from everyone else by your shirt. “They don’t let people who just ‘fall into place’ do that.”

“I did everything by the book, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m wondering what changed on plain clothes day,” he responds. “You were on track to be an amazing officer, and then that last week, you just… something changed.”

“I did.”

“There’s more to it.”

“There’s really not,” you insist. “If you don’t want to be on this task force-“

“I do. I wish you could see that you have the potential to lead it.”

“Hotch saved my life. I trust him.” Tim understands the part you don’t say: that you trust him more than yourself.

The waitress returns with two full bags, and you stand as you take them from the counter.

“Goodnight, Tim. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

As you leave, the bell chimes over the door again, and Tim hears your voice in his head, the promise of another chance, but he doesn't miss the fact that you leave every time you see each other.

“What if - and hear me out on this - you just told him the truth,” Derek suggests.

You take a drink from a cheap Styrofoam cup and nod. “You’re right, Derek, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You know, most hotel chains serving breakfast fail to maintain proper culinary heat-“

Hotch raises one finger before Spencer can ruin breakfast for everyone. “Don’t.”

“I agree with Morgan,” JJ says. “There’s clearly questions there, and if you explain what happened, he’ll trust you more.”

“And he can deal with some of the guilt,” Hotch grumbles.

“What guilt?” you inquire, pausing with a cheap metal fork in your hand.

“He clearly blames himself for letting you lose your position,” Hotch explains.

“He knows how good you are, so that final week probably doesn’t make any sense to him,” Derek adds.

“He doesn’t,” you mutter. “He told me last night-“

“You saw him last night?” JJ exclaims.

“I ran into him at the diner.”

“He still goes to your diner?” Derek questions.

“It’s just a diner! But I saw him there and he insisted that there was more to what happened than me changing.”

“And you lied to him?” Hotch responds. “It’s over, you can tell him, you can shout it from the top of the Chinese theater.”

“That would be illegal,” Spencer mumbles.

“And wouldn’t change anything,” you add. “We’re here to work a case, not mend a bridge that has been-“ you scramble for the right word before finishing, “disintegrating for nearly a decade.”

Derek groans as he leans back in his seat, and Hotch finally looks up to say, “If this gets in the way of the case, I’ll have Garcia email him everything he needs to know.”

“I’m cutting holes in all of your quarter-zips tonight,” you threaten in return.

Hotch frowns and mouths, You’ll never find them all.

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as the door closes behind the twentieth and final member of the task force. “SSA Hotchner is going to fill you all in.”

“Thanks for coming in early,” Hotch begins. “There have been no new developments in the case since yesterday, but my team has created a preliminary profile based on the preexisting evidence and details from the first ten victims.”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from Garcia, and you exit the room to answer. “Whatcha got for us, gorgeous?”

“Ooh, does Derek know you’re talking to me like this?” she replies, her keyboard clicking in the background.

“Not like he’s competition,” you say with a playful scoff. “Find anything on the deep dive?”

“Nothing inherently helpful. The prelim suspects are all pretty similar, though one of them did alibi out. Carson Gillery was working remotely from Chicago during the second and third murders. Hotel and airline checks corroborate that.”

“I’ll tell Hotch. Anything else?”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Fine. Why?”

She stops typing suddenly and then inhales sharply.

“Garcia?” You ask.

The line beeps as she disconnects, and a phone on the desk closest to you begins ringing. A Virginia area code appears on the caller ID, and you stretch across the desk to pick up the receiver.

“Penelope?” you ask hurriedly.

“He’s in the data!” she explains, typing again. “He’s not doing much, but someone is overriding minor coding and there was another line tied into our call. I could hear him breathing; thought you were crying at first, but now I’m running a backward search to find this psycho.”

“None of the prelim suspects would know how to do that,” you point out.

“Uh oh,” Penelope breathes. “I think…  I think he left you a message.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in the seventh victim’s ME report, overwriting the details of the posthumous wounding to the back. It says 2/18/17… It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

“Henley,” you murmur, trying to connect the dots as you forget the first half of the message.

“There’s more,” Penelope says. “A copy of your one-way ticket to Virginia with an alternate ID that says, ‘thanks for the perfect opening night.’”

“It’s about me?” you whisper.

“I’m going to trace these messages,” Penelope declares. “You tell Hotch about this, and please, please do not try to investigate this on your own.”

“You got it. But can you send me a scan of page 39, no- 38, from the William Ernest Henley book in my office? I need the annotated copy of Invictus.”

“You got it. Tell Morgan and I said hi and I’m wearing-“

You hang up and take a deep breath as you return the receiver to the cradle.

“Agent Hotchner,” you call as you return. “I need a word.”

“Let me finish-“

“There’s been a development,” you interrupt. “An urgent one.”

Hotch sees the look in your eyes and calls Spencer to the front of the room to continue reviewing the patterns in the killings and to discuss the psychological traits and drivers they suspect the killer will have. Derek watches as Hotch and Grey follow you out of the roll call room. Meanwhile, JJ watches Officer Tim Bradford as he manages to conceal his concern but not his interest as he watches you through the glass walls.

“Garcia called with information on the prelim suspects,” you explain. “Someone tapped into the call, and then… whoever it was started manipulating her date on the FBI server. She did say that Carson Gillery alibied out, he was out of state for several of the murders, but whoever this guy is, he is incredibly close to this case.”

“Manipulated the data how?” Hotch asks.

You wring your fingers together as you answer, “He left a message. Garcia thinks it was for me.”

“Left it where?” Grey inquires.

“The seventh victim Mel Houghton’s autopsy report. It was a date and a line from a William Ernest Henley poem.”

“The date?” Hotch presses.

You inhale deeply before saying, “February 18, 2017.”

“The day you lost your position in the LAPD,” Grey remembers. “What does it mean?”

You look toward Hotch, and he shakes his head twice. There isn’t an obvious answer to Grey’s question, but the implication that this case has something to do with you isn’t good.

“He… he also had a picture of my plane ticket to Virginia and added a note, something about ‘thanks for the opening night,’” you add. “Hotch, if you have to take me off this case-“

“We need you,” he interjects. “The literary aspect of this case is progressing.”

“Does that mean we could limit our suspect search?” Wade asks, looking between you and Hotch.

“Not likely,” you reply with a sigh. “Plenty of literature enjoyers can’t be located purely based on that. There’s no evidence he’s educated or active in book clubs, debates, anything.”

“Garcia’s tracing the data changes?” Hotch assumes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we work what we can until she gets back to us.”

“I need to see the novellas left with the victims,” you request. Hotch begins to speak, and you add, “Not the scans, the actual, physical stories left with their bodies.”

“I’ll get someone to go through the evidence with you,” Wade assures. “Any preference?”

You look into the roll call room through the glass sheeting, your eyes drifting past Tim as you decide, “Officer Chen, please.”

Wade nods once, then returns to the podium inside as Spencer concludes his comments on the psychology of the killer’s modus operandi.

“What are you expecting to find?” Hotch asks you.

“I really wish I knew,” you answer softly. “Hotch, what if this is all my fault?”

“The delusions of a killer have nothing to do with you. If something you did as an officer triggered him to start, there is no reason to assume he wouldn’t have started later. He’s clearly reality-challenged, living in a space between this world and the events of his imagination, and that is not on you.”

You nod, rubbing your forehead as you think. “Literature is clearly important to him. If it comes to it, will you let me go with JJ to a press conference?”

Hotch hesitates, and you know he doesn’t like the idea of putting his team in public view, unless absolutely necessary, but he says, “Fine. Only if it gets that far.”

“Hotch? February 2017 had massive storms. Urban flooding, mudslides, wind, snowfall, there was mayhem that week. I mean, a police chase with a DUI driver, a car fell into a sinkhole. I used some of those cases to…” You trail off, remembering all of the things you did wrong.

“Talk to me,” Hotch encourages.

“Any one of the people who had contact with the LAPD that weekend could have been pushed over the edge. He could have been killing for seven years, since whatever happened, but just got bold and brazen enough to make it public.”

Hotch leaves your side for a moment to wave Spencer out. When he joins you and Hotch in the bullpen, Hotch gestures for you to explain your theory.

“I suppose,” Spencer muses. “The killings have progressed minimally since the first victim three months ago. It does point toward a more practiced unsub, someone who has, in their mind, perfected their method. Yes, it’s completely possible.”

“The books,” Hotch points out. “Those are new. Unsolved cases with novellas or poems shoved down victims’ throats would have caught someone’s attention by now.”

“Serial killers gain experience with each new offense,” Spencer explains. “The learning curve is steep because of the logistics it takes to commit a murder. If he’s been killing without being caught, the thrill of killing would empower him to take more chances. In this case, the trophy aspect of his MO could easily have changed, but his idiosyncratic psychological needs remain the same.”

“We don’t have enough people to comb through seven years of cold cases to find similar killings,” you lament.

“We do have the media,” JJ interjects, sliding her phone into her pocket as she approaches. “It’s a long shot, but if we could find one or two, would it be enough to complete a profile?”

“An estimate of how long he’s been at this, with Garcia’s trace and the analysis of the literature at the scene… Yes, we could establish a firm MO and improve the unsub’s psychological profile.”

“Hold on,” Derek urges into his phone as he joins the rest of your team. He looks at you and says, “Give me your phone.”

You pass it to him, and he flips it in his free hand as he listens. He gives you an apologetic look and then drops it.

“Morgan!” Hotch exclaims as Derek brings the heel of his boot down on your phone screen.

“Unless Penelope told you to do that, I’m going to be very mad,” you say.

“Alright, baby girl, tell us all,” Derek requests as he puts his phone on speaker.

“I found our guy, or his IP address at least,” Penelope says.

“And?” Hotch asks. “Where is he?”

“That’s the thing. He’s in an apartment a few miles from the station.”

You recite your previous address and Penelope murmurs, “That’s the one.”

Penelope explains how she traced his data trail before you interrupt to ask, “Is there anything about another cop in it?”

“Uh, there were some numbers,” she answers.

“34381?” you guess. “And 6147?”

“Amongst others, yeah. Do they mean something to you?”

“One is Officer Bradford’s badge number. The other is Sergeant Kenneth Adamson.”

“I’ll run the rest of the numbers against the LAPD database and get back to you.”

“Are all of our phones in need of stomping?” Spencer asks before Penelope hangs up.

“Not yet,” she replies, and then the line clicks.

“Running everything is going to take too long,” you complain. “He’s probably already targeted his next victim. He could be writing the novella for all we know!”

“His system is organized,” Spencer explains. “We can use that. The past victims have been a week or more apart. Even if he does change his timeline because we’re here, he needs time to plan, write, correct?”

“Yes,” you answer. “He could do it overnight if the circumstances called for it.”

“Assuming he’ll take a break between kills, however…”

“We have two days,” Derek concludes. “Let’s hope he’s not too organized, doc.”

“He’s a criminal,” JJ says. “They all get stupid and forgetful.”

“We don’t change anything. He’s changing the rules, pushing himself, but we’re not playing his game,” Hotch says. “And, for the moment, we keep the LAPD connection to ourselves.”

“What if they could help?” JJ argues.

“No.”

“Act like we have a week, and he won’t expect us to be ready to go,” you say. “In that case, I’ll start analyzing the literature.”

“Speaking of which.” JJ pulls a paper from her bag and says, “The homicide detective said CSI found this on a secondary scene analysis.”

You read the scan of the evidence, and your eyes widen as you look up at Derek. “Good thing you came with. He’s building a bomb.”

“Whoa,” Derek says with little intonation in his voice, but his hands raise as he moves his head in surprise. “Explain the progression from writing stories to bombs.”

“Postmodern literature is the most recent literary movement that contains vulgarity in diction and violence. It’s often used as an authentic portrayal of humanity, depicting violence against gender, race, and the human body,” Spencer answers. “Epic poetry was one of the first storytelling forms to depict interpersonal violence.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer’s reply to the rhetorical question, and you add, “The Victorian literary period was marked by violence through the use of suffering and physical dangers as literary themes. The gothic genre aestheticized the darker elements of human life, explored sexual violence, dramatic monologues, and realistic violence like robbery, beheadings, even serial murders.”

“Which affects us how?” Hotch inquires.

“William Ernest Henley was a prominent figure in the later years of the Victorian movement. He sent lines from Invictus to Garcia, and that piece has been the poem of choice for extremists and terrorists to justify their violence in the last few years. There is some hardship beyond our killer’s control, and this is how he’s dealing with it.”

“Still doubting your hypothesis?” Hotch deadpans.

“Wouldn’t he have to stop all of the suffering somehow?” JJ asks.

“Yes. But he hasn’t decided on an endgame yet, we’ll see the signs of that when it comes. The beginning of a plan for a bomb isn’t concerning yet. For now, we continue as planned, but he will likely strike again in 24 to 48 hours.”

“They’re getting concerned,” Derek whispers, waving toward the roll call room.

“I’ll handle them. You have your assignments,” Hotch states. “We reconvene tonight after end of shift.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree with the rest of your team.

As you return to the roll call room between JJ and Derek, you keep your eyes on the front of the room, ignoring how Tim turns to look at you. Hotch gives an acceptable excuse for your team’s private meeting and then provides tasks with Sergeant Wade.

“What about me?” Lucy asks as the other officers exit into the bullpen.

“You’re with me,” you reply, stepping toward her as you smile. “If that’s okay.”

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. She clears her throat and amends, “Yes, of course, I’d love to help.”

“Keep me updated,” Hotch tells you.

“Yes, sir. Oh, and…” You move your fingers in a scissor motion to remind him of your previous threat before concluding, “Spencer has the information you asked for.”

Hotch nods once, and Wade smiles. Suddenly, you’re hit with the feeling of being torn apart, stuck between the life you wanted and the one you have. When the case is solved, the killer is behind bars, and you’ll have to leave these people again. At least you’ve finally remembered that planes travel both ways.

“Ten victims,” you say as you pin the last picture to the bulletin board in the office you and Lucy have set up. “Six novellas, a book, two pamphlets, and a bloody poem.”

Lucy’s eyes follow the red thread connecting the victims to their evidence and the order of the killings as you stare at the T.S. Eliot poem from the fifth scene with your hands on your hips.

Plus, a William Ernest Henley poem meant to bring me into the killer’s world, you think.

“Ready?” you ask Lucy.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You laugh and invite her to use your first name, then spread the evidence pictures from the first murder on the metal desk. It isn’t the same as reviewing the physical books and poems, the thick paper holding the twisted ideas of a serial killer left warm from the printer beside the lives he claimed for the sake of his own story. It’s the best you can do for now.

“Janice Davis, our first victim. The killer stapled a San Diego Zoo pamphlet to her chest.” You flip through the case file and add, “Antemortem. Ouch.”

“That looks like a building staple,” Lucy muses, leaning over the picture.

“It is. Your forensics lab determined it’s a Powernail galvanized seven-eighths inch crown staple. Intended purpose is woodworking and flooring, and one side of the staple extends out at an angle, so even if she was conscious long enough to try removing it… well, it would’ve hurt more to take it out.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“Unknown,” you read, furrowing your brows. “Manner of death: homicide. But it looks like they couldn’t determine the cause. Any chance ME Daniella Smith is still around?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy confesses. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry, you’re good at this, I keep forgetting you’re a rookie.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever told me.”

You smile, then return to the evidence before you. “The next victim, Gregory Hunter, was found with a copy of Orwell’s Animal Farm open beneath his head. The page, as far as I can tell, is irrelevant.”

“Then what’s the point of leaving it there?”

“Hunter was Davis’s boss, and apparently they had been involved a few years prior to working together. Animal Farm presents Orwell’s ideas on power, equality, socialism and corruption.”

“All things the San Diego Zoo has been accused of abusing throughout history,” Lucy adds. “Along with the animals.”

“Precisely. Then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that our killer was wronged by a failing class structure, abuse of power and control, inequality, or socialism.”

“That’s a lot of options.”

“Which is why we keep looking. Victim number three had a personalized novella…”

“The method of killing has been consistent with every victim. They’re injured, kept alive for three to twelve hours, and then killed. Janice Davis, victim one, was ruled as undetermined cause of death, but there was no evidence of blunt force trauma, gunshot wounds or poisoning, which we’d expect based on the sudden killings of the others,” Spencer explains.

“You can tune him out,” Derek whispers. “When his voice drops an octave, he’s about to ask a question.”

Tim nods, but he wasn’t listening to begin with. His mind keeps drifting to thoughts of you. He watched you talk to your team, has worked with you, and knows the depth of your talent and potential. Yet he continues to wonder how you truly came to work at such an elite division in the FBI and what you’re hiding.

“Do any of you have experience with crime scene investigation?” Spencer asks.

Several officers raise their hands, including Angela. Tim has guarded scenes and looked around on his own time, but he isn’t sure when his unique skills will be required for this case.

“Morgan,” Hotch calls from the doorway. “Take an officer to gather the literary evidence. Someone with a station ID has to sign it out for us.” He looks towards the front of the room and sighs. “And tell Spencer to wrap it up.”

“Doctor Morgan,” Derek calls as he stands. “Perhaps we should move on to the evidence snapshots and physical profile?”

Spencer nods and shifts his attention to the tools and proposed appearance of the killer.

“I’ve got a station ID,” Tim tells Derek. “If you need that evidence now.”

Derek sighs but waves for Tim to join him. He remains quiet while they walk to the evidence lockers, largely because he’s evaluating Tim. Derek knows about your time in Los Angeles, and even if he did encourage you to talk to Tim, he isn’t sure if Tim deserves your time.

“You were military?” Derek asks as they wait for the evidence to be thoroughly signed out and accounted for.

“Army,” Tim responds. “FBI always the goal for you?”

“Oh, nah, I started as a cop up in Chicago. Things just happened.”

“Seems to be a lot of that,” Tim murmurs, remembering your ‘fell into place’ excuse.

“Why be a TO?”

Tim shrugs. He’s never had a good answer for that question, and if he starts thinking, he might get caught up on his fifth washout.

“Special Agent Morgan,” the evidence officer says as he places a large box on the ledge. “Your supervisor has to sign this form upon evidence return.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

Derek picks up the box and steps back, but the officer places another box behind it. Tim takes it without a word and follows Derek to an office with a closed door.

He taps his foot against the door and calls, “Open up, pretty girl, these muscles are just for show!”

You smile as you open the door, and Tim clenches his jaw at the realization that Derek Morgan just called you ‘pretty girl.’

“I fear you’ve mistaken me for Penelope,” you tell him as you hold the door. “Thank you so much.”

Tim nods as he places the box down, and then looks at the case board.

“Oh, Tim,” Lucy says. “Do you know if ME Daniella Smith is still working?”

“She retired,” Tim replies.

You drop your shoulders and nod. “Thanks.”

“I can get her address and phone number, though,” he offers, partially to help and partially because he hates how disappointed you look.

“That would be amazing!” you reply happily. “Lucy, feel free to go with him, move around for a few minutes.”

Lucy follows Tim, and you close the door to talk to Derek. You explain that the literature points toward class structure, abuse of power, or socialism.

“Maybe he should move to Canada instead of killing then,” Derek muses. “Have you told Hotch?”

“Not yet. There’s also the string of violence in the literature. At first, it was metaphorical violence, a symbolic representation of the dangers of power in society, but it’s gotten more blatant, more Victorian in its realism.”

“The novellas?” he guesses.

“I haven’t gotten to read them in their entirety yet, I’ll start that now, but I’d guess he’s outlining his preferred method of violence as well as the reason.”

“Think it will shed some light on the explosives schematics? Which, by the way, are pretty weak. A bomb like that would be hard pressed to flip a Prius, it wouldn’t do major damage unless it was an incredibly confined space.”

“Ask Spencer what he thinks about the space,” you suggest. “The killings have been in relatively open spaces, but he’d know better than me if it means anything.”

“I’ll run it by him if I can get a word in.”

You laugh at Derek’s joke, but he turns serious again to ask, “Are you okay? I know this can’t be easy for you, working a case here after seven years.”

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I’ll let you know if that changes and I need a Morgan hug.”

Derek smiles as he opens the door, and Tim and Lucy return soon after.

“She lives three miles from here and said she’d talk to you,” Lucy relays.

“Let me tell my team.”

Tim raises a hand to stop you as you gather your things and repeats, “She said she’d talk to you. She recognized your name.”

“Oh.” Hotch walks by the door, and you step out quickly to explain, “I found the ME who couldn’t determine Janice Davis’s cause of death. She’s retired, but lives nearby and agreed to talk to me, but only me.”

Hotch weighs his options, but when he sees Tim behind you, he suggests, “Then you should probably take your TO.”

Your eyes widen in shock, but you trust Hotch, so you nod and step back into the office.

“You don’t have to,” you begin as Tim asks, “Ready?”

You fail to find the right words for several moments, then say, “Lucy, do you want to help Derek Morgan review crime scenes for construction and security?”

“Sure! Let me know if you need more help with this stuff when you get back,” she responds. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” you say, though you think I’ll need it.

“Do you want to drive or should I?” Tim asks once you’re alone.

You lift keys from your pocket and say, “I will. Do you think Smith will be any help?”

“We can hope.”

“Can I address the elephant in the room?” Sergeant Grey asks.

“Be my guest,” Hotch answers, not looking up from his improved profile.

“Bradford isn’t operating at his usual level.”

“She is.”

“Which is why I think there may be more to his side of the story.”

Hotch looks up to propose, “You think he had something to do with Adamson’s misconduct?”

“No,” Wade assures, “nothing like that. But two days of fire-able offenses and not a single correction from her TO? Bradford either didn’t care that she gave up or, for some reason, he wasn’t in a position to.”

“The corruption we found ran deep. There’s a chance he was hoping to get a piece of the takeaway… or he was in a similar position to her.” Hotch reaches for his phone quickly after he speaks and raises it to his ear. “Garcia, I need you to run the badge numbers again. Tell me how many of them had a direct connection to Keith Adamson.”

“One second,” Penelope requests. “Software’s running it now. Oh, the medical examiner, Smith, she resigned less than an hour after the charges against Adamson came in. Thought that was interesting.”

“That’s one connection.”

“Okay, yep, all ten of the badge numbers embedded in the coding have connections to Adamson. Seven subordinates, his captain, and two IA investigators.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch ends the call and tells Wade, “Whatever Adamson did, it wasn’t just skimming the evidence pile, it pushed our killer over the edge.”

“I remember Janice Davis,” Daniella Smith says as she passes you a mug of hot tea. “She was young, twenty-six, I believe, and had a construction staple in her sternum.”

“Your official report listed the cause of death as indiscernible,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the mug as your thigh presses against Tim’s on the small settee. “Do you remember if you may have had any hypotheses?”

Daniella sighs as she lowers into a chair across from you. “It was asphyxiation. Her mouth was sealed with superglue, and she couldn't get enough air after a few hours of lying horizontally.”

Tim looks at you before demanding, “Why didn’t you put that in the report?”

“I was scared.”

“And you think the people living here weren’t?”

“Tim,” you whisper harshly. You shake your head as Daniella shrinks in her seat. “Why were you scared, Ms. Harris?” She shakes slightly, and you give her a moment to breathe before you ask, “Did someone at the police station ask you to lie?”

She laughs once, a sad sound before she wipes her nose and corrects, “He threatened me if I didn’t.”

“Who?” Tim asks.

“Sergeant Keith Adamson. He was the watch commander at the time. My career, my life, my marriage, he threatened to ruin it all if I didn’t cover up how she was killed.”

“Was there residue?” you inquire. “From the superglue?”

“There were trace amounts, and the lab was able to identify it easily.”

“It was the only death to be covered up, why do you think that is?”

Daniella looks up quickly, her eyes wide as she states, “Because it was an experiment. The others were killed more conventional, faster: a slit throat, hammer to the temple. Her death would have taken time.”

“Was the time of death in your report accurate?” you ask. “Because it was around the same time as the others even with the changed MO.”

“It was,” she explains, “he must have taken her earlier to get a head start.”

“You said it was an experiment,” Tim repeats. “She was victim number one. If it didn’t go well, wouldn’t the others have just been an improved, or changed, MO?”

Daniella frowns, and you lean forward to ask, “How many more were there?”

Tim slams the passenger door as you return to the car. Daniella disappears from the front window, crying as you start the engine.

“The FBI will charge me if this car gets damaged,” you mumble as you shift into reverse.

“Thirty deaths that she knows of!” Tim exclaims. “How could she cover all of those up?”

“Pretty easily. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.”

“This monster has been at it for years. You were probably on the job for some of his murders, how can you say that?”

“It’s not my place to judge everyone involved in this case, Tim. Not yours either.”

Tim scoffs, but he’s interrupted by your phone ringing. You answer by saying your last name and Hotch’s voice fills the car as he speaks.

“There’s been another murder,” he says. You slap the steering wheel before he continues, “A double murder. I’m sending you the address. Drop Bradford at the station and meet us there.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the call ends, you grit your teeth to keep yourself from yelling. You spent too much time with the retired ME, and two more people are dead now.

“I’m going with you,” Tim states.

“No, you’re not. You heard him, you’re going back to the station.”

“You need me-“

“Actually, we don’t. We have jurisdiction now, Tim,” you snap.

“Do they know about everything you did your last week on the job?” Tim challenges. “How you ignored calls, put yourself, and me, in danger just to let the clearly guilty criminals go? I mean, you let a guy get away with assault and your handcuffs!”

You don’t reply because your mind begins racing. You had forgotten about that specific incident. Your last two days on the job were a blur, just forty-eight hours you have done everything you could to forget.

“Alexander Riley,” you murmur.

“What?” Tim snaps.

“Nothing, Tim. I’m sorry you’re not happy, but you don’t have authorization to join me, and I’m done breaking the rules.”

“Convenient.”

You hit the brakes too hard as you stop outside the back entrance of the station. Tim slams the door again before he walks inside, and you shift into park to call Derek.

“Are you still at the station?” you ask when he answers.

“We’re about to leave,” he replies. “Did you beat us to the scene? You know speed limits still apply to federal agents, right?”

“No, I’m at the station too. I need you to - without raising suspicion - get Hotch and Sergeant Grey out here.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “Why?”

“Because I think I know who the killer is. Bring the novella from the ninth scene, it’s Heralded Angels.”

“You got it.”

You can hear the strain in Derek’s voice, but there’s too much on your mind to dwell on his reaction right now. After Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Spencer join you in the FBI-issued SUV, you follow Sergeant Grey, driving an unmarked car, to the double murder scene.

“You had something for me?” Grey asks as you approach the townhouse.

“I do. Trust me for a few more minutes and I’ll tell you everything?”

Wade nods, and you enter the bloody living room with your team. JJ waits outside, and as you squat beside a bookcase covered in blood splatter, you know you’re right.

“Alexander Riley,” you announce, pushing against your knees to stand. “I think he’s our killer.”

“Why?” Spencer asks. “Wait, who?”

“Alexander Riley is one of the men I should have arrested my last week as a rookie.” You look toward Wade as you continue, “He assaulted a store owner while looting during a flood, and I let him get away. He ran away with my handcuffs, but I didn’t try to stop him because I was sure Sergeant Adamson would have used it against me.”

“Abuse of power,” Hotch deduces.

“Right, and class system. You know, cop doesn’t do what cop is supposed to do. So, he may have taken his escape as a sign that something needed to change.”

“Based on his killings, I’d agree that he saw a wrong that needed to be fixed, but why murder?” Wade asks. “How does that fit his idea of making things right, evening everything?”

“He chose victims he viewed as outliers,” Spencer explains. “The first two victims were romantically involved, and then she got a job in his company.”

“The fifth victim was a single man with adopted children, and he left a copy of T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Hollow Men,’” you add. “He went after people who didn’t fit into our traditional class system or who benefitted from misused power. And, if that isn’t enough… there’s an extra novella in here.”

“What?” Hotch and Wade say, stepping toward you simultaneously.

“It’s a little bloody, but the words cop, dirty, and corrected system are showing up pretty well. My name’s on the first page, and I’d guess it’s on the last, too.”

“He’s going to target you?” Derek translates. “That’s not okay.”

“We need to find him first,” you reply. “He’s not going to press pause until he can get to me, he thinks he has to fix the entire world.”

“I’ll get a BOLO out,” Wade offers.

“Wait, Sergeant Grey,” Hotch calls. “I think this should come from us.” He turns toward you and adds, “It would mean more from you.”

“I’ll do it. Although, some of those cops aren’t going to like hearing that I had something to do with it.”

“Just send ‘em my way,” Derek jokes.

“Our profile is complete,” you begin, looking at the entire task force. “And we’ve used that profile, along with scene evidence, literary analysis, and previous arrest records to identify Alexander Riley as our killer. Sergeant Grey has posted a BOLO, and we’d like to send you out in patrol teams to assist in the search for Riley.”

Tim has his folder open, and you’re sure he’s reading the incident report filed after you let Riley get away.

“Maybe you should get out there and find him instead of sitting in our station and reading,” he snarks, closing his folder.

“Bradford,” Wade begins.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “I will be assisting in the search, and I will admit that my incompetence likely played a role in Mr. Riley’s progression from petty thief to serial killer. However, we have reason to believe he was killing in private long before he felt the need to leave his victims in plain view for Los Angeles and all of America to see.”

“Officer Bradford, he listed you by name in the novella left at Liza Renner’s murder,” Hotch interjects. “Do you know why he may have done that?”

“No idea. Sir.”

“I’d appreciate if you would stay and help review the story to find an idea, then.”

You look between Hotch and Tim quickly, but their icy stares make you look away before you continue explaining what the manhunt entails and how the FBI will assist.

“Be safe out there,” you conclude.

As officers stand and leave, Hotch and Wade walk to Tim’s side, and then all three of them exit through a different exit.

“That was fun,” you mumble to Derek.

“On the bright side, no one has been publicly executed in the US since 1936, so it’s unlikely you’ll be burned at the stake,” Spencer says.

“That is bright,” you respond. “Thanks, Reid.”

An officer asks for your assistance and leads you to an observation room. Your eyes widen when you realize Tim and Hotch are on the other side of the glass in an interview room. Rushing into the room, you’re surprised when Hotch invites you to take a seat. As the door closes, Tim clenches his fists and begins to stand.

“Sit down,” Hotch demands, unmoving as Tim rises from his chair. Tim turns, face-to-face with Hotch. “Sit down,” Hotch repeats, quieter yet firmer.

Tim falls back into his seat and crosses his arms to stare at you.

“You can blame me if you want,” you offer. “But it won’t change anything. Twelve people are dead because of me.”

“Then why is my rookie still patrolling the streets of LA looking for the man your team decided did this? Hotch here covering for you again?” Tim challenges.

“Shut up,” Hotch says as he sits beside you, across the Table from Tim.

“Kenneth Adamson,” you say. “Do you have any idea of what he did?”

“Fired you for taking the easy way out when you decided you didn’t want to be a cop anymore?”

“Intimidated me,” you reply. “Got indicted for it, but it was never made public knowledge because ‘he was facing enough personal and professional issues for the widespread results of his corruption.’ Good excuse, right? Tim, I happened to be the person who put cuffs on Alexander Riley and allowed his delusion to take over. I didn’t mean to turn him into a serial killer, but I still feel like I have blood on my hands.”

“Wait,” Tim requests, raising his hand. “Adamson intimidated you?”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

You scoff, and Hotch raises his brows. “Like you would have believed me,” you reply.

Tim leans across the table, ignoring how Hotch moves closer to you, protective and ready to finish this case.

“He intimidated me too,” Tim confesses. “We should have told each other, but we messed up, and I’m sorry for that. Adamson was going to tell IA about something I did in the Army and twist it to get me fired if I didn’t find a way to get you off the force. Then you suddenly stopped trying and I thought… I guess I didn’t think about it, or I would’ve seen it.”

You look at Hotch, who shrugs. There likely isn’t proof that Adamson did to Tim what he did to you, but you have to make a choice. You can believe Tim Bradford or walk away.

“I caught him stealing evidence,” you say. “Skimming money from scenes before CSI got there, pulling jewelry from robbed houses, little things he didn’t think anyone would miss. When I saw him outright lie to a victim who only wanted her late mother’s locket back, I said something. And he was going to make my life a waking hell for it. So, I did what he asked and threw away my career.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Tim. I want you to help me find Alexander Riley and put cuffs on him before he goes after another innocent person, because there is nothing to stop him from progressing to killing cops he sees as corrupt. We kept it from the other officers because of that, so please don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Tim nods and murmurs another apology. You read his lips as he says it, and when Hotch stands, you’re prepared to accept it.

“One more out of line comment and you’re off this task force, Officer Bradford,” Hotch says as he buttons his blazer.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do everything I can to assist you.”

“Do you know why Riley would have used your name as a cursed wanderer in Liza Renner’s novella?” you ask, standing beside Hotch.

“Cursed wanderer?” Tim repeats.

“Remorseful, unabsolved character tormented by their fate and their actions.”

“He must not remember you well,” Hotch tells Tim.

“He’s not a very good writer,” Spencer mutters as he flips the page of one of Alexander Riley’s novellas.

“Maybe we should find a way to charge him for that too,” Derek grumbles. “I mean, ‘Tim Bradford carried the weight of his sins, heavier than the Kevlar on his chest. Each day he was forced to face the memories of how he’d failed his partner, the only woman he may ever love, but would never deserve.’ That’s awful.”

You and Tim turn to face each other quickly, each wondering if you heard what Derek read correctly.

“Derek, does that- when you read it, does it seem like he’s saying his partner is the only woman he’d ever love? Same person?” you ask.

“Yeah. You.”

“That’s what I got too,” JJ agrees. “There’s characters in the third novella that look exactly like the two of you, but they’re married. Doomed by the narrative to watch each other die, but…”

“Are there characters like that in all of them?” Hotch asks.

The sound of papers flipping precedes several firm answers of “Yes.”

“They always die?” you add. “But he doesn’t know. He sees a relationship that isn’t there.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, but you ignore him as you ask JJ to use her laptop. After signing in to your email, you pull up the scans Penelope sent you from the books in your office.

“In the clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed,” you read. “Black as the pit from pole to pole.”

“Are you gonna explain it or is this like Jeopardy?” Derek questions.

“He doesn’t portray our characters as corrupt,” you cheer. “We’re unfortunate, ‘doomed by the narrative’ players in a bigger game. I need the newest novella, the extra one from the double homicide scene.”

Wade knocks on the open door as you look through the evidence boxes on the table. He glances between you and Bradford before he asks, “Have any of you heard from Lopez and West?”

“They’re revisiting the last scene,” Hotch says. “They haven’t checked in?”

“Not recently.”

Tim looks at you, and when you meet his eyes, he offers, “We’ll find them.”

“Be careful,” Wade implores. “And keep me updated.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask.

“Anything,” JJ and Derek answer together.

“Look for any sign of restoration or avenging. It’ll probably be in the first novella, but I need to know if my character in his story is avenged somehow.”

“Revenge is a psychological response to wounds from others,” Spencer says. “Why would he be motivated to retaliate and justify this level of violence for you, if you’re the one who did wrong?”

“I think he may have changed his motives after Keith Adamson was indicted. If you find something, let me know, if not, Hotch probably has a better idea.”

You follow Tim to an unmarked car and ride in the passenger seat like you’ve pressed play after seven long years of having this part of your life on pause. Somehow, it feels better than before.

Tim's radio crackles as he makes the last turn to reach the crime scene.

“07-Adam-07,” Angela radios. “Sergeant Bradford, contact on channel 3.”

Tim changes the dial to channel 5 as he slows on the curb. You point to the dial, and he raises a thumb to tell you it wasn’t an accident.

“07-Adam-19,” he replies. “Go ahead, Lopez.”

“I think we found something that might be helpful to the detectives. Meet me at the scene and see if you agree?”

“I was already on the way. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust the feds. ETA two minutes.”

Tim returns his radio to the dash and then sits back to wait.

“Don’t trust the feds, huh?” you ask, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

“You really think he realized we were just as aggrieved as him?” Tim asks.

“Big word,” you murmur before dodging Tim’s weak backhand. “Why else would he keep us in the grand story he’s trying to write?”

“You said your character died in the new one.”

“All I saw was my name. I made an assumption without enough evidence. It was stupid.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Your phone buzzes, and you shake your head as you read the message from Penelope. “FBI tech guru Garcia hacked into the house’s security system. She’s got cameras inside. Riley has Lopez and West holed up in the master bathroom. My team and your watch commander are watching, ready to breach if this doesn’t go well.”

“You think it will?”

“I think Derek is going to be very mad after I do something reckless. That’s how it usually goes.”

Tim clears his throat awkwardly, then asks, “Are you and Morgan…?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “He’s just one of the many protective men I work with.”

“It’s been a minute and a half,” Tim says, changing the subject and breathing a little easier. “Are you ready?”

“I hope so.”

You exit the passenger seat as Tim pops the trunk. He passes you an LAPD bulletproof vest and a standard-issue belt to help you look more like a cop and less like a fed. After pulling the vest over your head, you struggle to get the belt in place beneath it. Tim gently takes it from you, his hands moving carefully around your waist as he clips the tactical buckle and slides the gun holster to its correct position.

“Thanks,” you whisper as he straightens, mere inches from you.

Tim drops his hands away from your sides but doesn’t move away. “Channel 3 is Lopez’s code,” he explains. “She only uses it when something’s wrong.”

Your phone buzzes again, and you turn away from Tim to answer it. “Hello?”

“Riley is armed,” Hotch says. “He’s got Lopez and West in the master bedroom on the ground floor. They’re uninjured, but he’s fidgety.”

“Did Derek ask Spencer about the bomb?”

“He did,” Spencer replies. Hotch’s phone is likely on speaker, and you turn your phone to allow Tim to hear too. “The bomb schematics were for a very closed-in space… like the townhouse you’re about to go into. It’s not incredibly enclosed, but given that Riley has issues with control, it could be a manifestation of claustrophobia. If his anxiety has caused a fear of enclosed spaces, based on the fear of losing control in those spaces, then he may be attempting to overcome that by giving himself power in the situation.”

“Could he be a cleithrophobe?” Tim wonders.

“What is that?” Derek asks, and you can imagine him looking around Wade’s office.

“I haven’t seen evidence of it,” Spencer answers. “He doesn’t seem to mind being closed in; the murders in the townhouse didn’t seem to affect him, but he is clearly concerned with power, control, and the hierarchy of those. It relates more to claustrophobia. Though I wouldn’t advise locking any doors to test it.”

You hang up suddenly and gesture to the townhouse. Tim looks up in time to see the curtain in an upstairs room fall back into place. He takes the lead, walking to the door with purpose and his hand on his gun. You follow him and look around the front porch for any sign that Riley is planning to kill anyone today.

Tim pushes the door open carefully, nodding to tell you it is unlocked before Angela calls his name. The novella with your name in it is still by the bookcase, and you remove it from the evidence bag and slide it under your vest. You trade places with Tim, going up the stairs first as he covers you. At the top of the landing, Alexander Riley steps out into the hallway with a gun strapped around his shoulders.

“You made it,” he says.

“We’re here to help, Riley,” you explain softly, holding your hands where he can see them. “You know that.”

He nods before jerking his head toward the doorway. You walk past him and stop in the center of the bedroom, scanning Angela and Jackson for any wounds. Luckily, they appear to be fine other than the handcuffs secured around their wrists.

“What’s the plan here?” Tim asks. “Not much room for error, Mr. Riley.”

“Give me your gun,” Alexander replies, holding his rifle with one hand as he extends the other toward Tim.

Tim complies, but his glance at you is a clear communication to not surrender your FBI-issued piece.

“Against the wall,” Alexander tells Tim. “You’re right, there isn’t room for error. But I’m prepared. I’ve been preparing since I lost everything.”

Tim sits against the wall, less than a foot from Angela. Alexander turns toward you, and his gaze softens. You were right, it seems. Alexander Riley has a soft spot for you; he thinks you’re like him, wronged by corruption and abused power, and you’re going to work that soft spot until he’s in cuffs.

“Take your vest off,” he requests. “Please.”

You don’t move but look pointedly at his gun before raising your eyes to his face.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Despite your instinct to refuse, to call in the cavalry and help Tim incapacitate the killer before you, there is too much at stake, and the longer you’re compliant, the longer Riley will keep everyone alive. So, you pull the vest over your head, not bothering to catch the novella as it falls to the floor, the blood on the cover contrasting the neutral carpet below your feet.

Back at the station, Hotch clenches his jaw as you open yourself to Riley, and Derek says, “Don’t do it… I might kill her for that.”

“You wrote it, right?” you ask, gesturing toward the stapled manuscript. “You wrote all of them.”

Riley fidgets, then nods.

You step toward him, keeping your expression soft and conveying understanding as you add, “I read some of them. They’re good, Alex. Can I call you Alex, or do you go by something else?”

“Alex is fine,” he replies, whispering your name under his breath like a prayer.

Tim shifts as Alexander’s attention changes slightly, morphing from a fierce protector into someone who wants to be by your side after you’ve been saved. You don’t spare a glance toward Tim, and for a brief moment, he wonders where you learned to do this. Then reality crashes back in like a wave that knocks Tim off his feet, the reminder that he could have taught you if he hadn’t let Keith Adamson get to him.

“In Brightest Day, you wrote a character who was a young cop, naïve and desperate to do the best thing,” you continue. “Who was she?”

“You know who,” Alex mutters.

You smile and ask, “Was I in all of them?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why you went to my old apartment before you sent the message to my friend in the FBI? Because I’m part of this? No, because you’re improving the character, right?”

“You were so far away,” he whispers.

“Alex, did you learn how to code just to talk to me?” you inquire softly.

He nods, then looks to the novella at your feet. The toes of your boots are inches from the paper, and his mouth twitches like he wants you away from it.

“Kick it,” he demands.

“Why? It’s art, it’s part of your soul,” you argue.

“Kick it.”

Tim nods in your peripheral, and you swallow before kicking it toward the door. Alex doesn’t hesitate to shoot the paper. You turn away from the noise, covering your ears even though it’s too late to keep your head from pounding. As the noise fades and your hearing returns, you see the shredded paper surrounding the hole in the floor.

“How does the story end, Alex?” you ask, stepping toward him again. “Are you like the truck drivers in Animal Farm? The cursed wanderer in Render Down you wrote for Liza? Or are you some new character that only cares about usurping the power for yourself?”

“It was never about me!” he replies, louder than you’ve heard him before. He softens his voice to repeat, “Never.”

“She was mine first,” Tim interjects suddenly.

Alex spins on his heel, the barrel of his rifle rising as he faces Tim. You shake your head wildly, desperate to stop him from saying something that will make Alex pull the trigger again. Angela looks down quickly, and you see her gun beneath the bed. As Alex’s chest heaves, his eyes locked unblinking on Tim’s, you move closer to the weapon, to Alex, and to freedom where you all walk out of here alive.

“I was saving her!” Alex roars. “From corruption, from Adamson, from you!”

“Adamson is the only one who hurt her,” Tim argues.

“February 17, 2017. You took your rookie to a noise disturbance call, and when you got there, four stupid young men were looting a flooded store during a break in the storms. She handcuffed one of them, but the rest ran. Then… then you started yelling at her, blaming her for all of it. While you were busy berating her, the other man ran with the handcuffs. I got away, but the power, the corruption, the greed was all getting to be too much. We hurt the owner because she was too worried about not getting insurance money for the water damage to empty out the register.”

“Something changed,” you say from beside Riley.

He doesn’t move away from Tim but stops talking to listen.

“In the first novella, it was you and me, wasn’t it? You wanted to make a new world together, save me from the love you thought would corrupt me.”

“Adamson used you too,” Alex tells Tim. “I made room for you to come with us and this is how you repay me? Chasing me for making things better. You’re back where you started.”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to act,” Jackson West says. “What if the world could’ve healed on its own and the people you killed might have helped?”

“Fool! They’ve gotten to you, too.”

As Alex’s finger slides onto the trigger, he turns toward Jackson. You don’t hesitate to lunge forward, closing the distance between yourself and Alexander. While you tackle him to the floor, he squeezes the trigger, and the shot rings through the now-silent townhouse and seems to echo for hours as your team watches in horror.

Tim pulls the handcuff key from his belt and passes it to Angela before he crawls on his hands and knees to reach you.

“I hope somebody got scans of that novella before he shot it,” you groan as you sit up.

Tim sighs, taking your face in his hands as he wipes blood from your temple.

“Is his writing really that good?” Jackson asks as he stands.

“It’s a little preachy,” you reply with a smile.

Your phone rings, and you swipe the screen to answer, then immediately hang up.

“That was your boss,” Tim points out.

“He can yell at me when he gets here.”

“Alexander Riley has been charged in the deaths of twelve Los Angeles residents,” JJ says at the press conference the morning after your encounter with Alex. “His victims include Janice Davis, Gregory Hunter, Bryce Keller, Hank Sheller, Peter Bristol, Liza Renner, Mel Houghton, Destiny Crest, Angelica Thomson, Alissa Alvarez, and Jack and Cassidy Wilson. Nearly three dozen cold cases are now being reopened, and the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit supports the LAPD’s claim that Riley could have committed these crimes as well. I’ll welcome any questions at this time.”

You scrunch your nose from the side, resisting the urge to remove the bandage on your forehead. Tim stands beside you, watching you.

Tim notices that the bandage is loose but doesn’t move before Hotch warns, “Don’t do anything in the public view that you don’t want to get out and give Riley a chance at walking.”

When the conference ends, Derek sighs and walks past Hotch to return to the hotel and pack. As he approaches you, he smiles and says, “And you didn’t want to come because I can’t help, and LA is too sunny.”

You try to punch Derek for his poor impression of you but miss as he breaks into a jog. Shaking your head, you turn to Tim and prepare a joke about how you don’t sound like that. Tim’s serious expression stops you, though.

“You didn’t think you could help?” he asks. “You were going to be an amazing cop, and I regret playing a part in taking that opportunity from you.”

You shrug and respond, “I like the FBI, and I got to tackle a murderer, so it all worked out.”

“Yeah,” Lucy interrupts, walking to your side. “But now you have to go back to Virginia.”

“Thank you,” Wade says, stopping at your side. “Come back soon, okay?”

You smile as he hands you a paper. As you read it, you sigh, then shove it into your pocket. The email came in this morning telling all active FBI agents about the new tactical unit, one which will work closely with the BAU. They’re actively recruiting, but if you tell Tim, you’re asking him to choose between you and the job again, and you can’t do that to him. Asking Tim to leave LA would be cruel, you think, so you force a smile onto your face.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him. “Especially the part where you saved my life and the apology. I’ll try not to stay gone so long this time.”

Tim nods, and you smile at Lucy before following your team. He watches you walk away, ignores Lucy’s encouragement for him to chase you, and waits until you leave to whisper what he wants to say. But Tim lost his chance again. Worse, he lost you again.

Two Weeks Later

“Which one of you wants to die first?” the armed suspect asks, swinging his curved meat hook between you and Spencer.

“Probably you, right?” you whisper. “You know, my blood’ll be on it if he kills me first.”

“The mean value of Staphylococcus aureus in raw meat is 3.84 in a butcher shop,” Spencer replies. “I don’t know where that thing has been. At least your blood has been relatively well contained. And any amount of water on that thing increases the number of bacterial specimens transferred from the meat surface.”

The metal door of the meat locker blows open suddenly, and when the butcher before you turns to see what caused the noise, two men in tactical uniforms subdue him and confiscate the meat hook. Spencer rushes out of the facility, and you watch as the new FBI team takes your suspect into custody.

“I could have done that,” you complain.

“Sure you could, boot,” one of the men says, his voice muffled by the helmet.

You look toward him with your eyebrows raised. He takes his helmet off, and your jaw drops. Tim Bradford.

Smiling, you step toward him with questions racing in your mind, but he extends a gloved hand, holding it against your waist to stop you as he whispers, “Morgan has cameras everywhere.”

As you walk into the BAU bullpen together, Hotch looks up from a paper. He looks at you, then Tim, then back to you, and smiles. With wide eyes, you hide behind Tim’s shoulder, unsure what a Hotch smile could mean in this particular circumstance.

“We’re wheels up to Los Angeles in forty-five,” Hotch says.

“Why?” you ask, stepping out from behind Tim.

“There’s a domestic terrorist leaving Shakespeare at foreign-owned businesses hours before they’re bombed or become mass murder scenes.”

You nod, but before you can speak, Derek calls, “Bring Bradford! We could use the Army experience.”

Hotch narrows his eyes at Tim, then shrugs and agrees.

“Good, good,” you mumble, wrapping your hands around Tim’s arms. “I’ll show him the ropes then and we’ll be back in thirty.”

“Please do.”

You quickly forget the ropes as you drag Tim into Penelope’s empty office. He smiles and prepares to ask what this has to do with terrorism, but you slide your hands onto his jaw and kiss Tim. Finally. Tim's hands meet your waist, and he pulls you closer as he kisses you, both of you melting into one another and getting lost in the moment you’ve waited so long for. When you pull back, Tim keeps you close, smiling like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, though he’s known your heart and potential for nearly a decade.

A quiet gasp draws your attention, and you both look to the door as Penelope says, “I’m telling Chocolate Thunder!”

Tim Through the Years - The Third Date

Series Masterlist

Summary: Tim takes you to play paintball and learns something new about you. 0.7k+ words

Every date with Tim made you more convinced he’s one of the good ones. So, when Tim approached you after work and asked if you wanted to play paintball with him, your answer was an enthusiastic “Yes!”

Tim promised he’d take it easy on you and teach you how to use the paintball gun and strategize to win, and you smiled and nodded instead of telling him that you’ve used a gun before. He was just so excited.

“Are you ready for this?” Tim asked as you got into his truck.

“That depends,” you answered with a smile. “Are we going to be on the same team or is it every man for himself?”

“The same team, of course,” Tim promised. “At least until I show you the basics.”

“Right.”

At the range, Tim checked out the equipment you needed and carried it to a dressing area. After he set everything down, he turned to you with a bright smile. You matched his smile and stepped closer to him, quickly glancing toward the gun.

“Okay, so this is your gun,” Tim said while lifting it and passing it toward your chest. “It’s a semi-automatic .68 caliber. So, you just pull the trigger when you’re ready to shoot, and the paintball comes out.”

“Got it,” you assured, taking the gun. “Straightforward.”

“It’ll kick a little bit, so just don’t hold it too high.”

“Tim, I think I can handle pulling the trigger of a paintball gun. Unless you’re scared of losing to a kindergarten teacher,” you taunted.

“I’m a highly trained police officer,” Tim responded. “You don’t stand a chance.”

You twisted the gun in your hand and pulled it against your shoulder, too close to your sternum. Tim shook his head, and you furrowed your brows. Carefully, Tim covered your hands with his and shifted the gun to a more comfortable position.

“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t make sure you did it right?” Tim murmured.

“One that’s desperate to win,” you teased softly.

Tim looked up, face-to-face with you, and smiled. “I won’t let you win.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

“We’ll see.”

“Are you this confident when your students challenge you?”

“Are you this confident when a criminal challenges you?”

Tim shook his head and leaned in, but before he got close enough to kiss you, he pulled the strap of his paintball gun over his head. With his helmet on, he gestured over his shoulder to show that he planned to find a place on this course. Alone, you sighed and prepared yourself to show Tim that you would win, whether he liked it or not.

“Thanks for the hunting lessons, Dean,” you murmured as you pulled the helmet down over your face.

You ducked behind a wooden barrel, surprised by how quickly Tim moved through the Old West-themed shelters and decorations. Tim is in situations more dangerous than this daily, yet his competitiveness is more intense than you anticipated. When he raised from behind a sideways saloon door, you exhaled as you squeezed the trigger. Nine pops sounded one after another, and you waited for Tim to regain his balance and catch his breath before you raised your helmet visor and stood.

“How was that?” you asked, failing to hide your smile.

“What was that?” Tim countered as he removed his helmet. “I thought this was your first time!”

“It is my first time. Playing paintball,” you explained. “But my brothers took me hunting… a lot. Tim, my last name is Winchester, did you seriously think I wouldn’t have fired a gun before?”

“I…” Tim trailed off and dropped his head, finally looking at his shirt. “Did you paint a heart on me?”

“I did,” you cheered with a smile. “You look so cute.”

“There’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Tim hesitated before he answered. Rather than saying yes, please, he asked, “Go another round? On the same team?”

“Oh, I see how it is. You don’t want me on your team unless I can carry my weight.”

“This was a practice round,” Tim defended.

“Is that why you didn’t fire a single paintball?”

Tim huffed as he pulled you closer by the strap over your shoulder. “We’ll be better as a team, you know that.”

“I do,” you whispered in the proximity. “Should we go show everyone else?”

“We should.”

You raised as if you were going to kiss Tim, then slid your helmet back onto your head. He smiled at your teasing but wondered something as he followed you toward the front of the range.

“What were you hunting that taught you to shoot like that?”

“Adultère”

Adultère: French for Adultery. 

pairing: Andy Barber x WOC!fem!Reader

Warnings: CHRISTMAS, emily trying to be a good fanfic writer and pretending she knows shit about male underwear, cheating, insecurities but y/n is THAT bitch though, swearing, smut: degradation, andy puts the pussy on a pedestal (as he should), unprotected sex: P in V (zon’t do it. zon’t do it….), light daddy kink + subspace, use of the word “cunt” ihkzlkadj, cheesy happy ending 

A/N: THIS IS FOR MY MAIN GIRLY JASMEEN ILY JAS THEE STALLION CAUSE ITS HER BDAY AND IT MOTIVATED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR ONCE!! ❤️💞🥺 @cloudystevie

For Siri’s  @stargazingfangirl18‘s Happy Hoelidays Challenge! 

Prompt: Character A is having a sad, lonely holiday when Character B unexpectedly shows up to spend it with them

Since i’m a lazy, incompetant person, this is also for the Happy Hoelidays Challenge! Love u Siri, hope you’ll like this

chile not me giving y’all the bare minimum every two months. listen to Lana Del Rey and wake up your sugar baby instincts for maximum experience. Also, i didnt watch defending jacob cause as much as I love chris and shows in general i’m poor and lazy… And i wrote about boston. LAST TIME. my ny ass had a hard time rbhnkjdik // Also, i’m not that good with christmas stuff like.. I really don’t care that much about the christmas spirit and i’m so sorry cause IK you can feel it throughout the whole fic.

Word count: 4.6k+ 

Keep reading

A vox machina oneshot

Vax x reader.

The reader has a card that allows them to swap places with the intended target depending on the intention behind it. They use it on vax and take his place as the raven queens champion just as she is about to take him away. They tell vax to go be with keyleth and live a full and happy life with her Unknown to the reader vax was in love with them the whole time. The last thing they say to him is a heart felt confession on their love for him before they dissapear. I know it's an angst one but if you want to make a fluffy ending it's up to you

Enjoy! 😘

They tried. Everyone tried. Every loophole, every possible way to weasel out of this deal with the goddess of death was exploited. All of them failed. They tried and they failed. At least they tried. The only regret Vax has is they wasted plenty of time on this unsolvable problem. He knew his time was running out. Even before he realised it. He knew that time would come where she’d pull his tether and he’d have to leave everyone being. She sent him out with a purpose and that’s now completed. Not even the greatest wish could change that. Especially not now. The deal is done. Vax accepts this. It took him a while but he does. It doesn’t make it any easier though. She gave him time to say goodbye. She didn’t have to. There is yet some mercy left in the cold dead heart of the Raven Queen, some compassion still beyond that broken mask. He got to say goodbye to you. 

This can’t be the end. This is not the way. You refuse to accept this fate. For all the love in your heart, for the bleeding hearts of your friends. They need him. You need him. He cannot just slip into oblivion to serve the goddess of death for eternity because of some cruel mistake. It’s neither just nor fair. This fate is a cruel one. Fate is cruel. You know it all too well. Life deals you a hand of cards when you are born. Some are born lucky. Others are lucky to be born. Some are destined for greatness. Others are doomed from the start. For entities that pretend to be benevolent and kind, they are not far off from the tyrant claiming themself king, or the evil mage enslaving the many. It all comes down to that hand of cards. You got lucky. For all the bullshit in your life you got your hand on one of those cards and you just happen to be good at that ethereal game of sleight of hand. It’s not cheating if there’s no rules. You drew from the deck of fate and you got lucky. That luck came with a curse though because you’d always know what the gravity of that decision would mean. 

You got your hands on a card that could change fate; your fate to be specific. You may have thought about it many times but by using that twist of fate you condemn another to yours. Could you live with yourself knowing that you took something from another for your own gain? Equally, would you sacrifice yourself for anyone down on their luck and willing to take their suffering instead? You know damn well why you didn’t use this cruel trinket. But now, it resurfaces again, it burns in your palm as you walk by Vex trying to hold herself together as she pats her brother on the shoulder with some witty remark. You nearly break when he pulls her into a hug and you see her tears spill. She wipes them away before he pulls back. Vax noticed either way. You notice all of them heartbroken. You’re heartbroken too. You don’t want him to go. He holds part of your heart after all. You’ve never told him so blatantly but it’s true no less. 

You see Keyleth falling apart at the seams. Vax tries to console her but he can’t. She holds his heart. He holds hers and he’ll be taking it with him whether he intends to or not. It hurts him to know he’ll leave his friends, his family, his love so hurt with his departure. You see the effect Vax has had on their lives, all of them, on yours. You know how much he means to them and that card of fate starts to become more and more appealing. You have a chance to save someone you love. You can make a change in order for him to change the world. You can give him a chance of life by throwing away your own to the service of some god and you’d do it without a second thought. You will. You’ve already made up your mind. The only reason why you haven’t yet is because you struggle to find the right words to tell him. You don’t think you can face him with this. What would he think of you to know you could have changed a fate so easily and never did. Are you truly so selfish? Were you truly not ready to until it came down to your own pain? You can’t keep avoiding this anymore and so you slip away.

Vax notices you retreating ever so slowly. How could he not? He might be light on his feet and it takes one to know one but he’d always notice your presence or lack thereof. The air changes and so does that strange coiling feeling within him whenever you’re near. It’s quite pleasant. He’s known it for a while now but with his impending doom, he could not bring himself to give into it, to give into you knowing he’d only break you. He made that choice for you he supposes but equally so for himself. He can’t look you in the eye while he’s torn away from you. He can’t face your tears. The others, it’s already hell on Exandria facing them but were he to face you, he’d be falling apart. You’ve been strong so long. He wishes he could be as strong as you. He doesn’t have the heart for it but he too has begun to see the cracks in your armour. Something’s amiss and when he sees you slowly retreat to the back of the room, away from the conversation, away from the people until you slip outside entirely, he feels that tether pull taut and he cannot but follow. 

Vax finds you out front. There’s something in your palm, a card he realises. Just the one. It’s got a golden sheen to it and you reach out to touch it. He sees your shoulders shaking and tense. You bite your lip. That’s when you let out a muffled sob. You’re not aware he’s there. You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill. He takes a step closer to you. 

“If you had the power to change this fate, would you?” So you had noticed his approach. He couldn’t care less. You’re hurt. Not physically but you’re hurt either way and it breaks his heart. It’s yours after all, even if you don’t know it. You quickly put that golden card back in your pocket. You wipe away your tears and let out a shaky breath. 

“What do you mean?” He questions but the look you give him implies no humour and comes with a sense of urgency. “I don’t want to go. I’d much rather stay here with you, with them but I can’t. It was a worthy sacrifice and I’d make the choice a thousand times over.

“If-uh-“ You try to find the right words but can’t even look him in the eye. “If another could take that place and you could stay, would you stay?” He thinks for a second and then grows suspicious. 

“At what cost?” You shake your head.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. You shouldn’t be spending this valuable time out here with me talking about this stupid-“ 

“Hey, hey- time spent with you is never wasted. I want you here with me, for as long as I have, for as long as you’ll have me.” You feel his palm agains your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his. You see that pained but kind smile. It only solidifies your choice. You know what to do. 

“Okay.” You squeak not able to keep your voice stable and Vax just simply pulls you into his embrace. That’s the last conversation you’d have with him until that fated moment, until the true goodbye. 

The goddess had come to lay claim to her champion, to the life she’s to call hers and the servitude she’s owed. The goodbye is a harrowed one but it’s not his goodbye. You look at Keyleth holding onto Percy who does his best to console her, Vex attempting to stay strong and stoic despite the tears running down her face and noticeable the death grip she has on Pike’s hand. Scanlan’s even struggling and so is Grog. The Raven Queen holds out her hand and beckons. Vax says goodbye to you last. He holds onto your hand, brings it to his chest. There’s no words he speaks but his eyes say it all. You take a step towards him and turn so you’re interposing between himself and the goddess. The others go alert, contemplating the prospects of killing the goddess and freeing the resident rogue form this cruel pact if you make the first move. Vax holds onto your hand still as if to keep you from doing something stupid or reckless against a literal god. Little does he know. 

“I invoke the blessing I have been given. I invoke the fate that was never mine and will share the burden of it. I trade my place for his as it is the right of the hand that was dealt to me. Fate wills it so, and so it shall be.” You remember the words well. Though you have never spoken them out loud. They are like a practiced speech. You’ve played them over in your mind; the script upon that  fated golden card and when it appears in your palm it glows that bright golden like the tethers of fate and memory the Raven Queen holds so dear. It certainly peaks her interest. 

“What are you doing?” Vax asks looking between you and the goddess. You glance back over your shoulder. 

“What I should have done the very moment this curse befell you. I’m sorry I could not do it before. I hope you can forgive me. You’ll be free.” 

“You can’t do this!” Desperation and despair are the ways of the mortal worlds, of those consumed by time and whims of circumstance. They are the ways of you and him and everyone around you. 

“It’s okay, Vax. It’s okay. I’ve made my choice. They need you more than they need me. I wish you a happy life. Even if I can’t be part of it.” 

“I need you.” He sounds so small, so broken and that alone makes you almost regret. Almost. But you wouldn’t reverse it. Even if you could. 

“Your heart belongs here. With Them. With your sister. With Keyleth. My heart belongs with you but you do not need it, not like they need you. It’s a worthy sacrifice.” You take a step closer towards the goddess but Vax does not let go of your hand. He holds on. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I love them. I love my sister, my friends, Keyleth. I love them. But I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I can’t let you do this.” Your heart stops right there in your chest. Your world comes apart. To have those words be spoken… You don’t even know what to do with them. You can’t breathe or speak or think for some moments. He loves you. He’s in love with you. Vax is in love with you and you’re about to leave him behind. You’ve made the right choice either way but it’s become a far more painful one now and you come to realise that’s exactly what he tried to protect you from by not mentioning before. You hate and love him for it. 

“It’s already done.” That stupid card dematerialises in a golden dust. and invisible breeze lets the dust weave into a tether to wrap around your free arm. You feel it burn and pull painfully so. You pull against the strain, toe to toe with Vax and softly place your lips against his. A final parting gift, for whom you’re unsure. “My fate is sealed. May you live a good life, Vax’ildan. May it be a long and merry one filled with love.” And that’s when you step away, in that brief moment where he lowers his guard and is forced to let you go. The golden tether pulls you in and away from him. The Raven Queen beckons you and you follow with one last glance over your shoulder, one last look at him. 

“I love you.” The final words he’ll ever hear from your lips. He’s too late to respond. You’re gone. The goddess of death is gone. His heart is gone and he’s left on Exandria broken and surrounded by his loved ones. He feels empty despite it. He doesn’t know what to do or say or think. It’s a whirlwind. 

Whatever happens (Tim Bradford x F!Wife!Reader)

Summary: do to your work as a high ranking national security officer you and Tim get taken hostage in your own house

Warnings: : torture, not descriptive but is listed what happened. Misogyny and sexism (not from tim), hospitals, kidnap, canon violence

Notes:

Sorry for the grammatical errors. I’m new at writing so feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. do not translate or appropriate my work

Comments and kudos are highly appreciated :)

words: 2500

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

You unlock the door and enter your house. Tim is already out of uniform, and he is cooking dinner in the open space kitchen. You drop your bag on the floor next to the door as you sigh, tired from the long day. As one of the top-ranking officers of the National Defense some days were really exhausting to say the least. At least you now could relax at home with your husband

‘hey. I thought I would get started on dinner’ he says as he puts on the stove, giving you a hint of a smile to greet you, something that is reserved to you and only you

‘did I tell you that you are the best husband in the world?’ you ask him with complete appreciation as you give him a quick kiss

‘from time to time’ he teases you as he smirks

‘you are. I’m starving. And it was my turn to cook’ you tell him seriously as you place your hands around his neck as he places his on your waist. He kisses you again, now more properly

‘well you can always show your appreciation later’ he teases you again as you roll your eyes lovingly at him ‘deal’ you tell him as you peck him again before you throw your heels out of the way

‘long day?’ he asks as he lets you go to stir the rice

‘the longest’ you reply as you start to set up the table ‘we fear there has been a breakthrough of info on undercover agents and they put me as head  of operation to make sure they are safe, I need to check each of them’ you sigh

‘well that sounds exhausting’ he replies honestly

 ‘your day?’ you ask

‘some standard arrests. And lucy passed my Tim test today.’ He replies as he start putting the food on the plates

‘tim tests? Can’t you leave that poor boot alone?’ you playfully make fun of him as you sit down

‘be careful or you are going to be Tim tested too’ he says pointing the spatula at you

‘you wouldn’t’ you tell him faking shock ‘I’m your wife’

‘don’t test me’ he replies hiding a smile ‘come on. the food is ready’ he says as he moves towards the table with the meal in his hand. But before he places it on the table the room gets filled with smoke and he feels something in his neck, a narcotic that makes him faint instantly as you do too while he calls your name.

-.-.-.

You wake up tied to a chair in your home’s office. Two men stand in front of you

‘hello y/n’ they tell you ‘had a good sleep?’ they mock you

‘who are you and what do you want’ you ask. This is not your first kidnap

‘straight to the point I see. We want the real name of the undercover agents’ they tell you playing with a knife

‘I don’t have them. They are classified’ you reply

‘and that is the first lie of the night. Our intel says only one person has all of the names, and that is you’

You maintain your calm wondering how they know it. ‘I don’t’ you reply as you asses the situation. You are chained to the chair. Is impossible to break free

‘okay let’s see if your memory starts to work after we are finished with you’ they tell you before punching you in the face

-.-.-.-.-.

Are the screams that wake Tim up. your screams. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he is still in his living room and that the screams he is hearing are your screams.

‘y/n!’ he shouts ‘leave her alone!’. but is useless. He is not even tied, he is chained to a metal chair. He mentally curses himself and your shared love for design, at least if it were a wooden chair he could have tried to free himself. He assesses the situation. he is a cop, he was a sergeant in the army , he should know how to get out of any situation. he needs to help you. His wife is being tortured and he is without a scratch and unable to help you

He tries for more than two hours to free himself, trying to not think about what they are doing to you as your screams get progressively worse

Tim is kind of scared of how you held up, how you did not say anything as they tortured you. He knew you were strong, but this, this is almost inhumane.

The screams stops and he fears the worst.

The door suddenly opens and the two men bring you in. he has the first glimpse of you since they took you. tim can’t almost recognize you. Your face is too puffy and full of blood. They had beaten you up, for hours. Tim also notices that some of your limbs don’t look right. The two men throw you on the floor. You are still passed out. Your hands tied together behind you.

His hearts start beating again only when he sees a feeble movement of your chest going up and down. You are alive.

Tim’s blood boils in his veins. Flashbacks of the last time he has seen you like this passes through his mind. more than 10 years ago, when you were both in the army and you got taken hostage for days. He still doesn’t know all of what had happened to you during the captivity, you never talked about it apart from some info then and there. He had killed who did that to you, heading the rescue mission. He had a lot of remorse for what he witnessed in the army but never for that. Now he wanted to do the same to these two men who had entered his house and tortured his wife. Damn the consequences

‘son of a bitch what did you do to her’ he says in anger as he tries in vain to move

‘don’t worry big guy. She is alive. I must say this bitch is strong. Broke more than 20 bones in her body one by one and still has not given a name’

Scratch that. Tim doesn’t want to kill them. He wants to break each and every bone of his body and more. He wants to inflict them 10 times what they did to you.

‘I’ll fucking kill you’ he says rage in his eyes

‘what a knight with a shiny armor. A bit difficult considering your situation right now.’ The guy mocks him

The man takes some water and throws it in your face to have you woke up, it works as you stir. He throws more at you before giving you a kick. Tim tries to move from his chair and the man laughs at him

‘tim’ is your first word as you try to find him, your eye focus still blurry from the blood and the puffiness until you see him, just a bruise on his face, his eyes blurry with tears for you and anger against them. You sigh in relief

‘are you okay?’ he asks his voice almost breaking, he knows he sounds stupid as you clearly are not but he needs to have a verbal confirmation

‘yah’ you say as you spit blood. Tim doesn’t believe you

‘sleeping beauty is awake’ the man says taking your face in his hand roughly to throw you on the floor again

Tim flinches

‘as torturing your body did not work we will try with a psychological torturing. let’s see if your so little to nonexistent self-preserving instinct applies also to others’ the man says pointing his head towards tim

Your biggest fear comes true. Tim is going to suffer because of you.

‘tell me the real names of the undercover agents or I make him my own punching ball’ the kidnapper says pointing to tim

Tim stays silent looking in your eyes saying with them ‘don’t’. you spit some blood and stay silent. Your heart breaking as you just basically agreed for the man to torture your husband

‘well then’ the man says as he punches tim. You look away. The other man grabs your face again and forces you to look as He punches tim again and again . tim tries to not react, knowing that if the situation was reversed he would give in immediately at the sight if you suffering. He tries to be strong for you, to not have you give in to the blackmail

‘okay clearly you don’t care enough’ the man says as he pauses his assault on tim.  ‘who is this one anyhow’ he asks as tim too spits some blood, his face now too puffy and bruised.

‘no one important. The local supermarket delivery guy. He was just dropping my food delivery’ you lie through your teeth

Tim knows you are saying that to protect him, to not have them use him as leverage more than they are already doing, but it hurts anyhow

‘no one important? Hum. There are quite a few pictures of this delivery guy around here’ the kidnapper says as his partner picks up and passes to him a photo of you and tim where you two are kissing

‘no way, this is your bitch?’ the man asks tim connecting the dots

‘don’t call her that’ tim replies his anger violent

‘tim’ you warn him, knowing his rage will only harm him

‘oh I see. You are her bitch’ the man says pointing at tim ‘this changes everything’ the man says to his partner laughing ‘if torture on her won’t work let’s see how she reacts when her man is the one being tortured’

The second kidnapper picks up the boiling hot knife he had been warming up and passes it to the leader who shows you the knife before going towards tim

‘don’t tell them anything’ tim tells you dead serious ‘I can handle it. I promise’

The kidnapper burns tim and cuts him, when he breaks his leg you scream. Tim still tells you to not speak as you start to cry but remain silent.

‘I see. We have a fellow hero here’ the man mocks tim, now bloody almost as you

‘ I didn’t expect this to be this difficult. I will give you that. Okay now time to stop the games’ he says taking out a gun and pointing it to tim ‘speak or I put a bullet between his eyes’

‘y/n don’t tell him anything, I am just one person’ tim says trying to convince you. He is a  cop his job is to protect people. His life counts less than the one of the undercover agents.

‘you choose y/n’ the man mocks you ‘300 agents or the man you love’

‘please-‘  you plead them. The man puts the gun on tim’s forehead

‘last chance’ he says as he charges the gun while tim mouths ‘I love you’ as he closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable end

‘okay okay I will tell you!’ you shout ‘But please let him go.’  You plead them

‘see? It wasn’t that difficult’ the man replies as he drops the gun from tim’s head

‘Let’s make a deal I will voluntary come with you, I will be a valuable hostage, but let him go. Please I beg you’ you continue. You don’t care what happens to you, you just want to save tim and the agents

‘y/n quit the crap don’t-‘ tim says as the man punches him to shut him up before laughing

‘the great y/n y/l/n the youngest  director of Internal Security Special Unit  and one of the top ranking National Defence officers is begging me? Wow. and all for him? a woman is a woman after all, he must fuck you well’ the guy mocks you, while the other laughs

Tim is boiling in rage at the blunt sexism and insults of the man in front of you. You don’t care anymore, you will do whatever it takes to get Tim out

‘please let him go’ you plead him again

‘nah. This is more fun. Speak now or never’ he tells you

‘don’t  tell them’ tim says pleading you with his eyes

‘3 … 2 …’ the man starts counting the gun barrell at tim’s forehead. tim takes in your face for what he thinks will be his last time. He wants to take in every detail of you even if you are so bruised and broken, to him you are still the most beautiful person. As the man reaches two he closes his eyes

‘John Lawrence!’ you scream before he can count to one.

‘perfect. Here we go. See it was easy’ the kidnapper mocks you as tim opens his eyes in defeat, as you can’t bring yourself to look at him

You list all the people taking the longest time possible to hope they will come rescue. You want to buy time, knowing that when the list is done not only the agents will be dead but also you and tim.

Yet Inevitably the list comes to an end

‘thank you very much. Betraying your country and 300 people for one single man’

You keep your head low knowing you just sentenced to death 300 agents.

The man points the gun towards you ‘kill me but spare him please’ you say having given up on your fate but hoping you will still be able to save tim

Tim flinches in his seat at your plead.  ‘she told you what you wanted let us go now’ tim says

‘and let you stop our operation? No way’

‘by the time they find us you will already have done it’ tim tries to make him reason

‘you know what? You are right. I will not kill you’ the man says as he turns

He shoots you in the stomach as tim screams your name and you can’t even cling to your stomach as your hands are tied ‘I will let you die of blood loss so that you can stare at his corpse knowing it is your fault’

He then points the gun to tim’s head

‘no! please!’ you shout

‘its okay sweatheart. I love-‘ tim says looking at you

As you hear the gun shot you close your eyes screaming but then you hear tim’s voice calling your name. you open your eyes as you see the SWAT entering the house and killing the two intruders before you pass out

-.-.-

Tim wakes up in a hospital bed, Lucy goes next to him in a second

‘tim! How are you?’ she asks him

‘y/n. where is y/n’ he asks frenetic looking around ‘tim…’ lucy tries

‘where is my wife!’ he shouts at his rookie. ‘next room but tim-‘ she tries, he doesn’t care he gets of the hospital bed falling down as he realizes that is leg is still broken after all

‘tim- you shouldn’t get up-‘ lucy tries to make him reason as she goes to help him

‘help me or leave!’ he says his eyes look like pure fire she nods as she helps him up and to walk next room where you are staying

Angela, who was sitting next to you, stands up seeing him ‘tim-‘

Tim freezes when he sees you. You are in a bed, more casts on your limbs that he can count. Your face is still swollen even if now is clear from the blood, tubes come and go out of you, one is even in your mouth.

‘y/n’ he sighs. Lucy and angela help him to the chair next to your bed. He sits down and takes your only non-casted hand in his

‘how is she?’ he asks them looking at your broken form, eyes lucid

Angela and lucy exchange a look before Angela speaks ‘the doctor said the situation was critical. Both her legs, her arms and one hand are broken. She had a concussion from the beating and lost a lot of blood, but the gun shot did not damage any major organ’

‘is she-‘ he is afraid to ask as the words die in his throat

‘yes she is in a coma. They are positive that she is going to wake up.’ Angela says

‘when‘ he asks as a knot forms in his throat

‘they don’t know‘ lucy replies as tim just nods never taking his eyes off you

‘the intruders?’ he asks now voice plain and cold

‘they were killed in the rescue operation. Any info they might have gotten never made it to their associates’ angela says, careful to not say or insinuate that you indeed told them something or in this case everything

‘they should have suffered more’ tim says as lucy and angela exchange a look

‘tim you should be resting. You have a broken leg and a minor concussion, and bruises and burns everywhere…’ lucy tries to make him reason

‘leave’ he only replies voice flat

 ‘tim…’ angela tries

 ‘leave!’ he shouts looking at them and they do leave. He turns again towards you worry and regret consuming him

He places your hand in both his as he kisses it before placing his forehead on it.

And for the first time in years tim bradford cries

Strikes to Die By

Part 2 of Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

Pairing: (FBI!)Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Months after you kissed Tim, you have to save him and yourself without letting your emotions get in the way. His past follows him to the FBI, and you must decide if you want to be part of his past or his future.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical content, violence, near-death experiences, fluff and banter, literary references and spoilers for Revival by Stephen King, canon-divergent Monica Stevens

Word Count: 10.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

The air buzzes as a hooded figure walks through the dewy grass. Hair stands on end as the city seems to shake within itself. A door closes silently, and less than an hour later, the figure returns to the static-filled wilderness of Teague, Texas, leaving wreckage in his wake.

Quantico, Virginia

“That’s great, baby girl, but it’s too long,” Derek chides gently.

“No, it isn’t,” Penelope argues. “This is a correct sentence.”

Derek clicks his tongue, then straightens from Penelope’s side.

“Historically, the longest sentence ever printed was 823 words long,” Spencer interjects from his desk. “Victor Hugo put it in Les Misérables.”

“Well, I’m going to be more miserable if we don’t cut some words out of this,” Derek complains. “Where’s the bookworm?”

“Me?” you ask from Hotch’s doorway.

“No, Frankenstein,” he deadpans.

“Actually,” Spencer says, “Frankenstein is-“

“The doctor,” everyone in the BAU bullpen finishes together.

Spencer raises his hands in a dramatic surrender, and you heed Derek’s beckoning and walk to his desk. He points at his screen, and Penelope sighs as she pushes his chair back. You drop your chin forward to read the briefing on the screen and then look at Penelope with your brows furrowed.

“What’s the problem?” you inquire.

“It’s too long. That sentence takes up four lines!” Derek exclaims.

“It’s a report,” Hotch calls. “Not a contender for the Pulitzer.”

You shake your head at Derek’s dramatics, then point to an accurate but lengthy transition phrase. “Remove this, add a period, and fix the capitalization on the right side.”

Derek lifts his arms in victory as Penelope does as you instructed. She hums, pleased, and submits the report to Hotch.

“You’re the best reader in the world, sweetheart,” Derek tells you.

“Careful, Penelope’s right here,” you warn.

“We can share him,” she assures you. “For now.”

“Iceland is probably home to the best readers,” Spencer tells JJ. “They have the highest per capita book reading rate in the world and a literacy rate of about 99%.”

“I bet Iceland is quiet,” Derek muses. “What with all the reading, not so much time to talk.”

“Was that aimed at me?” Spencer replies.

“Conference room!” Hotch barks. “Now.”

You abandon your post beside Derek’s desk and follow him into the conference room. As you lower into your seat, Hotch leans over the table and puts the phone on speaker.

“SSA Hotchner,” he greets. “I have the BAU here with me.”

“Pleasure,” a man with a moderate thick southern accent says. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Neilson of Teague, Texas. This morning, we discovered a man dead in a hotel room.”

“Murdered?” JJ asks.

“We’re not sure,” he replies. “ME took a preliminary look and reckons the victim was electrocuted. But we’re having… We have reservations about actually entering the crime scene or moving the body.”

“Why?” Hotch says.

“The room is spotless. By which I mean, it’s too clean.”

“Do you have CSI photos? Any photos?” Spencer inquires.

“Emailing those now. Photographer got in and out pretty quickly, but the photos should show you how odd this seems. Even the vents are clean, as far back as you can see.”

Penelope types something on her laptop and then casts the images onto the large television screen behind Hotch. He steps out of the way and listens to Neilson’s account of the distressed 911 caller: a housekeeper who entered the room with a master key.

“It’s way too clean,” you murmur.

“That’s beyond what any hotel maid is trained to do,” Spencer adds.

“Or paid to do,” Derek says.

“Penelope, can you go back?” you request after she clicks another image.

You stand and round the table to view the wide-frame photo of the hotel room. There’s something off about it – even more than the cleanliness.

“Is there another picture of the nightstand?” you ask. “Closer?”

Penelope exits the full-screen view and scrolls through the files before she finds one. After it loads on the television, you point to the Bible on the nightstand.

“That should be in the drawer,” Hotch says. “Nielson will call back in a few minutes. I gave him the go ahead to have CSI process. I doubt there’s any physical evidence left to disturb.”

“The Bible should be in the drawer, yes,” you agree. “But that’s not what I noticed.”

“Is that bed frame waxed?” Derek interrupts, peering over your shoulder.

“You’d notice,” Penelope jokes.

“Hotch, I can call the cleaning staff to find out if there’s a reason the room is that level of clean.”

“Sure,” Hotch agrees. “Make sure you ask about the air vent, too.”

Derek salutes as he exits the conference room. After he leaves, you point to the Bible's top and bottom edges.

“The pages aren’t big enough,” you point out. “Whatever is in here, I don’t think it’s the Bible. I think it’s a paperback in a Bible binding.”

“Why would someone do that?” JJ asks. “Aside from the obvious.”

“In a scene this clean, it has to be a signature,” Hotch answers.

“We need to know what book it is,” you say.

Hotch calls Nielson back while you, Spencer, and JJ look through the rest of the pictures. It’s a weird scene, something you haven’t seen before, but it’s carefully constructed. As close to perfect as you’ve ever seen a criminal come.

“Hey, where’s your boyfriend?” JJ asks you.

You turn your head slowly, then scoff. “Tim is not my boyfriend.”

“No, they just use my office to makeout sometimes,” Penelope interrupts.

“That was one time,” you argue. “And we’ve barely seen each other since then.”

“Because he’s moving to the FBI and across the country,” JJ points out. “For you.”

“Not for me.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer states.

You, Penelope, and JJ turn toward him together. He shrugs and continues examining the photos. Spencer’s comment doesn’t change your mind, though. Tim Bradford is part of your life; you have feelings for each other, but it ends there. It has to.

“We would’ve done something already if we were going to,” you admit softly.

“You did. You pulled him out of the bullpen and into a rom-com worthy smooch fest,” Penelope says.

“Who did what?” Hotch asks as he returns.

“Uh, Spencer found a loose screw on the bed frame,” Penelope lies.

“No, I didn’t,” he defends, standing to his full height.

“Oh, then I misheard.”

“I’ll assume I did too, then,” Hotch deadpans. “CSI said you were right. It’s not a Bible. It’s an annotated copy of Stephen King’s Revival.”

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fantastic.”

“That means something to you then,” Derek muses as he returns. “Hotel said there is absolutely no way their cleaning staff did that. Bonus, the hotel was closed for two weeks before it reopened four days ago, when our vic checked in.”

“Why was it closed?” Spencer asks.

“Let me guess. An ant infestation,” you say.

Derek’s brows raise as he begins to clap slowly.

“Revival is a nod to horror classics like Frankenstein and Lovecraft,” you begin. “It’s the story of a Methodist preacher who discovers ‘secret electricity’ that can heal people. Jacobs decides that it can take him into the afterlife and – as in most Stephen King novels – loses his mind in the process of trying to get there.”

“How do ants play into this?” Derek asks.

“How does murder play into this?” Hotch amends.

“Jacobs has an unhealthy obsession with Jamie, a boy he met while he was still a preacher, before his family died and his decline began. When they meet, Jamie is playing with toy soldiers on an ant hill. When they open the door into the afterlife, neither heaven nor hell greets them. Instead, it’s something called ‘The Null.’ Inside, ant-like creatures serve ‘Mother,’ who takes over dead bodies and uses them for her purpose: to bring more souls into The Null.”

“That answered half of the question.”

“Jacobs kills with electricity in his attempt to go to the afterlife.” You glance at the map showing Teague, Texas, and tilt your head. “Is the hotel the tallest building in the city?”

Penelope’s fingernails click against the keyboard for several seconds before she replies, “Tallest building, second tallest structure. There’s a decommissioned water tower that stands taller.”

“Why was it decommissioned?” Spencer asks.

Hotch raises the phone to his ear and raises his finger for Penelope to wait. A moment later, Deputy Sheriff Nielson is connected to the call and brought into the conversation.

“Why was the water tower decommissioned?” Spencer asks him.

“It was struck by lightning one time too many,” Nielson answers. “Teague is the lightning capital of the world, if you didn’t know, and over the years, we’ve had to learn to adapt to that.”

“Hotch,” you whisper.

He turns around, facing you with his back to the phone and the team.

“In the book, Jacobs goes to the tallest place he knows of, where’s there’s a big metal flagpole, and that’s where he makes his final kill.”

“You think this guy will do the same?”

“Without looking at his notes in the book, I can’t be absolutely sure, but if he has enough of an infatuation with the book and electricity to stage the scene like he did… it’s likely.”

Hotch nods once, then turns back toward the table. “Deputy Sheriff Nielson, our team is inbound. We’ll be there in a few hours to assist your department with the case.”

Nielson exhales, sounding like it would make him physically lighter. “I can’t thank you enough, SSA Hotchner. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Someone knocks on the open conference room door as you gather your things. You don’t look up until JJ elbows you in the ribs.

“I couldn’t help but overhear the last part,” Tim Bradford says, not even sparing a glance at you. “I can lead the tactical apprehension team.”

“I’ll work on finalizing the assignment,” Hotch agrees.

“We don’t need a tactical team,” you interject. “He’ll get spooked too easily for that.”

Tim keeps his eyes on Hotch, but you can see his jaw working as he tenses his facial muscles.

“All due respect,” Tim begins.

“No, Tim,” you snap, turning toward him quickly. “This is not a storm the castle operation. This guy isn’t limited to electricity, and he will kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Hotch looks between you and Tim and surveys his tight fists and your short breaths. The final decision is his, but he respects your opinion. Then, he remembers that Tim saved you and Spencer on his first day with the FBI. You bring different skills to the BAU, and he doesn’t know which he may need in the Lone Star State.

“Your team will accompany, Bradford,” Hotch agrees. “But you are on standby until further notice. You don’t say or do anything without my instruction, is that understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Tim agrees.

He leaves the conference room first, and you follow Hotch into his office and close the door.

“Hotch, I trust Tim,” you explain. “But if you want to solve this case without losing more lives, you need to tread lightly. If he gets to close, it’s over.”

Hotch nods once, and you step backward, preparing to leave.

“You said the guy in the book had an unhealthy obsession with someone,” Hotch remembers. “Think that affects our investigation in any way?”

You consider the possibility of a Jacobs and Jamie-type conspiracy. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that the killer wasn’t working alone, but something about the efficiency of this particular kill makes you think it was just one man: one man who could somehow control all of the variables in that hotel room.

“Not yet,” you answer carefully. “It took Jacobs a while to actually bring Jamie in as an adult. For this case, I’d say he’s more likely to recruit a former cell-mate or small-time criminal from his past to assist him in the big kill.”

“Victim?”

“There’s only one person in the world who knows that, and he won’t be in any mood to talk to us.”

“Penelope is looking into the town’s residents. If she finds anything, I’ll let you be the first to look.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh, and one more thing. The book isn’t just about faith and the nature of reality. It’s about addiction and morality. Drug addiction, healing addiction, someone turning away from God to make a deal with something worse than the Devil. Whoever this is, there’s more to him than meets the eye. We need to be careful.”

“We’re all coming back from this,” Hotch assures you. “We’re wheels up in twenty.”

Tim splashes water in his face, then grips the edges of the porcelain sink as it drips from his chin. He doesn’t look up in the mirror and doesn’t want to see anything except you. Since you walked into Mid-Wilshire nearly a decade after dropping out as a rookie, you have consumed Tim Bradford’s thoughts, his time, attention, and – most terrifyingly – his heart.

“Regretting arguing with her, aren’t you?”

Tim stands up at the sound of Derek’s voice. He snatches a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes his hands harshly, then wipes his face before he tosses it into the trash can.

“I didn’t come here for her,” Tim defends.

Derek smiles. “Nobody said you did. Nobody except you.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Tim begins to walk toward the door but stops when Derek says, “If you didn’t come for her, you need to tell her that.” Tim’s head turns toward his shoulder, so Derek continues, “Coming back into your life wasn’t easy for her, and don’t let her think there’s a spot in it for her if there isn’t.”

“I’d never lead her on.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

Tim pushes the bathroom door open too hard and walks out.

“What’d the door do to you?” you question from the hallway, your go bag slung over your shoulder.

“It was in the way,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, they tend to do that.”

You look at each other silently for a moment, then speak simultaneously.

“No, go ahead,” Tim insists.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. The situation, this killer, it’s all very volatile and I don’t want to see anybody else get hurt.”

“I get it,” Tim responds. “And I’m sorry I stopped reaching out after I went back to LA.”

“It’s okay.” You smile and say, “A taste of my own medicine won’t kill me.”

“It was different.”

You nod, then lead Tim to the plane. It’s a few hours to Texas, and you have over 400 pages of literary research to review on the way. Plus, whatever fun facts Spencer can tell you about lightning.

Hotch’s phone rings as you begin your descent into Texas. He answers it, his brows pinching as he listens to the caller. Extending his hand, he says, “It’s for you.”

Tim glances at you as he takes Hotch’s phone. He introduces himself, then shifts so that his gaze is directly on you for the duration of the call.

“Where?” he asks after listening for several breaths. Then, he says, “Thanks… I’m not, but I can… I’ll let you know.”

He hangs up and returns Hotch’s phone, ignoring the intrigued looks from the rest of the BAU as he stands to speak to you.

“That was Angela,” he says. “Oscar filed a new residency and employment with his parole officer. Then, he got a new parole officer.”

“What are you saying? He moved counties?” you clarify.

“He moved states.”

Tim steps his right leg back into the aisle of the jet to address your team. He concludes, “He moved to Teague, Texas.”

“And you think this Oscar is our killer?” Hotch asks. He looks at you, but your eyes are on Tim.

“If Oscar is the Reverend Jacobs in this scheme, then he’d have another contact in California either with him or coming right behind him,” you point out.

“Or he is the co-conspirator,” Spencer adds.

“In either case, we’d have to comb through decades of Oscar’s criminal history," Hotch says. "Tim? Do you think he’s the mastermind or the recruit?”

“I think he’d used somebody long before he let himself be used,” Tim decides.

“I can’t imagine him being this cold-blooded, though,” you say. “He’s a narcissist, not a psychotic murderer trying to open the gates of Hell.”

“If he’s a narcissist and he found someone to look up to, it could get dangerous very quickly,” Spencer offers. “His narcissistic tendencies would return and likely be worsened. He’d…”

“Have a god complex?” Derek guesses.

“More or less, yes.”

“Then we need to find Oscar and find out what is going on,” Hotch instructs.

“I can do it,” Tim offers. “He knows me.”

Hotch looks at you, and you nod, which ends the discussion. Tim is running headfirst into danger for a case you didn’t even want him to work. It’s a very good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, you tell yourself, even as your hands shake at the mere thought of losing him.

Teague, Texas

“Deputy Sheriff Nielson, this is my team. Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau,” Hotch introduces before he gets to you.

You each shake the Deputy Sheriff’s hand before you enter an oversized office with a large wooden table centered inside. A cardboard box of evidence is on the table and two folders bearing the case number rest atop it. You expected as much - or as little - with such a pristine scene, but seeing how little you have to go on is disheartening.

“Are there any people in your jurisdiction that you think are capable of something like this?” Derek asks Nielson. “Any motive?”

Nielson taps the table in thought, then tips his head to the side. “Kid named Nicholas just got back from a stint in Texas State Pen. He started in high school, little things like petty theft and peepin’ tom charges and worked his way up to manslaughter. Thinks he’s hot stuff around here.”

“What’s Nicholas’ full name?” JJ asks. “We can run him through the federal database and work from there.”

“Hutchinson.”

You look away from the nearly empty evidence box. “Hutchinson? Do you know if he’s related to Oscar Hutchinson?”

“Sure, he mentioned a cousin named Oscar once or twice. Seemed close, but Oscar doesn’t live around here.”

“Wait, Oscar?” Derek repeats. “Oscar who-”

“Tim is going to see?” you finish, unlocking your phone to warn Tim. “Yeah, that Oscar.”

“I take it you have a profile, then?” Nielson asks Hotch.

“One better,” Hotch answers. “We have a suspect.”

You ignore their continued conversation as the phone rings.

“C’mon, Tim,” you mumble as the dial tone trills in your ear. The line finally connects, and you ask, “Tim? Tim, you there?”

“I haven’t seen your name in a while.”

You take in a sharp breath as you wave your hand toward JJ.

“I didn’t know Bradford had gotten his little rookie back.”

“What do you want, Oscar?” you demand.

Your words catch your teammates' attention far quicker than your actions, and Derek rushes to your side. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and lays his head atop yours to listen to your phone call.

“Oh, you misunderstand!” Oscar exclaims with a laugh. “This is about what I can do for you.”

“You know exactly what I’d like you to do,” you reply darkly.

“The BAU has jaded you, dear. Tim is perfectly safe. Aren’t you, Sergeant?”

“Everything is fine,” Tim calls. “Just like the last time we split duties.”

“That’s enough small talk,” Oscar interrupts. “I assume you know about my cousin, Nick.”

“No, I don’t.”

Oscar takes several breaths before he hums. “You’re a good liar. But you’re a better cop, so I’m sure you know exactly who I’m talking about. He was released from Texas State Penitentiary last week and then poof! he disappeared. He’s in Texas, you’re in Texas… you catching my drift?”

“He went missing?” you clarify. “Immediately after being released from prison?”

“There it is. You understand my concerns. Now, to give you a little incentive to release him unharmed, I’ll promise to keep Daddy Cop here unharmed.”

Tim makes a noise of protest, but there’s a roaring in your ears that you can’t ignore. You don't even notice Derek lift his head long enough to repeat Oscar's nickname for Tim.

“Oscar, have you read Stephen King?” you ask.

“No. Live enough horror and you don’t want to read it,” Oscar answers.

“I think your cousin is in danger,” you tell him, looking up at Derek.

“Well, that’s a new play.”

“Oscar, I’m not playing. We’re not here for you or your cousin, we’re here because someone was murdered last night.”

“Sure, because the LAPD cares about that.”

“I’m FBI now,” Tim corrects.

The line goes silent. Your heart races, pounding in your chest, and you prepare to run out of this station and look in every building in the county until you find Oscar and Tim.

“My plan may need some slight adjustments,” Oscar muses.

“Oscar, listen to me. Tell Tim what you know, let him come back to the station, and I promise you that we will find your cousin and get him home safely.”

“I’m not big on the first two points. I’ll tell your boy what I know, and then I leave him here. A baseless arrest is the last thing I need.”

“Oscar do not try to find Nick alone!” you implore. “Let us do this; there’s more at stake than you realize.”

“You have no idea.”

The line clicks, and you clasp your phone between both hands to keep yourself from throwing it at the wall. Derek rubs his hand along your back as he looks at Hotch.

“What can we do to help?” Nielson asks.

“He won’t hurt Tim,” you assure your team. “He’s full of himself, not stupid. Give him a few minutes, and if we haven’t heard back, I will hunt him down myself.”

“You said Nick is in danger,” JJ says. “What does that mean?”

You lean into Derek’s touch and explain, “I was looking at it backward. Nick isn’t Jamie, he’s Mary. He’s the sacrificial lamb. Whoever our killer is, he plans to offer Nick up for whatever his purpose is.”

“Picked the wrong state to deal in religious symbolism and the deadly sins,” Neilson murmurs. “Dallas SWAT, Texas Bureau of Investigations, and Fort Cavazos have teams on standby ready to assist you in any way you need.”

“Excellent,” Hotch responds. “Considering our tactical leader is currently being held hostage.”

You blow out an amused breath and argue, “I told you not to let him come.”

“What can we do while we wait?” Derek asks.

“Find out when the next lightning storm is,” Spencer answers.

“Yep, that’s all you, Pretty Boy, get to work.”

Spencer rolls his eyes but opens a laptop regardless. On the plane, he found out that the estimated time of death aligned perfectly with a cloud-to-ground lightning strike within a few miles of the city. Considering the killer’s infatuation with the book, you support the opinion he’ll time his next kill with another lightning storm.

“We also need to look for places he might choose to commit the murder,” you say. “Between the first mention of the ants and the ultimate sacrifice, Jacobs took more lives. Granted, some of them took a while. I… I don’t think he’ll take that route, actually.”

Your phone lights up, you answer it before the first ring ends, then place it on speaker.

“Hello?” Penelope asks.

“Oh, hey,” you greet, setting your phone on the table.

“Whoa, don’t sound so disappointed that it’s me,” she replies.

“Tim was abducted,” Spencer tells her. “We’re waiting for a call with his whereabouts.”

“Speaking of which,” JJ begins. “Is no one going to mention what Oscar called him?”

“It’s an inside joke,” you say. “What’s up, Garcia?”

“I got the property records for the land surrounding the old water tower,” she explains. “It’s on public land, but everything around it is private.”

“Right,” Nielson agrees. “You can’t get to it without going through someone’s yard now.”

“But, the lot east of the tower was just rented,” Penelope continues. “To Nicholas Hutchinson.”

“No way he can afford something like that fresh out of prison,” Derek argues.

You nod but then consider the idea of land plots. “How many acres?”

“Seven,” Penelope reads.

“Tim said that everything was fine, like the last time we split duties, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” Spencer answers. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “He’s either giving us a clue or talking about something I don’t remember.”

“The last time you worked together was in LA,” Hotch reminds you.

You stare at the table, thinking. You spent most of that trip trying to separate your life and work from the past. It didn’t work, and you and Tim were held at gunpoint by a man trying to save you from everything except himself.

“We didn’t work together much,” you say. “I worked with Lucy, he went with Derek, and then we stayed together until we were in the townhouse with Riley.”

“No, you weren’t,” Hotch says.

You turn quickly, your brows raised.

“When we went to the last scene – the one where we found the novella about you – Tim was at the station. Pissed off enough that people stayed away from him, from what I’ve heard.”

“Whoa, watch your language Hotch,” Derek chides. “This is a work trip.”

“I’m still your boss, Morgan.”

“But a big teddy bear of a boss,” Penelope interjects.

“Regardless of who remembers what,” JJ says, “what does that mean to you?”

“I made him stay at the station,” you reply. “He was mad, obviously, but… he was fine. We thought I was in danger because I jumped the gun.”

“And we found two bodies,” Spencer mumbles.

Your breath catches, and you lock eyes with Derek before you look at JJ, then Hotch.

“What?” Spencer asks, looking up from the looping radar on his laptop.

“Hutchinson wouldn’t kill people right in front of Tim, would he?” JJ asks slowly.

“Deputy Sheriff,” you call, “have you had any double murders here recently?”

“No murders, no, but there was a car accident that killed two young girls about a week ago,” he replies. “Out on County Road 650.”

“Any structures near it?” Hotch asks.

“A couple outbuildings a few hundred feet from the curve where it happened.”

“Is there any way our abducted agent would know something had occurred there?”

“There’s a collection of flowers, stuffed animals, stuff like that. And… yeah, there’s a large picture of the girls, the family put it up.”

“We need to get out there, Hotch,” Derek urges.

“I’m going with you,” you say.

“How far is that from the water tower?” Spencer asks.

“A few miles,” Nielson replies. “Faster if you cut through a field.”

You slide your phone into your pocket and follow Derek and Hotch out of the police station. For the first time since you met Tim Bradford, your roles have reversed, and you may be the only thing standing between him and something he’ll never come back from. He’s saved you more than once, and you plan on returning the favor.

“Slow down,” Penelope instructs, her voice clear through Hotch’s speakers. “You’re approaching the curve where the accident happened.”

“Guys,” you say. “Oscar’s calling.”

Hotch slows, steering the SUV onto the grassy shoulder beside the road. He keeps his eyes up, but Derek turns in the passenger seat to watch you as you answer the call.

“You have one chance to save yourself, Oscar,” you remind him.

“He’s unharmed,” Oscar grumbles. “But I’d like to offer a trade.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yes, but this one involves a better outcome for me.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you where I am, and you can come get me and your boy. In exchange, I want to assist in the search for Nicholas.”

“And then you’re going to jail for abducting a federal agent,” Derek interjects.

“I’m not bartering with you,” Oscar replies.

You meet Hotch’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and when you exhale shakily, he nods.

“You’ve got a deal, Oscar. But you’re on thin ice,” you respond.

“Excellent, that’s where I do my best skating. We’re in some nasty barn off 650.”

Hotch pulls back onto the road, hitting his blinker to turn onto a dirt path that travels straight toward the outbuilding Nielson pointed them toward.

“We’re here,” you tell Oscar. “We’re coming in and you-”

“Better not have a weapon, yes, I know.”

Derek pulls the large sliding door open, and you enter behind Hotch, who raises his gun. Oscar lifts his hands lazily, and Tim stares at you from the back corner of the barn. You walk around Hotch and straight toward Tim.

“I’m sorry,” you say, reaching up to release the knotted rope holding his hands above his head.

“You can apologize later,” he replies. “Oscar’s not our guy.”

“We know. That’s what I was calling to tell you. I had it all wrong.”

“And now?”

You lift your brows quickly, silently acknowledging that you aren’t sure what you have now. You push higher onto your tiptoes before you stumble and place your hand on Tim’s chest to right yourself just as his hands fall from the pole above him. He catches you, his hands firm against your waist as you tip toward him. Looking into his eyes, you don’t move back. At least not until Derek clears his throat.

“Oscar has an idea of who might consider Nicholas as a perfect sacrifice,” Hotch says. “If you’re ready.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you agree, stepping back.

As you exit the building, you notice the air is growing uncomfortably humid. With your hand against your forehead, you look up at the sky. Thick, dark clouds are gathering in the north, and the wind shifts to blow against your right side.

“There’s a storm coming,” you point out. “A bad one.”

“You think it’s time?” Derek inquires.

“Time for what?” Tim asks.

You drop your voice and say, “Whoever has Nic is going to kill him in some grand display.”

“Where?”

Shrugging, you admit, “Maybe the water tower, maybe somewhere else.”

Tim lifts his brows, then says, “Sounds like you need to do your job instead of worrying about me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you suffer me,” Tim deadpans. “Let’s go.”

“Without a solid lead, we’re going to have to split up,” Hotch explains back at the station. “There are three potential targets for the killing site. The water tower, the top of the hotel - again, or a barn out towards the lakes.”

“But there’s only five of us,” Spencer points out.

“Six,” Hotch corrects. “Bradford’s team was called up to Salt Lake City for a counterterrorism case, but he’s still here.”

“So, we’re sending two people out, so the lucky couple gets to fight a crazed psychopath who kills people with electricity,” Derek reiterates snappishly.

“During a lightning storm,” JJ adds.

“We really can’t narrow this down more?” you inquire. “What about the lead Oscar gave us? Lev Davids?”

“I’d recommend going that route,” Tim interrupts, entering the private office. “Oscar finally told me why he suspects Lev.”

“A criminal he looked up to?” you guess.

Tim nods, and his eyes remain locked on yours as he says, “Monica Stevens.”

The rest of your team turns to look at you, and you stand.

“Tim,” you begin. “I have no idea who that is.”

“Right, sorry, after your time. She’s a corrupt lawyer, she worked for Elijah Stone and Abril.”

“Now those names we know,” Derek announces, smiling again. “I’ll get Penelope on their trails, see what she can find.”

“We only have fifteen minutes before the storm is here,” Spencer says. “Not much time to find someone and get there. And if we’re wrong, we’ll be too late.”

“Then we split up, as planned,” Hotch replies. “If Garcia finds something or someone gets a better lead, we reconvene. For now, it’s our only choice.”

“Why don’t we ask Nielson for officers to help us?” JJ asks.

“We can, but they’re not trained in hostage negotiations and don’t understand the psychology of someone who would do this. There’s too much risk leading them in all the way.”

“We’ll take the water tower,” you say, walking toward Tim.

“I was going to send you with Derek,” Hotch argues.

“Send him with Spencer,” you suggest. “You know we can do this, Hotch. Besides, he may not even go to the water tower.”

Hotch sighs, shaking his head with a hand on his hip. He looks more like a father of five than someone leading a highly trained group of federal agents, but he trusts you. So, he lets you go.

“What are the chances we’re walking into the middle of a storm?” you ask, bracing yourself against the wind as you exit the station.

“You’re talking metaphorically, right?” Tim checks, opening the door for you. “This is going to be awful.”

“That’s not comforting!”

Tim prepares to close the door as he says, “It’s true.”

Your phone buzzes as Tim steers the car around a large rock. The water tower looms above you, tall and imposing against the dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance, growing closer as the car shakes with its intensity.

“Garcia hacked into Stevens’ computer; Lev is planning to use the water tower,” you communicate. “She isn’t sure what their connection is or what Stevens’ motivation is for encouraging him to do this, but she’s still working.”

“We can’t wait,” Tim says, glancing at his watch. “The storm’s about to intensify.”

You reach for the door handle and say, “Then let’s do this.”

The wind closes the car door harder than you intended, and you draw your shoulders up, hoping Lev didn’t hear the noise. As you approach the water tower, you adjust your holster so your gun will be accessible even as you climb 150 feet into the air while the wind blows nearly 60 miles an hour.

“Any words of encouragement?” you ask Tim, looking up the metal ladder that seems to reach far past the clouds.

“The chance of tornadoes is low,” he replies over the wind.

Looking over your shoulder, you exclaim, “That is not encouraging! Or comforting!”

Tim lays his hand on your back, leans forward, and promises, “I’m right behind you.”

You nod, take a deep breath, and wrap your hands around the ladder rung. Tim boosts you slightly, and you can feel the metal shift in the wind. Climbing up, you remind yourself not to look down and keep moving as fast as possible without compromising your safety or Tim’s.

“Cavalry is here,” he says as you near the halfway point.

“I really hope they brought a sniper,” you grumble.

Lightning flashes brightly, striking nearly to the ground in the not-far distance, and you hold the ladder tighter as thunder follows it. You’re nearly out of time, and if Lev is ahead of schedule or planning for more lightning, you may be too late to save Nic. Worse, you realize, is that you may be unable to save yourself. Climbing onto a giant metal lightning conductor during a severe thunderstorm was a job requirement today, but it may not have been your best idea ever. You and Tim are on your own, and you have to save a life, keep yourselves safe, and then find a way off this tower before the storm worsens.

Nearing the top, you slow, attempting to gauge where Nic and Lev are. Before you can guess, you hear footsteps. Tim sees the shadow of someone approaching the ladder and climbs several rungs. His chest presses against your back as he wraps his arms around the side of the ladder. You trust him to hold your weight as you let go of the ladder and pull your gun from its holster.

“You need to go!” Lev yells.

“Not going to happen,” Tim replies. “Put your hands where we can see them, and this gets easier.”

“I have to finish! My mission is nearly complete!”

“Your mission?” you repeat. “Or Monica’s mission?”

Lev doesn’t reply, and his shadow remains in place.

“Don’t do this for someone who doesn’t care about you, Lev,” you implore. “There’s more in this world. There’s better people. You can have a life. But not if you do this.”

“You don’t know what I can have,” Lev argues.

He walks toward the top of the ladder, and you aim up and ahead of you before you pull the trigger. Lev drops to the metal balcony as the bullet whizzes by. It cracks loudly when it impacts the tank.

“Go, go,” Tim instructs in your ear.

You slide your gun into the holster quickly and pull yourself up the last few rungs. When you grip the handrail and spin onto the balcony, Lev is gone. Tim joins you, pulling his rifle off his back and into his hands. You duck when another lightning strike flashes, but you can’t focus on the storm now.

“The storm is coming from the north,” Tim reminds you, whispering as he leans toward you. “That means he’s probably on that side.”

You nod, looking over his shoulder quickly before you point toward the north, the opposite side of the tank. He gives you hand signals as the rumbling thunder softens. You will lead the way, and Tim will ensure Lev doesn’t sneak up behind you. It’s a dangerous game of cat and mouse you’re caught in. There is no choice but to play, however, and you distantly wonder if this is what Jamie felt like in the book. But Jamie didn’t have his own gun, you remember. Or Tim Bradford watching his six.

 The first raindrop landing on your cheek is an omen, a reminder that even when you get to the other side of the balcony, this is just beginning. As the sporadic drops become a steady downpour, you fight the urge to lower your gun and wipe your face. Tim moves silently behind you, and you wish you were back in Quantico. You wonder what you’d be feeling right now if you had just told you care about him when you had the chance. It’s gone now, and nothing you can do will change that. If you survive this storm, you’ll face Tim Bradford, unafraid and determined. The rain may saturate your clothes as you hear someone screaming in pure fear, but Tim has the unrivaled power to transform your life like heavy rain, cleansing and shaping you just by being near you.

“Steady,” Tim murmurs behind you.

He taps your left shoulder, and you look in that direction. Your eyes widen when you see the large metal pole extending from the side of the tower. It wasn’t in any of the pictures you reviewed of the city, so you know Lev is deviating from the book, no longer trusting nature to do the job for him unassisted.

“He’s scared,” you whisper.

“That’s not comforting,” Tim replies.

“Lev,” you call, pressing yourself against the tank. “Do you like Revival?”

“There has to be more,” he says, raising his voice over the rain. “This is only the beginning.”

“Did Monica promise you that?” Tim asks.

“This isn’t about her!” Lev screams. “It’s about me and what I deserve!”

“Life in prison?”

“No! Vindication!”

You glance at Tim, and his expression mirrors yours. Lev is having a mental breakdown, and you don’t have the time to pull him back to reality.

“Last chance to surrender,” Tim tells him. “If you don’t, we will drop you.”

Lev barks a laugh. “You’re too late!”

At the bottom of the water tower, Hotch looks up, covering his brow with his hand as he attempts to find you and Tim. Derek argues with Spencer about whether or not someone should go up after you, but JJ remains in the car.

“Garcia,” she greets when her phone rings.

“Monica was taken into custody,” Penelope says. “She alluded to the fact that Lev didn’t know the entire plan and that she intended for him to die on that tower too.”

“He’s just a pawn?” JJ clarifies.

“Something like that. The tower is a death trap.”

JJ ends the call and rushes out of the car. “Hotch!” she yells over the thunder. “Stevens expects Lev to die up there!”

“I’m going up,” Derek decides.

“No, you aren’t,” Hotch replies. He looks up again, rain falling on his face. “We’re too late to change anything.”

“Then we should at least warn them!”

“Are you crazy?” Spencer inquires. “Cell phone usage is inviting a lightning strike. At their altitude and the current barometric pressure, they’d die before the line connected.”

“We can’t just stand here!” Derek exclaims.

“I understand you care about her,” Hotch says. “We all do. But… Whatever happens now is in her hands.”

Derek steps toward Hotch with his hands fisted at his sides. “If she doesn’t come down, it’s on us.”

“And we’ll all have to live with that. If- If she doesn’t come down.”

Spencer ducks and Hotch turns toward him before something hits the ground. Derek glances toward the sky and then retrieves it. He holds up two cell phones before tapping the screens to wake them.

“Either they’re alive and taking precautions or Lev is crazier than we thought,” he muses.

“Crazy is a generic term,” Spencer points out.

“Which the FBI frowns upon,” Hotch continues. “But this psycho has two FBI agents up there in a deadly storm, so let’s make an exception, Reid.”

You shake your hand after tossing your phone over the railing. Your gun has metal in it, and your back is against a giant steel plate, but limiting the dangers on your person seemed like a good idea when Tim whispered the suggestion. Lightning strikes in a nearby field, and Tim turns toward you, pushing his arm over your torso. It won’t make a difference when the storm is directly above you. Yet, the idea that he’s still protecting you after everything you’ve done and said makes you wrap your hand around his forearm.

“Tim,” you murmur. “If we die up here, I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I don’t regret joining the FBI, but I do regret leaving you without an explanation.”

“I never blamed you,” Tim replies. “I- I still-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “We can’t change it.”

“But I can say it now.”

You look into Tim’s eyes, rain running down both your faces. If you weren’t in immediate peril and convinced today is the day you’ll die, you might find it somewhat romantic.

“Let’s finish this,” Tim whispers.

You nod and step forward, raising your gun toward Lev.

“Drop it!” you demand as he pulls a long chain toward the rail.

“Help!” someone calls, his voice muffled.

“Nic?” you ask.

He hums, and you lower to your knee, giving Tim a clear shot of Lev. Moving forward, low against the tank, you round the valves on the northwest bend in the balcony. Nic comes into view, and your heart drops. He is wrapped in chains, and secured to a metal chair against the side of the tank. The metal rod you saw earlier extends into the sky, anchored between Nic’s feet.

“What are you doing?!” Lev screams.

He pulls the chain tighter before he lunges toward you. Another loud thunderclap nearly drowns out Tim’s gunshot. You stand as the world seems to slow, reaching forward as Lev stumbles back. He topples over the balcony rail, and you are several inches short of catching him.

The chain stops unraveling, suspending Lev as he hangs from the tower. Tim pulls the strap on his rifle so it’s against his back once more before he pulls you away from the rail.

“We have to get the rod down!” he reminds you.

You nod, letting the rain wash away the guilt of not catching Lev. He had every chance to surrender, and he was going to hurt you. Tim did what he was supposed to do, exactly what you would have done.

You pull the rod at the base, and it slides up through the grating of the balcony with a sharp screech sound. Tim takes it from your hands, tipping it over the edge just before a nearby tree cracks, struck by lightning.

“We don’t have time to get him freed and down,” Tim points out.

“Go,” you implore, holding Tim’s wet vest. “I can free him, and we’ll hunker down. You can get down.”

“I’m not leaving you up here!”

“Tim, if one of us-”

Tim raises his hands to your face, holding you as his eyes bore into yours. “I’m not leaving you.”

You nod slowly, then step back and search for the end of the chain. The metal links are wet, your hands are wet, and the air turns eerily still and quiet as rolling thunder echoes against the metal.

“I can’t find it!” you exclaim, your hands pushed into the metal.

Tim stands above you, his legs against your back while he begins pulling the chains up over Nic’s head. “This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t care,” Nic replies through chattering teeth. “Just get me out of here, please.”

You shift to reach the loops around Nic’s legs. You don’t notice that the chains have been filed while you pull the tightened chains over his feet. Sharp points line the outermost links, and they dig into Nic’s skin and yours.

“Go, go,” Tim exclaims as he drops a heavy bundle of chains onto the balcony.

You stand as Nic does, and he limps past Tim as he moves toward the ladder. Rather than following, you’re distracted by a black shadow in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” Tim calls.

“There’s a rubber mat,” you reply.

Tim’s eyes widen as he calls Nic back, but you turn to look at the sky.

“Tim,” you say.

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

“No, it’s too quiet.”

Tim moves to your side as Nic stands atop the rubber mat. He follows your gaze, but there’s nothing to see besides fields, sparse houses over the land, and trees swaying in the wind.

“Please don’t be a tornado,” you say to the sky.

Tim grips your upper arms and steers you to the mat. On it, you have a better – though admittedly not great – chance of surviving a lightning strike. The insulation will help, but it may not be enough.

“It’s not big enough,” you realize as Tim stops.

He looks down at your feet and Nic’s. There isn’t room for him to join you on the safer material, so you step back onto the metal.

“Get on it,” Tim demands.

Shaking your head, you make up your mind. Wherever Tim is, that’s where you’ll be. He puts his hands on your waist and attempts to push you back. Your tears mix with the rain, but when you lay your hands on his chest, he hears your breath catch as you cry.

“I can’t do this,” you admit, gripping his shirt at his collar.

Tim hesitates, then turns so that you’re facing the mat. He steps back onto it, then pulls you forward. Against his chest, he directs your legs so that they’re bracketing his. Your left foot is between Tim’s, and your right is against the side of his boot. Nic shifts slightly to make room for you. Only then do you notice the blood.

“Nic, are you okay?” you ask.

He nods, then raises his hand to his neck. “It’s just a scratch. The chains,” he explains.

You glance at your hands and notice that they’re similarly marked. Holding tightly to Tim, you brace yourself as the tower sways gently in the strengthening wind. Tim glances at his watch and cradles your head against him.

“It’s here,” he murmurs.

Closing your eyes, you pretend that you and Tim are hugging for any other reason. Try to pretend that tomorrow is promised and that Tim will believe anything you confess.

“In the car,” Spencer demands. “It’s not safe out here.”

“JJ, call the fire department,” Hotch requests as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “We need them here as soon as the storm passes.”

“Do you think they’re okay?” Derek asks, glancing out the window at the man hanging from the tower.

“That’s not Tim,” Spencer reminds him. “Different build; it has to be Lev.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Derek’s phone rings, but he sends Penelope to voicemail. The car brightens with the next lightning strike, and the bright red flash at the water tower’s highest point isn’t promising.

JJ covers her mouth while Derek drops his head into his hands. Hotch sighs, looking at the wheel rather than the tower beside them.

You groan before you open your eyes. Tim’s hand moves slowly across your lower back as Nic mumbles.

“I feel like I’m buzzing,” you murmur.

“Storm’s moving,” Tim says. “Do we try to get down on our own or wait for the fire department?”

You look at Nic, the most injured member of your party.

“I’m ready to go,” he answers. “I don’t ever want to see another water tower.”

You smile as you stand straighter. Tim holds you steady as he taps his boot against the metal platform. Nothing happens, so he drops his hands to your hips as you step off the rubber.

Nic walks beside you, but as you near the ladder, he stops walking.

“I- I can’t feel my legs anymore,” he says.

His eyes roll back before he tips, losing consciousness. Tim catches him, lowering him gently to the balcony.

“I guess we’re waiting,” you mumble as you kneel beside him. “No burns. Indirect strike, I’d guess.”

“You can head down if you want to,” Tim tells you. “I’ll stay with him.”

“And I’ll stay with you.”

Tim nods. He offers his hand, and you squeeze it tightly as you move to sit. He sits beside you, and you lean against his shoulder.

“I want to tell you something,” you say. “But not now. I don’t want you to think that I’m just saying it because we could have died.”

“Will you answer a question?”

“Sure.”

“Was there ever a chance of starting something between us back in LA?”

You consider the question, rubbing your hands on your pants. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Ask me another question,” you request.

Tim notices your constant movement and lifts one of your hands. He brushes his finger along your wrist as he looks at the cuts and darkening bruises lining your skin.

“Why did you kiss me at the BAU?”

As you breathe together, the thunder grows quiet even as the sky remains dark and rain falls in steady sheets.

“I acted too fast,” you answer finally. “I tried to seize a second chance that I don’t think was there.”

“Is that why you stopped talking to me after?”

“It scared me,” you admit. “I messed up before. It kept me up at night for years, Tim.”

“Me too. But… Never mind.”

Your hand is still in Tim’s when you see first responder lights approaching. Some look like police, two or three firetrucks, and at least four ambulances.

“Care for a question?” you ask.

Tim smiles as he answers, “Sure.”

“Is there a chance of starting something between us now?”

Leaning forward, Tim looks into your eyes and says, “There never stopped being a chance after you came back.”

Smiling, you whisper, “I love you. I’ve loved you since I walked into Mid-Wilshire again.”

Before Tim can reply, a police cruiser siren sounds once. Derek speaks through the loudspeaker to threaten, “If you survived, I’m going to kill you.”

“What’s he going to do if we didn’t survive?” Tim asks.

“Kill Monica.”

Tim purses his lips and lifts one brow. “Might not be the worst thing.”

“Derek,” you groan. “Thank you for caring about me, but my head is throbbing, so could we save the lecture for later?”

He stops talking, and when you think he’s about to stomp his foot and start again, he wraps you in a hug.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, gorgeous,” he implores.

“I won’t,” you reply. “Although, it wasn’t on purpose this time.”

“Shh.” He tightens his grip on you, then steps back and salutes with a smile.

“Do you have a minute?” Hotch asks. “It’s not a lecture.”

You nod, then stand from your seat and join him at the back of the jet. Tim is in Los Angeles for a few days to work on the Monica case, and when he returns to Quantico, you have a lot to discuss. He isn’t aware of your new symptoms from being indirectly struck by lightning, but Spencer assured you they’re temporary.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks softly.

“I’m… almost fine,” you reply. “That was terrifying, but I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you know the bureau offers counseling if you need anything, and I’m here, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What did you tell Bradford on that tower?”

Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. “Just some shared history stuff.”

“You thought you were going to die. In that situation, people tend to say something they don’t mean or speak the truest statements in their lives.”

“Yeah,” you agree carefully. “Lots of confessions, real and imagined.”

“So,” Hotch continues, crossing his arms. “Which was yours?”

“You’re a profiler, you tell me.”

Hotch shakes his head at your smile but moves his arms to lay a hand on your shoulder.

“Be sure he meant what he said before you do anything you can’t take back,” he advises.

“You think he would speak emotionally?”

“In the right circumstances, we all can. Even a stoic like Bradford.”

“Are you speaking from experience, sir?”

“This is me giving you advice, not an interrogation, agent,” Hotch replies.

You nod, hiding your smile. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the advice.”

Hotch turns away, then looks over his shoulder. “One more thing. There’s a bet in the unit about whether or not you kissed up there, so maybe keep the specifics to yourself.”

“What do you think happened?” you ask.

“I know everything.”

“Even the art of romance?”

“I’m leaving now.”

You smile as you trail Hotch until you reach your seat. Derek watches you, then leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. JJ’s computer chimes before she tells you that Monica’s court date has been moved up.

“Bradford isn’t listed as testifying,” she adds.

“Is Lopez? Grey? Chen?”

“Yes, as well as Nolan and a few other officers from the division.”

“Then he’ll be there,” you reply. “Which means, Hotch, you may need someone to fill in for him and keep me safe.”

“You were a lot less reckless before daddy cop showed up,” Derek muses.

“Did you tell everybody about that?!” you exclaim.

He shrugs, practically admitting his guilt before he closes his eyes again. Tim texts you that he is staying in LA for a few more days. The following text, which says he’ll see you when he gets back, is the one that surprises you.

It’s just past 2 a.m. when someone knocks on your door. You roll over, pulling a pillow over your head. Unfortunately, the knocking doesn’t stop. You groan and retrieve your gun from your nightstand as you walk out of your room. At the door, you lean against it and press one eye to the peephole. Suddenly, as if you drank straight espresso, you’re wide awake and pulling the door open.

Tim’s hand raises to knock again, but he stops when you open the door and wrap him in a warm hug.

“Good morning,” he grunts as you collide with his chest.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice carrying traces of sleep.

Tim moves his right arm around your waist and carefully maneuvers back into your living room. He kicks the door closed behind him, drops his bag, and then notices your gun on the table by the door.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks, smiling.

“Not expecting anyone,” you reply, stepping back. Your hands remain on Tim's shoulders as you continue, “It’s a good surprise.”

“Sorry to wake you. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“It’s fine. This one time.”

“How are you?” Tim asks, pushing your hair out of your face. He slides his fingers into your hair, pushing it up toward your roots gently. He watches your face as if he’s memorizing it, worshipping it. “Headaches gone?”

“How do you know about that?” you ask, tipping your head toward his hand. “Derek?”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “I got a lengthy message about letting you rest and not giving you a reason to be on your phone.”

“They’re good coworkers but they’re nosy.”

“They care about you.”

“Just them?”

Tim raises his other hand to your neck as he steps toward you. In the low light of your living room, only the streetlight outside illuminates your face and the space around you, and it’s as if you are the only people in the world. Tim looks at you like you alone matter. Like this moment is specially made for the two of you.

“They care about you,” Tim repeats. “I think I do a bit more than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” you say. “I… I know our relationship isn’t typical, but you deserved the truth.”

“I didn’t know, no, but I still would have fought for you. I didn’t know what I had until I lost it, and the decade I spent without you taught me that some things- that some people are worth fighting for.”

“You weren’t this nice to me as my TO,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over a scar on Tim’s neck.

He got it protecting you, although he yelled at you the entire time he was treated and bandaged. Tim shivers at your touch yet doesn’t shy away or attempt to hide behind the persona he wears to protect himself.

“What you said on the tower,” Tim says. “Ask me.”

“Do you love me?” you whisper.

“I fell in love with the idea of you the day we met,” he admits.

You recoil from his touch briefly, but he holds you close. “And then I realized that everything I felt, all of the bitterness and disappointment I associated with you, was because I wanted you, desired you, more than anything. I didn’t think I loved you because I’d never been in love like this before.”

“Do you love me?” you repeat, softer. As you step toward him, pressing your chests together, soft rain begins to fall outside.

“Yes,” Tim answers. “Of course I love you.”

His smile grows as you hug him. One arm wraps around your waist as the other remains in your hair, gently curling and uncurling his fingers. Using the hand in your hair, Tim tips your head so he can see your face. He leans forward and stops with a single breath between you.

“Who needs lightning when you’re here?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes and scoff. Before he says anything else, you move your arms over his shoulders and kiss Tim. It’s different than the kiss in Penelope’s office. This moment is slow, meaningful, and full of love, history, and new beginnings simultaneously. Tim lets his hand fall from your hair, trail over your side, and slip beneath your arm to hold your hip.

Tim takes slow steps to move you against the couch and then lifts you to sit on it. Once you settle, Tim breaks the kiss just long enough to take a breath, squeezing your hips as he breathes.

Diving back into you like you are oxygen at the bottom of the ocean or a safe haven in a lightning storm, Tim cradles your face in one hand as he splays his fingers across your back and holds you upright.

“Tim,” you say, repeating it several times before he presses his forehead against yours and lets you speak. “I meant what I said in the storm. That wasn’t my emotions. I’ve felt like this for a long time.”

Tim smiles. “Stop profiling this,” he grumbles before he lowers you onto the couch and hovers above you.

“There’s also a bet running about what we did on the tower.”

Tim lifts your head and moves your hair so it isn’t pulled or trapped beneath you. “Let them wonder,” he whispers before trailing kisses along your jaw and hairline.

“What have we got?” you ask as you enter the conference room.

“Wannabe Bonnie and Clyde,” Spencer answers.

You nod and sit beside Penelope, who narrows her eyes at you.

“What?” you whisper.

“You kissed daddy cop,” she accuses. Your brows raise, and she speaks up to add, “He came to see you as soon as he landed, didn’t he?!”

You look at Derek and mouth, You’re dead, but he smiles and blows you a kiss.

“In line with the theme,” Hotch says, drawing attention back to the case, “this couple is heavily armed.”

“Which our tactical sergeant would know something about,” Derek muses, smiling as he looks at the door.

You turn and see Tim standing in the doorway, wearing an FBI t-shirt.

“Thanks for coming, Bradford,” Hotch says. “We’re going to need backup for this one.”

“Of course, sir,” Tim replies.

After Hotch dismisses you, you wait until you’re alone in the room with Tim.

“Would telling them make the teasing stop?” he asks.

You lean against the table and cross your arms. “You’ve met them, right?”

“We could always pretend to hate each other.”

“Easier for you than me,” you argue.

Tim shakes his head as he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the nearly faded marks from the chains.

“We don’t have to tell them,” you say.

Tim’s brows raise as he asks, “You want to keep a secret from your team?”

“They’re outside the door.”

Tim glances toward the door as you stand from the table and pull it open, unsurprised when Derek stumbles inside as he tries to catch himself.

“Secret’s out,” you say flatly. “We good?”

“What about the bet?” Derek asks.

“Morgan,” Hotch warns.

“I mean, what bet? Who said anything about a bet?”

“My office is off limits,” Penelope says, pointing at you.

“Can we get back to work?” Tim asks.

“Excellent idea,” Hotch replies. Nobody moves, so he adds, “Now. Everybody.”

The room clears, and, this time, your team members return to their respective desks.

“Not you two,” Hotch says. “I had an idea to run past you.”

“Sure,” you answer, closing the door.

“Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Yes?” Tim presses.

“They’d be threatened by another couple.”

“Us?” you clarify, pointing between yourself and Tim.

“Only if it’s something you’d be comfortable with.”

You look at Tim, who tips his head toward you, giving you the final decision. It wouldn’t be much different than what you did in Los Angeles a few months ago or some of the lies you played into during your short time as a rookie. Besides, when else will you have a chance and an excuse to be that close while working?

You smile, and Hotch nods. “Pack your bags then,” he says. “You’re going back to California.”

Think Different, Love the Same

Requested by @keyera-jackson! I changed a few minor details but I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!activist!reader

Summary: When 20-Squad begins dealing with an activist group, Deacon falls for you, the group's leader.

Warnings: fictional activist group and charter school, mostly fluff, brief mention/depiction of making out

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“I’m calling the police!” a man yells in your face.

“Okay,” you answer calmly.

“Who is in charge of this- this collective stupidity?” he demands.

“I am. And our group is called Need to Know; we’re advocating for-“

“You’re advocating for a trip to jail. Get away from my store or I will call the police.”

“All due respect, sir, but this sidewalk is public property, and your store is not endangered by our presence. Civil protests and freedom of speech are not illegal.”

“Yet,” your friend and fellow activist group leader, Luke, mumbles.

“Forget it,” the store manager exclaims as he tosses his arms up. “You morons can’t be reasoned with.”

He storms off, and Luke rolls his eyes. Your group has staged more than six protests this month, and you’ve come to expect threats from people who don’t understand what you’re doing.

“Should we move?” Luke asks. “He may actually call the police.”

You shake your head. “We’re not doing anything wrong, and this library has repeatedly refused people with physical disabilities and cut hours. They make it practically impossible for people to learn anything here.”

“I get it, I do. But if he calls the police and they actually come, what then?”

“You tell me, Luke. The kids who can’t go to a library or find teachers and classes who are willing to create specialized lessons and one-on-one assistance… how do they learn to respond civilly to police officers? If the cops show up, consider it a teaching moment.”

Luke shrugs before yelling to the small crowd of Need to Know protestors to explain that the police may come. You want to demonstrate the importance of common knowledge.

Your group Need to Know is making information available to all, regardless of age, disabilities, learning inefficiencies, or when they have time. Los Angeles is just a hub, a symbol of the growing problem: inaccessibility to information and bias against those who need it most.

“He actually did it,” Luke mumbles when a police car stops by the curb.

“Who’s in charge here?” the first officer asks.

“I am,” you answer. You hand your sign to Luke and approach the officers with a smile. “How can I help you, officers? Is there a problem?”

“We’ve received a complaint that you are trespassing.”

“Aren’t sidewalks public property? We aren’t blocking any foot traffic, only using our voices to advocate.”

“I understand that, ma’am, but… Several store owners have called and are worried that you will move onto their property.”

“I can assure you that we understand the legality and will not trespass onto private property. What can we do to fix this issue?”

“Just-“

“Wait,” the other officer interrupts. “Are your cars parked in that private lot? Because that could be an issue.”

Several Need to Know members nod, and the second cop smiles as he calls for backup.

“I made a purchase at one of the stores this morning, and we have been into the library several times,” you explain. “A library at which we are all members. Can you charge us with trespassing while supporting a city library and local businesses?”

“Pipe down, lady.”

“There’s no reason for that, officer,” Luke interjects, not threatening in any way but firmly defending you.

“What was that?” the officer demands as he steps toward Luke.

“I only ask that you show us the respect we’ve shown you.”

“Need to Know,” the officer reads. “You may want to read just how much we do for this city. Everyone needs to know how to respect police officers, and that it’s our right to defend.”

“Your right?” Luke asks incredulously.

You raise a hand toward Luke to ask him to stop. “Precisely, officer. We’re simply trying to make that access available. Citizens do need to know how to respond to police officers, we agree on that.”

“Thank you for your time,” the first officer interrupts. He gestures for his partner to get back in the cruiser. “Just make sure this protest remains civil. Have a good one.”

“You too, officer. Thank you for all you do.”

Luke rolls his eyes as the police officers drive away. You take your sign back, holding it up and getting comfortable for another few hours of answering questions and accepting donations from generous library-goers.

Less than a few hours later, however, someone sets out to send you home early.

“I thought I told you morons to beat it!” someone yells.

You and Luke turn together, immediately recognizing the store manager who called the police. When he raises a sawed-off shotgun, you are forced to push your group back onto the private property behind you. Several of them run for their cars, but you remain in place as the man raises his phone to his ear.

“Yeah, I called earlier about trespassers. They’re back, and if you don’t deal with them this time, I will,” he says into the receiver.

“Sir,” you begin calmly.

“No! You said you wouldn’t disturb my shop, but nobody wants to come in when there’s a bunch of sickos out front with signs! Panhandle somewhere else!”

You can handle people targeting you personally but get defensive and angry when they bring your cause into their attacks. Luke widens his eyes in a silent warning not to start anything; you think finishing the argument sounds like a better idea anyway.

✯✯✯✯✯

“20-David, we’ve got a trespassing call at a local library,” Hicks calls.

“How do you trespass at a library?” Hondo inquires.

“Apparently there’s a protest going on, and the strip mall on the next lot has some less-than-impressed owners. Manager of a family-owned organic store just called and said he’d deal with them if we don’t.”

“Not exactly a reason for S.W.A.T.”

“No, but the calls from protestors saying that he has a gun and is threatening to kill the people in charge is.”

“Protestors?” Deacon asks. “So, we need riot control and to disarm an outraged citizen?”

“The protest has apparently been civil thus far,” Hicks explains. “But be prepared for everything.”

“Can’t argue with that. Let’s roll!”

✯✯✯✯✯

“How are we sickos for wanting to teach the next generation?” you demand.

“Yeah, well every group like yours thinks they’re doing good, but you’re just making life harder for tax-paying citizens like me!” he yells, waving the gun.

“Man, just put the gun down and we’ll go,” Luke offers.

You see a large police vehicle approaching and are surprised to read ‘L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.’ on the side. Several uniformed men carrying riot shields exit the back door after it stops by the curb.

“L.A.P.D.! Put down the weapon!” Harrelson yells.

Patches displaying their last names are attached to their vests, and you try to read them all as you see them.

“Everybody put your hands where I can see them!” Luca requests.

You, Luke, and the remaining group members set your signs down and lift your hands. 

“This is a load of crap,” the manager complains as he sets his gun on the ground.

Harrelson pushes him onto the concrete and cuffs him while Luca and Kay move toward you with the weapons lowered.

“Need to Know,” Luca reads from a discarded sign. “Are you aware that you are on private property? It’s illegal to stage a protest without prior authorization.”

“We were on public property before this guy threatened us with a gun and pushed us back into his parking lot,” you argue.

Kay nods and asks, “Were you asked to leave while being on private property?”

“No. He told us to leave while we were still on the sidewalk, and he called the police, but once he got us back here, he just accused us of panhandling.”

“He’s not pressing charges,” Harrelson alerts. “Mostly because he can’t, but, you know.”

“Alright,” Kay says. You notice that his eyes are on you; yours are on his, too, so it’s not easy to miss. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What now?” you ask Luke. “The petitions for newer, safer libraries is going to legislative this week, we’re starting the first literacy course in a month… We have to keep going, but library protests aren’t cutting it anymore, Luke. We have to actually do something. Human rights issues, political issues, everything that people need to know seems to be blocked by the city. The bureaucracy wants to tell part of the truth and make sure the people who need knowledge most don’t learn.”

“That charter school that, what’s her name, Linda? The one that her kids just got pulled out of?” Luke asks.

“Yeah, Home of Hope or whatever. What about it?”

“She pulled her kids out because they refused to work with her son. He’s dyslexic and has some social issues, and they said he was difficult and simply couldn’t learn.”

“Get there, Luke.”

“Patience, grasshopper. That’s the epitome of what we’re fighting against, and the campus backs up to a public park.”

“You want to stage a protest beside a charter school?” you repeat. “I like that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What are you reading, Deac?” Street asks.

“It’s the website for the activist group Need to Know,” Deacon answers.

“The protest that we got called out to today. What’s so special about them?”

Deacon shrugs. “Curiosity got the best of me, I wanted to see what they were about.”

“Let me guess! Uh, need to know that cops should be defunded, or, no, need to know that women should or shouldn’t have rights.”

“Both wrong.”

“Men shouldn’t have rights?”

“They’re advocating for accessibility of information. The motto is 'Information for All,' and their mission is teaching people, young, old, disabled, everyone, how to find information they need.”

“What kind of information?”

“Human rights and political issues, financial literacy, home buying… what they need to live successful lives.”

“Impressive.”

Before Deacon can agree, Hondo yells for 20-David to roll. He looks into the situation room and smiles when he sees what Deacon is reading.

“Deac, we gotta go. Your friend over at Need to Know staged another protest, but this one turned violent. Even better, it’s on private property at a charter school,” Hondo says.

“Maybe not so impressive,” Street mumbles as he rushes toward Black Betty.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey!” one of the parents entering the school yells. “Just because you were homeschooled or bullied in private school, doesn’t mean you have to find an issue with every knew school your unpaid taxes help build.”

“Charter schools receive property taxes and state funds from district and state based on enrollment,” Luke explains. “Just like public schools. Those uniforms don’t set your kids apart, and the teachers are still just as lazy and unwilling to ‘deal with’ special needs students.”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t know I was talking to a charter school expert. Whatever teacher you had a crush on, and she turned you down, just get over it man, there’s better ways to work through your feelings.”

“Luke, don’t,” you whisper.

Luke is just as passionate about your cause as you are, and when he drops his sign, you rush to grab his arm.

“Oh, you want to do this? Let’s go,” the parent says. “But I don’t think you have the knowledge to tell one end from another.”

“Actually, I’m advocating for idiots like you who don’t know what common decency is!” Luke replies.

When the parent runs toward Luke, he rips his arm away from you and throws the first punch.

✯✯✯✯✯

You can feel your heartbeat in your eye when the S.W.A.T. vehicle rolls up. This time, you don't wait for a command to kneel with your hands up as the team rushes toward the growing, fighting crowd with riot shields raised.

“L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.! Everybody on the ground now!” Harrelson yells.

“Luke!” you call. 

Luke’s knuckles are busted open, but he’s winning the fight. A fight that never should have started, but maybe it will at least put Need to Know on the map.

“Are you okay?” Kay asks as he approaches you and the small group of still civil protestors around you.

“I’m fine,” you answer shortly. “Pretty tired of seeing cops at what start as peaceful protests, though.”

He lowers his shield and smiles at your feistiness. When Deacon read your bio on the Need to Know website, he could tell you were a fighter and incredibly passionate; he didn't witness what the passion did to your attitude during the last call.

“Let me guess, you tried to break up the fight and one of them accidentally hit you,” he continues.

“Do I need a lawyer?” you ask.

“We’re taking everybody in until we get a handle on what happened here,” Kay answers.

“Then I’d prefer to answer questions after I’ve received my Miranda rights,” you explain. “Officer…”

“Sergeant Kay.”

“If that’s okay with you, Sergeant Kay.”

He licks his lips, as you suspect, to hide his smile before returning to his team to create a plan for getting everyone to the station.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You signed a Miranda waiver,” Sergeant Kay muses as he enters the interview room. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Lots of unexpected things happen,” you reply. “And most people can’t learn about them, if you can imagine.”

He sighs as he sets a folder on the table. Another officer steps inside, and you recognize him as Luca from the first time you saw them.

“Your written statement matches the story everyone else is telling,” Luca says. “So, either you all stopped fighting to talk and got your story straight before we got there, or you are the unluckiest activist group in the world.”

You lightly tap your bruised cheek and flinch before saying, “I think it is the second one. Two peaceful protests resulting in S.W.A.T. visits feels pretty unlucky.”

“Peaceful protests for what?” Deacon asks.

“Read the website.”

“Told you she was feistier today,” Deacon tells Luca.

“She wasn’t like this the first time,” Luca replies.

“She wasn’t in pain and desperate to see a semblance of change before,” you interject. “Look, if you really want to know what we’re fighting for, I am happy to tell you, but it seems to me that you’re just killing time to do something else. Run background checks on everyone involved, if I had to guess. But unless Luke or the guy who started the fight are pressing charges, you have no reason to hold me as anything other than a witness.”

“I would like to know what is worth all of this,” Luca says, offering a kind smile.

You nod. “I’m sorry for snapping, then. Our mission is basically to make sure that people are informed on basic knowledge. That there’s no bias or endless hoops to jump through just to find an answer or help.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Deacon asks.

Something in Sergeant Kay’s demeanor today makes you think he already knows about your mission… and you. More than that, he seems to agree with or support your cause. Maybe that’s why he smiled earlier.

“Open newer, safer libraries, improve hours for more accessibility, remove enrollment caps from schools, create unique and specialized education for people with disabilities or learning disadvantages. Everyone deserves to learn, especially the people who want to but don’t have the accessibility or opportunity to do so.”

“Then I can see why you’d choose a charter school with nothing to lose by turning people away,” Deacon says.

You lean toward him over the desk and bat your eyelashes as you reply, “I’m glad you see my point. Surely a guy like you can see the good that more education can do.”

Deacon’s eyes widen slightly at your brazen flirtatiousness; he suspects you would be hard to get, even if he wanted to do something. Which he thinks he may.

“Maybe you could tell me more then,” Deacon answers, failing to hide his smile.

“I’ll just, uh, give you two some room then,” Luca interjects.

“Actually, if I’m not being charged, I would like to go home now,” you request. Deacon nods and offers a hand; he helps you stand, and you look into his eyes to add, “Alone.”

Deacon watches you leave, and Luca claps his shoulder.

“Falling for an activist group leader is quite literally the last thing I expected from you,” Luca teases.

“Who says I’m falling?” Deacon replies before leaving and ignoring Luca’s laughter.

✯✯✯✯✯

You are having the first peaceful protest in weeks, and when someone threatens to call the police, you can’t refrain from sarcastically responding, “Ask for S.W.A.T. - 20-David.”

When Black Betty pulls up a few minutes later, you smile as Deacon exits the passenger side. He looks around before raising his eyebrows toward you.

“And you thought you weren’t making an impact. Sixteen calls in a week seem like progress,” Deacon commends. “Maybe not the publicity you want, but who better to change the narrative than an activist group?”

“Sixteen calls,” you exaggerate. “Maybe you should just follow us around then, Sarge.”

“While I wouldn’t be completely opposed to that,” Deacon replies, clearly reciprocating your flirting. “I’m sure you know just how much L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T. does in a day.”

“You’re saying all of that is more important than me?” you ask with a pout.

Deacon smiles as he steps back toward the vehicle. You wave as they leave, and Luke laughs at you.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“For what?”

“Getting in that fight. You and Sergeant Kay owe your connection to me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon rolls the window down and looks at you when he gets called to one of your next meetings. He knows you haven't broken any laws, and you'll comply, so he doesn't even bother to exit his car.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Depends,” Deacon replies. “Are you free tonight?”

“CUBO,” you reply.

“CUBO? For what?” he asks with a laugh.

“I’m pretty sure asking someone who you see almost daily to accompany you on a date would be considered conduct unbecoming an officer.”

“You’re not a criminal, though. No criminal record, no CUBO.”

“No dinner.”

“If it’s not because of the CUBO, then why not?”

“It’s not you, it’s me, Sarge. Ask me again after we actually make some progress with making education accessible.”

Deacon smiles and shakes his head before pulling away.

“Why are you making him work so hard?” Luke asks.

“I’m not. He doesn’t actually like me, Luke. Just the idea of someone doing some good; he’s a cop and a good person, so he likes that.”

“You think he’s a good person, yet you won’t get dinner with him,” Luke muses. “That should be illegal.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, there’s someone here to see you, Deacon,” Hicks says. “Activist group leader or something. You need anything?”

“No thanks,” Deacon answers as he wonders if it’s you and what you are doing visiting him.

If you are here to see Deacon, he thinks maybe you are finally realizing his feelings are genuine. He likes you, and, as Luca puts it, he’s falling for you, but you seem unconvinced every time he tries to ask you out.

“You asked for me?” Deacon asks as he steps into an interview room.

“I did. I wanted to let you know that Need to Know and the L.A.P.D., after many hours of mediation, have found a solution that benefits us both,” you explain.

“Being?”

“I am taking a step back from Need to Know because it is moving completely online. No more Los Angeles protests from us.”

“You’re backing down?”

“No, we’re just trying a new approach.”

“So, what now?”

“What 'what now,' Sarge? This is the end of me and Need to Know; they have my support but no more black eyes for me.”

“I mean, are you staying in LA?”

“For now, at least. Who knows where I’ll go next, there’s lots of activist groups in the world and surely one of them will need a leader at some point.”

“If you’re so insistent on standing up for the little guy, being a voice for the voiceless, why not become a cop or a special ed teacher? Something a bit more…”

“Tangible?”

“I was going to say hands-on, yeah.”

“Some people just aren’t cut out for that, I guess. Maybe I’ll see you around, Sarge.”

“Wait,” Deacon calls. “Moving the cause to a bigger platform has to count as progress. You said I could ask you to dinner after you made progress.”

“You don’t want me, Sergeant Kay. I’ll leave the do-gooding up to you.”

Deacon, once again, watches you leave. He knows that ‘maybe I’ll see you around’ means you will never see him again, so he has to accept that you are going your separate ways. He met you, though, and that was good.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Drinks are on me, who’s coming?” Hondo yells.

“I’m in!” Luca answers.

“Can’t turn down free anything,” Street adds.

“Deac? We need to get your mind off her, so you’re coming too,” Hondo says.

“Fine. But I’m not doing karaoke with Street again,” Deacon agrees.

“Just because I out-sang you,” Street taunts. “Admit defeat and move on, Deac.”

“Trust me, kid, I’m trying.”

Street shrugs at Luca, both aware that Deacon is no longer talking about karaoke.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Luke, please don’t,” you request as he stands.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises before walking to the hostess stand.

“Deacon Kay!” someone yells across the room.

Your eyes raise immediately, and you accidentally lock eyes with the one man you can’t stop thinking about. Seeing him is a surprise, though not unwelcome. You smile, and he mutters something to Luca before setting his glass down and walking toward you.

“You did say I’d see you around,” Deacon tells you.

“I did. And here you are.”

“You, uh, you want to…”

“Go somewhere a little quieter?” you suggest.

Deacon nods, and you take his hand to lead him outside. You lean against the outside wall and wait for Deacon to speak.

“This is awkward,” Deacon mumbles.

“It could be worse,” you point out.

“How?”

You smile as you lean toward him. Deacon meets you halfway and grabs your waist as he kisses you. In all the moments you have spent thinking of him, you convinced yourself that he was the best man you’ve ever met, and now you are sure of it. More importantly, you believe his advances were genuine, his feelings as real as yours.

The door beside you opens, and you pull away from Deacon when someone gasps. Luke is staring at you with his mouth open, and Deacon’s team appears behind him with similar surprised expressions.

“Do you really like me?” you whisper.

Deacon gestures for Luke to close the door before looking at you.

“I really do,” he replies.

“Good.” You run your finger over his tie as you admit, “Because I really like you, too.”

“So, you’ve made progress, without sacrificing your feistiness, I may add,” Deacon responds. “Now what?”

“I think we try this. Surely there can be more to our relationship than protests and S.W.A.T. calls.”

“I agree.”

You smile, but Deacon kisses you again before you say anything more. Deacon moves you backward and presses you against the wall with his hand between your head and the bricks. Making out with Deacon in an alley was not how you expected this to go but Sergeant Kay is the best thing that has ever happened to you, perhaps even better than Need to Know making the national news.

“Wait,” you pant. Deacon pulls back enough to look into your eyes, and you ask, “Is Deacon really your first name?”

“Is that relevant to trying this?” Deacon jokes as he slips his hand into yours.

Potions

Pairing- Usopp x reader x Zoro

Summery- Based off this ask

Warnings- drinking, sex pollen (kinda ig??), sex while under the influence, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), penetration

.

Usopp explored the plethora of booths at the market he got Nami to bring the crew to this specific island for a specific booth. “Ah, here it is!” He spotted the place he had so eagerly sought out.

Although, it was strange he could have sworn the name of the booth he was searching for was Amil’s and not Amel’s but oh well!

Stepping up to the man who stood behind the booth. He greets Usopp. “Ah, good sir! How can I assist you on this fine day?”

“Oh, yes.” Usopp clears his throat, pulling his glasses down covering his eyes as he leans in closer. “You see, I may have heard you have procured a certain strengthening potion.” He tries to sound laid-back, almost tipping over once his arm doesn’t find support on the small booth.

“Oh….” the man's voice trails off as his eyes scanning across his almost empty cart before he sees a random bottle. “This!” He pulls it out eyes trailing over it, he’s been meaning to find someone to take this off his hands.

“And you’re sure this is it?” Usopp eyes the mixture that reminds him of a beer bottle or maybe wine. The red and pink sealant that protected the substance dripped down almost covering the peculiar drawing on the gut of the bottle. Depicting a creature with three heads, one of a goat, one of a human and one of a bull.

The bottle itself definitely didn’t scream potion but never judge a book by its cover y’know.

Salesman's eyes trails down for a sly second before answering, “Yes, of course friend. I would never lie.” Before Usopp could question him any further he quickly gives the price before shoving it into Usopp's hands.

He found the man's behavior odd but didn’t question it as going off to explore the island now that he’s got what he came for, or at least what he thinks.

A few hours later

Walking into the kitchen with Zoro your eyes land on the decorated beer bottle on the table. Usopp sat on the other side, clean glass in hand. He goes to pick it up but you swiftly swipe it up you turn the bottle to its back not caring to look at the label.

“What’s this?” You ask, twisting the cap off the bottle smelling it. A pungent smell hits your senses, nostrils flaring before you hand it off to Zoro, himself smelling it trying to suppress the surprisingly sharp smell.

Usopp debates on whether to tell then he sees you going to take a swig. “A Potion!” He yells reaching for the container. You stop right before the bottle touches your lips, pulling away your cock a brow at the man across the table.

“Potion?” Zoro questions.

“Okay so, a week or so ago I overheard someone talking about a potion so strong it gives you the strength of ten horses, ten horse man! Could you imagine what I could do with the strength of ten horses.” He rambles stopping once he sees the uninterested expressions of the two in front of them. “But it’s rare and could only be found here.” He finishes his rather short explanation you sit the random liquid down.

“And you how this is the exact potion? How?” You ask and Usopp just smiles sheepishly. “Well I mean if it’s not what’s the worst it could do?”

“Uh–I don’t know. Mutate us, shift our bodies. Change out Genders!!” You list out the tame possibilities but Usopp just shrugs as he pulls out two more cups for you and Zoro.

“I mean other than that, what could happen?” Usopp asks, taking the bottle in hand pouring double shots in each cup. The color of the drink was akin to blood and makes you judge their carefree attitude to the strange concoction.

“Zoro what do you think?” You turn to the silent man.

“I mean, I don’t need a strength potion but if it gets me drunk, sure.” Zoro says taking the cup Usopp hands him.

Huffing in annoyance you look down at the cup Usopp offers to you. Rolling your eyes you take it; “Fine, I’ll drink it. But not because both of you are doing it.” You grumble shooting the drink back in one gulp the sappy flavor overcoming your tastebuds.

You all wait for something, anything, to happen. But nothing, no bulging muscles appearing out of thin air, no ghastly mutation. Just a really, really strange taste.

“Well, then let's get this party started.” Usopp sounds disappointed as he pours another drink, this time normal bourbon.

You drink that one rather quickly, wanting to get the strange flavor of the other out of your mouth.

It only takes a few minutes for what you suspect is the ‘potion’ to kick in and it definitely makes you feel something. Your stomach felt queasy all the heat in your body going down.

You look at Usopp, who was already looking at you. You blink a few times, head feeling foggy, “Usopp..” You say stopping mid sentence for some peculiar reason. You want to finish, say ‘are you sure this is a strength potion’ but you can’t focus on anything but Usopp and his lips. When had his lips become so attractive?

“Y/N?” Usopps’ voice was dry making your thigh quiver for a second, Zoro definitely doesn’t miss it watching from the interaction from side taking another sip of bourbon.

You move to sit on your knees in the chair, head tilting to the side, eyes trailing over Usopp, low-lidded eyes, no jacket allowing you to see all of his muscles. With ypur gaurd down, no logical mind to stop think, you grab Usopp by his jaw pulling him into a soft kiss.

His lips felt exactly how you thought they would be, heavenly. The kiss slowly morphed from gentle to hungry. He grabbed the back of your head pulling you closer and guides you to his lap. You pushed deeper into the kiss teasing, testing to see how far he would go. He pulls away from the kiss, both of you gasping for air. His hands gripped your hips, both of you waiting for the other to attack.

You could feel how wet you were, surely your panties were already soaked; at this point you would take anything.

He flips you around sitting you sit in his chair now. His hand moves across the top of your shorts hand dipping inside. Moving your panties to the side slips two fingers teasing your slit before pushing past your folds.

He does a few experimental circles around your clit seeing what made you twitch and twist. “Oh..” you say heat grows through your body like a wildfire taking over a forest. Your legs spread, letting him move deeper, fingers teasing your tight entrance. He pushes inside, quickly opting for two digits he explores your body. Your bodies seemed to be hypersensitive as every touch felt like coals being thrown in a fire. Your hips moved in sync with Usopp's thrust, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

The way your walls pulse around his fingers, Usopp knows you're close.

“Be a good girl and cum,” He whispers, kissing your inner thigh, his slender fingers pumping in and out of you; thumb moving perfectly on your clit. Usopp looks up at Zoro who’s observed the entire situation but has yet to do anything. “If you cum you’ll get Zoros’ cock.” Your walls clench around him. “Oh, poor baby needs some cock.” Zoro mockingly teases, finally speaking once he sees the way your cunt responds at the mention of getting fucked.

And just like that you cum. Body shaking, the air in your throat catches as pure pleasure controls your mind, soul, and body.

Usopp pulls his fingers from you, looking at them they shine with arousal. On a sudden power trip Usopp stands up straight, smirking before shoving his fingers in Zoros’ mouth.

Taken back a bit he eyes Usopp but once your tangy flavor seeps into his mouth he doesn’t mind it, Zoro allows Usopp to have this little ego trip as he cleans you off of his digits.

You wish you could paint this moment, it was beautiful, they were beautiful. Usopp pulls away from Zoros’ warm mouth, fingers whispering against the green haired man’s bottom lip.

Zoro gets up from his seat, not once breaking eye contact with the other male. Usopp gulps once Zoro is at his full height, “Get over there.” Zoro instructs him to stand right next to you.

Allowing Zoro to lay you on the three chairs you once occupied, his lips connect to your neck leaving rough hickeys. Yelping when he hikes your leg up with a deathlike grip your foot hits the bottle knocking it to the ground, the rest of the elixr pouring out.

Zoros’ lips travel down your body, strong hands tearing your shirt down exposing your hardened peaks. He holds them his tongue exploring your chest, his hips moving slowly trying to suffice the need to be in your cunt. You can feel him harden beneath you.

Turning your head back to the spilt bottle your eyes center onto the illustration that covers the label.

You try to place where you’ve seen it before and then it clicks;

Asmodeus. Demon of lust.

Your face twists into a smile as you realize, it was never a strength potion.

You giggle as Zoro rips your bottoms and panties down, tip of his cock slipping and sliding on your soaking pussy. You can’t hold the pornographic cry that falls from your lips once he pushes in, bottoming out in one big thrust.

Zoro kisses you harshly once more if both of you were not under extreme influence you would have thought it gross how both of your saliva gathered as you made love to each others’ mouths.

He pulled away spit string pulling with him. He began to thrust, quickly becoming lost in your tight cavern.

As your body rocked you never lost eye contact with Usopp whose eyes were buglike and his bulging cock sat right in your face.

Moving your hands up you untie Usopps’ slacks letting them fall to the ground the only thing hiding his cock thin briefs. You palmed him biting your lip in anticipation and trying to keep in the moans Zoro seems so adamant to pull out.

He helps you pull his briefs down, his dick springing free. You thrust him in your hand, pre-cum leaking out. Using your thumb swiping over his crown using it as lubricant as you jack him off over your face.

You try to keep up the pace of your hand to Zoros’ thrust but your efforts were in vain making tears well in your eyes, the overwhelming need to please both of them consuming your mind. Opening your mouth you take him in, a raspy sigh leaves Usopp as you hollow your cheeks out, tongue swirling over his tip, egging his hips on to move.

Slowly he does his movements start slowly, his long cock quickly hitting the back of your throat but you take the rest of him.

Your air supply goes tight when he pushes on your throat feeling it wrap around his cock. He slides out letting you suck in as much air with your nostrils as possible before sliding back in. He tries to keep his thrust calm, collected. But it’s just so hard when you feel so good. He fucks your throat hard, almost as hard as Zoro torments your cunt.

Groans falling from the men and the muffled moans that could escape between Usopps’ wild thrust bounce throughout the room.

The coils in your tummy tighten with each thrust from either man. The lightheaded euphoria overtook you, possessing you. Your nerves shock as a volcano inside you erupted. The world went still, your lungs tightened as burning pleasure blasted its way through your body.

Zoro stifled a moan as your pussy spasms around him, he grabs onto Usopp's arm, shoving his face into your neck inhaling your pheromones and with one quick thrust both of them cum. Drinking down the salty liquid that feels your throat your cling to Zoro as he rides his high out.

The men pull out of you both helping to clean you up before all you're left with is silent.

Zoro grabs the bottle that didn’t fall off the table and pours two cups. One for him and one for you.

“Well, that just happened.” Usopp says sitting, shirtless, in his chair.

“Yeah, that did.” You say taking the shot with Zoro.

The Flower and The Serpent : a Walt De Ville x reader FF : eight

A bit of 18 and up, y’all.

“How do I keep winding up in your bed?”

You felt the mattress shift beneath you and then Walt’s smile pressing into the back of your shoulder, only one of your flimsy nighties in between your skin and his. One of his legs was tucked between yours and his hips were flush against you.

Keep reading

Charlie Gets a Girlfriend

Charlie Kelly X Reader

Summary: Charlie gets a girlfriend who finally doesn't think he is gross or weird. Naturally, The Gang has to investigate this girl for themself, and what's a better time than during one of their dates?

Word Count: 3.4k

a/n: There are not enough non-smut iasip fanfics, so I took matters into my own hands, enjoy! requests are open...

2:45 pm 

ON A THURSDAY

PHILADELPHIA

“Dennis I’m telling you, we gotta go to this new bar! Scope out our competition.”

“Mac it’s a gay bar, I don’t wanna be seen there.”

“Yeah! But-”

“Guys! Guys!” Charlie barges into Paddy’s breathless as if he had just run from his apartment to the bar. As usual, the rest of The Gang, minus Frank, was wasting the day away drinking at the counter. “This girl… we went out... I think I’m in love…” Charlie’s speech comes out in quick huffs as he tries to manage his breathing. 

“That’s great Charlie, but Dennis! I swear you won’t regret going to this bar with me!” Mac pointedly ignored Charlie, turning back to his roommate.

“Mac, it just sounds to me like you want an excuse to go to a gay bar.”

“What? No dude! It’s just-”

“Guys!” Charlie’s roar finally snapped the other guys out of their conversation. “Aren’t you proud of me? I finally got over the waitress just like you said I should! I found the love of my life!” The Gang only sent questioning looks to Charlie’s wide grin. He seemed genuinely happy about this girl, not hinting at ulterior motives for going out with her. 

“Charlie, what the hell are you talking about? What girl?” Dee chirped, wiping down some glasses on the bar.

“Look, I met this chick and oh my God she is beautiful.” Charlie gushed, his body language visibility getting giddier by the moment. “I asked her out and she said yes, it was awesome!” 

“Right, okay, and how much paint did you huff this morning?” Dennis lazily looked in Charlie’s direction, mocking him with his words and gaze. 

“What? Guys no, she’s like seriously totally real!” Charlie began rummaging around his pocket. He pulled out a small keychain, one that had a tacky-looking bear on the end of it with a bow. It was clearly cheap and on the verge of falling off the chain at any moment, but Charlie seemed proud of its appearance. “Look! She even won us matching keychains at the arcade yesterday!” Charlie beamed at his friends who appeared less than impressed at the display. 

“If she’s so real then you should bring her around the bar, Charlie,” Dee suggested, half smirking at the idea. In The Gang’s mind, there was no way a real woman would put up with Charlie’s idiocy. Unless she was equally as stupid. Or ugly, she could be hideous. 

At this suggestion Charlie began to avoid eye contact, looking anywhere but his friends, which amused them and only solidified their preconceived notion of this woman not being real. “Well, I don’t know…”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Dennis taunted, clearly amused by how this conversation was unfolding. 

“Well, you guys are kind of always really mean to me, and also degrade me. I just don’t want her to think I’m some kind of punching bag.” Charlie’s foot absentmindedly scuffed the ground.

Mac piped up, “But you are a punching bag.” 

“I just want her to think I’m strong and cool okay?!” The Gang understands Charlie’s sediment, they weren’t exactly the kindest to him on any occasion. If he brought a girl in here they certainly would rip into him until they inevitably left a bad impression on her. 

“Look,” Dennis began, “If you don’t want us to meet this chick then why are you wasting our time by telling us about her?” 

This question caused Charlie to smile, eventually forming into a smug expression. “I just wanted to brag that good old Charlie got a hot girlfriend before any of you losers did.” The Gang seems unimpressed, clearly still not entirely buying her existence. 

“Look, if this chick is actually real I bet she’s hideous or stupid to be dating you, Charlie,” Dennis said in a dismissing way. 

This aggravated Charlie. Of course, The Gang doesn’t care, why did he even bother coming here to tell them? He had hoped that for once maybe they would have congratulated him on his feat. “Look, you can insult me all you want, but don’t insult her!” All Charlie got in response was a silent Dee and Mac paired with an eye roll from Dennis. “Fine, if you guys don’t care then I’m gonna go hang out with my girl. She at least appreciates me!” And with that, Charlie storms out of Paddy’s. 

It was quiet for a bit, Dee resuming her cleaning while Dennis and Mac picked up their conversation from before. “Hey guys, do you think Charlie actually has a girlfriend?” Dee asked while she was finishing up. 

“Who cares?” Dennis stated. “It’s probably some homeless girl he found under the bridge or in the sewers. If she’s dating Charlie she must be some sort of gross creature.” 

“Probably, but I’m still curious.” Dee imagined all the potentially horrible aspects of this girl. Images of a woman with missing teeth and tattered clothes came into her mind. She obviously hasn’t showered in weeks and smells horrid, much how like Charlie typically did. Then, an idea popped into her head. “Wait, Charlie said he was going out with this girl today, right? Maybe we could do some stalking to see what she’s really like.”

“If she’s even real,” Dennis adds. “But, that might not be a bad idea. I’d like to see this broad for myself.”

“Yeah! And then I can visually access her to see if she is a threat!” Mac seems excited about the idea. It was settled, The Gang would see if Charlie’s girlfriend was a suitable match for their eccentric and grotesque friend. 

—-----------------

Charlie nearly dents your door with how much force he knocks with. It was a pleasant surprise for him to come visit you, and he seems more than excited to see you again, even if it’s only been fifteen hours since you’ve last seen each other. 

“Hey, Charlie.” You smile, “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Adoration is dripping from his voice, he could hardly believe you were real. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the fair with me! I heard it was in town so…” Charlie’s voice trails off but he still looks at you expectantly. 

“Sure! I just have to change real quick. Wanna pop inside?” You move to the side to allow Charlie access to your apartment. A wide, cheesy smile takes over his face as he enters, quietly thanking you. He’s relieved in a way. He didn’t think that you would say no to his invitation, but some small part of him expected it. He’s used to rejection and teasing, not warmth and acceptance. It was new and something he was slowly learning, but certainly not unwelcome. He settled on your couch with perfect posture, obviously trying his hardest to seem proper. You only giggled at his attempts and told him he could make himself at home, which visibly made his shoulders relax a bit. 

While you were gone he scanned your small apartment. Charlie was a relatively talented stalker, but he hasn’t found a good way into your apartment yet. You lived in a decent building so getting past the security measures wasn’t easy, but he would eventually find a way. Most he’s seen was glimpses through your windows, getting a general layout. But now that he was inside, he could finally get a good look at your home. It wasn’t anything lavish, but it was certainly cleaner than his apartment. You had a small kitchen which you’ve mentioned you love baking in, something Charlie was looking forward to exploiting in the future. He loves his sweets, and yours probably tastes better than any he’s had before. There are a few photographs, but most are of your childhood pets or scenery. There is only one photo of what Charlie could guess was your family. It sat on the edge of a mantel, almost hidden from sight. Charlie examined the image, taking in all of the faces. Perhaps one day he would be fortunate to meet them. 

Before Charlie could snoop further, you step out of your bedroom wearing a cute sundress. It was a nice day out and you wanted to dress appropriately. You almost laughed at the way Charlie looked like a deer in headlights, clearly looking around and making himself at home like you had said. “You ready to go, tiger?” Charlie nodded absentmindedly, clearly staring at your body in the dress. You looked absolutely gorgeous to him, the color of your sundress bringing out the color of your eyes. It was strange, he typically didn’t notice these things about people, but it seemed you were changing him in all the right ways. Your bright smile of confusion knocked Charlie back into reality. 

“Yep! Let’s go!” Charlie exclaimed, his excitement shining through his demeanor. He grabs your hand and practically runs the two of you down the stairs. The walk on the way to the fair was long but sweet. Charlie would constantly stop to pick up the “treasures” on the ground, even gifting you the ones he considered to be real finds. In reality, it was just someone’s trash he was picking up and admiring, but you found it to be charming, how he could find the value in anything. He certainly had a creative mind and it was refreshing to see someone with such a positive outlook on things. You eventually made it, pockets now full of trinkets. 

The first thing Charlie sees when entering is the carnival games, particularly the game where you throw balls at bottles. “Oh! I’m so good at these things! I have lots of practice throwing rocks at people and trains and dogs.” He ushers you over to the game, a thrill oozing from his words. The last part of his statement mildly concerned you, but you followed nonetheless. You knew you were never in danger with Charlie around. Charlie hands the man at the booth a $5 bill, turning to you. “I’ll win you a prize! I’m the master at this game after all.”

—-----------------

“What the shit?” Dee cursed, crammed behind a nearby bush with her brother and his idiot roommate. “That girl is not ugly at all.” 

“No, no she is not…” Dennis comments, trying to get a better look at your assets. “This chick is gorgeous, which makes it weirder that she would willingly want to hang out with Charlie.” Dennis leaned further out of the tiny bush. The three of them were not hidden, the bush was incredibly too small for them, but it was clear you and Charlie were too enamored in each other to notice.

“Maybe she’s getting paid to date him?” Mac suggested as fellow pedestrians stared at their ridiculous behavior. However, as per usual The Gang was shameless in their endeavors. 

“Yeah totally. I can almost smell Charlie from here.” Dee forged a face of disgust at the thought of Charlie’s hygiene, wondering how you could stand to be in such close proximity to the man. 

“Hey guys,” Dennis started, giving the other two the look he usually gives when he comes up with a ruthless plan. “Why don’t we go introduce ourselves? I mean, if Charlie is really serious about this chick then she should be introduced to his friends?” A jumble of agreements falls from Dee and Mac as they all exchange psychotic looks. They’re not going to be mean to the girl, just show her the kind of people Charlie surrounds himself with.

—-----------------

Charlie was now $20 poorer and still empty-handed from the ball toss game. You eventually had to usher him away from the game after he began cursing out the man operating the booth, consoling Charlie on his loss and assuring him it was definitely rigged. He seemed to appreciate your comforts and decided to put his small grudge on the carney on the backburner for now. Ruining this date was the last thing he wanted to do. 

The two of you walked hand in hand, Charlie’s palm getting increasingly sweatier as time passed. You chalked it up to nerves, but that could also just be how his body normally functions. It was nice being around Charlie, he had an amazing sense of humor and never judged you in any way. For the first time in a long history of dating you felt like you could finally be unapologetically yourself. Any insecurity or weird interest you had, Charlie made sure to make you feel adored and seen. He was quite honestly the most charming man you’ve ever talked to because of his quirks. Your friends disagreed after showing them a selfie you two had taken, but what did they know? 

Thinking further about Charlie you turn your head to smile at him, but he seems to be preoccupied with something he saw in the distance. You could have sworn you heard him curse under his breath before redirecting where the two of you were walking. “Charlie? I thought you wanted popcorn?” You question, actively walking away from the booth selling popcorn. 

“Yeah, I changed my mind. You like caramel apples, right?” He seemed timid, his wary smile not quite meeting his eyes. 

You nod at the comment, “I do, but I wanted to treat you to something you like! Since you spent all that money trying to win me a prize and all.” 

Charlie simply shrugged off your concern, finding it sweet that you wanted to do something for him, but more nervous about the situation at hand. “Candy apples, popcorn, they’re all good to me! I think you forgot I eat literal trash.” You giggle at the comment, then grimace a bit at the thought. You probably need to buy him a new toothbrush. Or a toothbrush period. 

Charlie kept tugging you along, seemingly avoiding something. After around five minutes of him dodging your comments and not slowing down for anything you dig your feet in the ground causing the two of you to stop. Charlie looks back at you with a nervous, questioning smile. “Okay Charlie, what is going on?”

“Haha, what’re you talking about?” Charlie asks, not bothering to hide the fact he is scanning the area around you two. 

“What am I talking about?” You parrot, “Maybe the fact you are acting like we’re on the run from the cops?” At his still anxious expression you consider your words for a second before adding on with a whisper, “Are we running from the cops?” Your face was close to his, close enough that you could feel his breath on yours. Charlie sighs in defeat before giving in. 

“No, it’s worse than cops. It’s my asshole friends trying to ruin the only good thing in my life yet again.” 

“How are they your friends if they ruin your life?” It seemed strange, but then again nothing you’ve learned about Charlie’s life sounded normal. His living conditions, his odd roommate that you learned may or may not be his biological father, and the bar he works at was definitely out of the ordinary. 

“It’s complicated, just don’t think about it too much.” Charlie looks down at your still intertwined hands, contemplating what to do next. “I just don't want them to make you see how weird or gross I am.”

“Charlie I’m sure-” Your sweet words were cut off by three breathless people chanting Charlie’s name, running up to you two. 

“Charlie!”

“Charlie there you are!”

“Hey, buddy! Funny running into you here!”

They were all equally loud and crazy-eyed. There were two men and one woman, you assumed these were the asshole friends Charlie had referred to. They all shamelessly eyed you up and down in an almost judging manner, to which you only replied with a hesitant smile. 

“Oh, hey! You must be the girl Charlie was talking about.” The girl addressed you first. She was tall and blonde, staring at you with intimidating bird-like eyes. 

You began, “Yeah, I’m-”

The brown-haired man next to her interrupted your introduction, “Wow, Charlie. What a catch. You’re certainly easy on the eyes.” He was clearly checking you out, purring his words with a flirtatious tone. It was mocking in a way. “How did you land such a catch? You know, with your disgusting hygiene habits. You know he goes into sewers naked?” The man stared at you with wide eyes, more than likely expecting a large reaction out of you, to which you only blinked in his direction. 

“Right, well-”

Another man cut you off, this time with slick black hair. God damn these people did not allow anyone but themselves to get a word in. “Hey! If you guys are done at this stupid boring fair you should definitely come back to Paddy’s!” His words were now solely directed towards you, “That’s our bar, y’know. We own it. Charlie does too but he’s basically just our janitor. We call it the Charlie work, it’s very gross.” You only half-heartedly nod. No wonder Charlie was so anxious, these guys are dickheads. Speaking of your scraggly boyfriend, you turn your head to see him practically fuming next to you. You knew if you didn’t intervene now things would turn a whole lot uglier. 

“Ok, well, it was um, wonderful meeting you three, but,” You discreetly take Charlie’s hand in yours, taking a few steps back. “We actually have dinner reservations so we have to leave now.” It was a lame excuse, but anything to get out of here. 

“Oh perfect! I’m starved,” The blonde began. “Where are we eating?”

“Actually it’s only a table for two, sorry! Maybe I’ll see you guys again! Bye!” You half-yell as you actively usher Charlie away from the scene back to your apartment. 

“What a bitch.” Dee casually said as the other two agreed. 

—-----------------

The walk home was quiet, which was strange as Charlie always found one thing or another to talk about. He was still silently mortified next to you, deep into his own mind. He was convinced you would never want to hang out with him again after hearing how his friends spoke about him today. Charlie knew you were aware of most of those things, but what if hearing them from another person changed your mind about things? He felt light-headed thinking of how you’d never talk to him again after this. 

Eventually, you made it into your apartment building and to your door. Charlie was about to admit defeat and simply walk away before you take hold of his arm. “Charlie?” For the first time since his friends showed up, he looked into your eyes. In them, you only found anxiety and sorrow. 

“I’m sorry about today, it was supposed to be nice.”

“Oh Charlie, it was still an amazing day, don’t worry about what your stupid friends said.” You cooed, but it didn’t seem to change much in his mind. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t wanna go out anymore. I am pretty gross.” 

“That’s stupid,” You began, “I mean, you may have some non-hygienic habits, but it’s just a part of who you are! It makes you stand out from the crowd.” You move closer to your boyfriend, hands now cupping both of his cheeks. Charlie learned into your palms, drinking up every moment of physical touch between you two. “Charlie you’re such a unique soul and you’re so kind to me. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you because then you wouldn’t be my Charlie anymore, you would be someone else.” You could see Charlie’s eyes slowly light up at your words, almost as if he’d never heard a kind word to or about him in his life. 

“You mean it? You really wanna keep seeing me?” Your hands leave his face, which makes Charlie think the worst, but your lips quickly take their place on his cheek. 

“See you tomorrow?” You smile sweetly, causing Charlie to enthusiastically nod as you enter your apartment and softly shut the door. From inside your living room, you can hear his yell of triumph and only a few minutes later you can see him from your window practically skipping down the street in joy. You chuckle to yourself, you really did score with him. His friends, however, are a completely different story. You just hope you won’t have to see them too often. But knowing Charlie’s background, you’re sure they’ll only become more of a nuisance with him.