#{ It's only a matter of time until Morgan goes. } | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ithebookhoarder · 9 days

Note

Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field.

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together.

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over.

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary.

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?”

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?”

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes.

David Rossi

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover.

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.”

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either.

One, because he’s kind of flattered.

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves.

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you.

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks.

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you.

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss.

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it.

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss.

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms.

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.”

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.”

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple.

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you.

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck.

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision.

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.”

With that, she’d be off.

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself.

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.”

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so.

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in.

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control.

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss’ it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.”

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house.

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights.

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.”

“I - ok.”

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed.

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.”

Penelope Garcia

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it.

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.”

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together.

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally.

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body.

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear.

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.”

Masterlist

504 notes · View notes

luveline · 8 months

Note

Hi Jade! Your writing just got me hooked on criminal minds so can you do something with badass!reader and something related to how Spencer deals with her closing herself off because she jus doesn’t know how to be emotionally vulnerable? I can’t think of a specific situation but I trust ur talent 🫶🏼

ty! ♡ fem, 1k

Spencer can't see your face when you curl away like this. You've turned your head to the window, your arm wrapped around your waist and your shoulder in no danger of touching his.

Despite this, he knows you want him near you. You'd pulled him aside casually before entering the jet to ask if he'd sit with you. So, you can continue your slouched cold shoulder if you like, but Spencer's confident that you don't mean it personally, he won't take it that way.

It was a kid, this time. Whenever the BAU fails to pull through and a child dies, you take it hard, as does everyone else. The only difference with you is that if it were any other situation, you'd soldier through, pretending that it didn't hurt you. When cases like this happen you don't bother pretending.

You're taking it especially hard, perhaps because you were reprimanded. You edged your way into somewhere you shouldn't have and accused the wrong man. Spencer doesn't know what Hotch said to you to wound you this deeply, but he can imagine it was something along the lines of forsaking your hot-headedness. Spencer knows from personal experience that it's going to stick around, a what if like cancer in your head that grows and grows. What if Hotch was right? And what if your bad decision was the weight that tipped the scale out of favour?

He makes sure that no one can listen before he leans in toward you. "You okay?" he asks quietly.

"I'm fine," you say, shrugging without looking away from the window.

He checks behind him. Hotch is in the kitchenette, a cup of coffee and a case file balanced in one hand, a tea kettle in the other. Morgan lays across the couch with Emily in the chair adjacent, reading. JJ texts to Spencer's right. She can definitely hear everything he's about to say, but he'll get over it.

"You remember when he yelled at me in Tennessee?" he asks. "In front of the team? I thought he'd be mad at me for weeks, but–"

"It's not Hotch I'm thinking about." You lean back in your chair properly, tipping your chin up. You look as though you've swallowed something sharp.

"I know," Spencer says. He digs through his messenger bag for the drink he bought before take off, a half litre of your favourite.

He presses it into your hand.

"I'm okay," you say, taking it. You weigh it back and forth, the liquid sloshing heavily, your eyes tracking the wave.

"Just drink it. It'll help your headache."

You unscrew the cap of your drink. "How did you know I have a headache?" you ask between little sips.

Spencer just knew. Same way he knows you don't want to talk about the case, no matter how badly you need to.

Your hand lays restless on your thigh, twitching like you're in the midst of a bad dream. The jet is dim but not dark, the lines and valleys of your face gently shadowed. He knows he could kiss your cheek and cheer you up if he had the courage. He thinks about it until he goes half mad.

"I wish I was like you," he murmurs. "I know it doesn't always work out, but you're not afraid to mess up. That's a good thing."

You turn your cheek into the chair. For the first time in hours, he can see all of you. Your shoulders relax, your eyelids slightly droopy.

"Maybe I'd mess up less if I weren't," you say.

"But you do more good taking a chance on things than bad." Spencer can't summon the courage to kiss your cheek, but he can take your unhappy hand into his.

You close your eyes. Tentative, Spencer presses the back of your hand to the front of his, drawing half circles into your palm. You let him do it for long, slow minutes, nothing but the hum of the engine and his skin brushing yours.

When your lip wobbles, he curls his hand closed around yours.

You aren't upset about Hotch, he knows that. You're upset about something they couldn't change, because they weren't fast enough. It's a team failing that you've taken onto your shoulders, and it isn't right. Spencer gives the plane one last look before he darts forward. He stops short, his face next to yours, and sighs.

You turn away from him before he can kiss your cheek.

You've never had a problem bragging about how much you like Spencer. When somebody tells him to stop talking, you listen. When others roll their eyes, you smile and poke at his sides teasingly. Usually, you'd let him kiss you. He grits his teeth and buckles up. If you can't be vulnerable, he can be twice; failed kisses don't bother him if it's in an attempt to cheer you up.

"What can I do?" he asks, pulling your joined hands to his chest.

"Nothing. Sorry. Nothing, I'm fine."

"Can we please work on the assumption that you're not fine? And that I'm here?"

You frown at him. Slowly, your frown turns to a less horrifying impassiveness, and not long after that you're pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

"Can we not talk? Would that be okay?" you whisper.

"Sure. Of course it is."

You nod gratefully into his arm. He lets his nose sink into the top of your head, not giving much thought to how uncomfortable it is. His arm comes up to stroke yours, but when JJ stands he drops it.

"Thank you, Spencer," you murmur.

"You're welcome. Now be quiet."

He can feel the shape of your smile against his arm, small but real.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

925 notes · View notes

iris-black13 · 1 month

Text

In honour of Merlin trending for literally no reason today, I would like to share my theories that I came up with during my recent rewatch. (I'm only up to season 3 right now so there really aren't that many theories yet.)

1. Merlin and Arthur 100% fell in love with each other in season 1, but they aren't aware of it at all.

2. Merlin is so gay. I'm not sure if he knows it or not, but Merlin is not attracted to women. Every time he's seemed interested in a woman, it's because she's been a powerful sorceress or a magical creature. Speaking of Freya; his only real female love interest, what he loves about her is that he sees himself in her. He feels a sense of kinship towards her as someone who is trapped and hunted for something out of her control. I don't think he feels any actual romantic love for her. He loves her, sure. But I think he's confusing romantic love for something else. (But idk I could be wrong.)

3. I don't think the Morgana we got back after her disappearance is the same Morgana we had pre S2E12. I think she probably died and came back wrong. Because otherwise the personality difference is too drastic. Her relationship with Gwen for instance. It makes sense if she didn't forgive Merlin for what he did, but why is she so mean to Gwen?? Gwen was her best friend and maybe even her first love? Morgana was never classist before season 3, but afterwards she acts like Gwen is lesser than and it just doesn't make sense. Anyway that's my in-universe explanation for her terrible shift in character.

4. This is the most important one. Merlin doesn't realize he's in love with Arthur until some time shortly before the season 2 finale. Before the finale, Merlin is happy to cheer on the romance between Arthur and Gwen. Two of his best friends fell in love! Why wouldn't he be happy? Even if they think there's no future for their relationship, he's more than happy to help them get together because Merlin believes in loving who you want to love.

Now, I could go on about how falling in love with Gwen is basically Arthur's way of expressing his repressed feelings for Merlin since Gwen and Merlin are of the same social standing and since Gwen is a woman he can experience the love he could have had with Merlin if it was allowed, but I won't do that. This ain't about him. What's important is that Merlin, in the season 2 finale- knows he's in love with Arthur, and that Arthur can't love him back. After the finale, he's still happy to help his friends in their affections for each other, but his bright goofy smile is gone. It's replaced with this melancholy smile and a hesitant voice.

I'm so serious right now. If you don't believe me, just go rewatch seasons 2 and 3 and see the shift in his demeanor yourself. He actively avoids them when they're interacting in season 3. In- I think it was the changeling episode, at the end, Arthur and Merlin walk into a hallway at the bottom of the staircase. They both see Gwen on the staircase, and when Arthur starts up the stairs, Merlin immediately leaves. It's not a "I'll give them their space" moment. It's a "I can't be here right now" kind of moment. He doesn't even try to stick around to protect Arthur on their date in the episode where Morgana frames Gwen for witchcraft. (and don't even get me started on that episode of my god.) Normally, he would stick around in the shadows to make sure nothing goes wrong and they aren't attacked or anything. It's weird that he doesn't try to stick around!

And oh my God. There are so many moments where Colin Morgan's acting just makes my heart ache. In the crystal caves, Merlin trying to banter with an unconscious Arthur while trying desperately to heal him makes me want to cry. And any time he's encouraging Gwen to follow her heart and be with Arthur just makes me ache. In the "...you still have feelings for him." And the "you like him. He likes you. Isn't that all that really matters?" I just can't.

Honestly, I could go on, but this post is already wordy enough. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin analysis #merlin spoilers #merlin 2008

70 notes · View notes

coltermorning · 4 months

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 11 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: After narrowly escaping with your lives, the trip goes on without further trouble as the weeks begin to add up. To pass the time during a snowstorm, you and Arthur exchange questions over a bottle of gin.

Author’s Notes: Nothing like a little alcohol to make you admit your feelings to yourself :) Arthur and reader both get drunk in this one. Chapter eleven of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Eleven: The Gentle Act of Teaching

Word count: 5574

It has been a month since we started this journey and, as I assumed it would, it has come with no shortage of setbacks. Rambling like we do, I have seen a lot in my time and maybe even grown used to the pointless violence of it all. The wilderness is unkind and man more so, but I haven’t given it much care or thought until now. Now it seems I’m only leading a woman just to show her how cruel this world can be. That haunted look on her face will stay with me for the rest of my days.

Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to undo the persistent ache that tightened them. Riding three days without much of a break to speak of had worn on his body, his mount, you and yours. In fact, it was so wearying you hadn’t said a word to him since the night before.

Your grief seemed to come in waves. This time it was pulling you back down into that shell of yourself you had been, unspeaking, unreacting, seemingly doing all you could just to make it another day. It was tough to watch, but Arthur didn’t have it in him to cheer you up. He was too worn down himself. That, and there was another nagging reason in the back of his mind he hardly let in for fear of letting it eat at him—that this was all his fault. He couldn’t do a thing about what else had happened to you, but he’d lost his head in that town. The mere thought of that slimy bastard calling you out like that had him bristling even now, fingers twitching with the need to shoot something. That nasty little look in his eye had been why Arthur had drawn iron in the first place, so fast it was more instinct than any sort of decision. That same look that had said plenty without words, that said the man felt he was owed something from you which warranted him following you out of town. Arthur didn’t care to ponder whether the man would have followed had he not threatened his life. It didn’t matter now anyhow. He had killed them all, exposed himself for what he really was. All because he saw red at the mere suggestion of someone wronging you. For protection’s sake, he had done his job. But it was obvious that you needed more from him than that. Your near silence since his shooting those men was plenty proof of that.

The truth was, Arthur suddenly felt that the side of him that town had revealed was glaringly wrong. It was a strange feeling, like denying the truest part of himself. But it gnawed at him now, that who he was did not have to be defined by his talent with a gun, but by the possibility of being something more. That the man he wanted to be became something he actually pondered. Things used to be about survival, about protecting those he held dear and nothing else besides. When had that changed?

As Arthur looked sidelong at you riding beside him, the empty stare on your face like that of a corpse, he knew. He had never had someone pure-hearted enough to warrant the believability of some better version of himself. With the gang, with Mary, there had only ever been a separation of good and bad, white and black, and he was always caught on the latter side of those things. But you made him think he could push beyond that, into some unknown middle ground. That look on your face was making guilt curl low in his gut for the first time in a long time at the act of taking lives. So he would push, do his best to shield you from it all. For you were good, and you deserved to remain so, lest he die trying to make it truth. If he didn’t try, no one would. Then you would be left like this—empty. And he knew enough about that to be determined to keep you from it.

The fourth day riding away from that terrible place and those terrible people, Arthur finally relented his pace. You had stopped here and there in the meantime, but never for a full night. The tiredness threatening to roll your eyes shut was testament to that.

Before the sun had even set and Arthur had finished with the tent, you laid back on the hard, thankfully snowless ground and fell asleep, the empty bliss of it like a gift.

When you woke, the sky was already lightening above you. You’d slept the whole night through, mercifully dreamless.

You looked down, curious over the warmth surrounding you despite the cold air, then remembered the bison coat. It was doing its job. The wind could hardly touch you with it on despite your poor judgement in sleeping outside the tent. And, like a pair of fools, it seemed Arthur had done the same. He sat against a nearby tree with his knee up, a gun in his lap and his head lolled down in sleep. Like he had every intention of standing guard but had let his exhaustion get the better of him. You couldn’t blame him.

No, the past few days had been anything but easy. You had been so plagued with guilt and worry and shame and regret the whole time it was a wonder you hadn’t given up. Given Arthur your mule and laid down and died right there in the dirt. In fact, the mule had been the only measure of happiness tethering you to the world at all. She still was. Though, sleep had helped clear your helplessness some. Instead, you were left feeling like you could go on but that there wasn’t much point in doing so. There was only brutal, unknown life ahead of you. And just like every interaction with strangers on this trip, that terrified you. The only comfort you’d known since losing your parents had been Arthur’s steady company. But that wouldn’t always be there. And, it seemed, you weren’t cut out for simple comforts anymore. It was time to grow up and see the world for what it was—unforgiving.

After plenty of rest, the pair of you packed back up and set out again. This time, you went two weeks without a break in routine. You passed over into Nebraska in the meantime, plenty of snow and cold following you in. You finally admitted to Arthur just how far you had left to go, nearly midway into the state, with no small measure of annoyance resulting on his part. But he agreed nonetheless, saying he had come this far. At least the railroad would tie into the trail soon, and he could take it back down to Denver instead of riding all the way back alone to join up with his gang.

His gang—you still hadn’t grown used to that. You hadn’t brought up the subject of his killing those five men, though it often crossed your mind to. The only thing stopping you was the fact that he didn’t owe you a thing, squeaky clean reputation included. In fact, his killer instinct had probably kept you alive thus far. Your judgement would be no help. If anything, it would just set you two to arguing again, as you often found yourselves doing. And the fact of the matter was you were tired of arguing. You were tired of a lot of things.

When the trees finally seemed to give up their steady growth, leaving behind nothing but wide open plains and brutal cold, Arthur stopped midday for the first time in a long time. The snow was blowing in sideways, and you nearly groaned in relief when he stopped his horse and swung off of her, saying, “Forget it. I ain’t freezing my balls off just to wait ‘til nightfall to do it again.”

You gave a pitiful laugh and dismounted, your legs like ice picks themselves when the pain of reaching the ground shot up them.

You and Arthur cleared a circle of snow for your camp, then built the tent and the fire. Arthur had been carrying kindling and a bit of wood for miles considering there wasn’t much of it to come by anymore, and you were impressed with his campfire skills when he got the thing burning despite the pelting snow. He had built it on the far side of the tent so that the canvas was blocking the weather, and when the flames began small then built, it took all you had not to shove your gloved fingers and your booted feet right into them.

You were both huddled close enough to the fire that Arthur suddenly took to laughing, calling you both idiots for being out in this kind of weather.

You managed a faint smile. “Montana got a lot colder than this, but…cold is cold.”

“Cold is cold,” he agreed. “How was it up there anyway? In the winter.”

“Brutal,” you admitted. Lots of days spent inside, chores finished as quickly as possible, week-long stretches where you didn’t know if the food would last. But it always did. Lucky you and your father were good hunters, your mother a good motivator.

“It wasn’t always like this,” you went on, having to raise your voice to talk over the wind. “It was sunny and pleasant some days. But still cold. The snow never left.”

Arthur just hummed his acknowledgment before holding his hands out to the fire, black gloves and harsh light eating up the reflection of the flickering flames.

After long enough, he reached around to his satchel and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Not a day went by he didn’t do this, whether for habit or enjoyment you couldn’t tell. You didn’t have the experience of smoking one to know. But when he lit one, the butt smoldering to life beneath his inhaled breath, it suddenly seemed like just the thing to warm your bones. So when he offered, as he always did regardless of how many times you turned him down, you took one.

“Well,” he said with a drawl. “Finally become a bad influence, have I?”

You didn’t respond, sticking it in your mouth, rolling it over your tongue. It was faintly earthy. Bitter.

You watched him light a match, touching it to the end of his own. Then he brought his hands over to you, cupping them around the flame to keep the wind from snuffing it, touching the match head to your cigarette.

You didn’t know what you expected to happen, but nothing did.

He grinned at you. “You gotta breathe in. Just- small breaths-” he added, but too late. You had taken in such a large breath that your lungs crumpled beneath it, burning from the inside out. You took the cigarette away and coughed and coughed, the feel of it like hellfire trapped inside your chest.

He was laughing at you, but you couldn’t quit coughing enough to berate him for it. You did hand it to him, the disgusting taste and the horrible feeling enough to convince you that it wouldn’t be your new pastime. Then the cold set back in, frosting over your throat and combining with the burning feeling in your lungs. All in all, it only served to make you feel worse.

Arthur’s chuckling finally tapered off. “At least you didn’t get sick on yourself.”

“Does that happen?” you asked, hoarse.

“Sometimes.”

“Lovely.” You wrapped your hands around your knees, scooting closer to the fire, glad for your shaggy coat. It was nearly unbearably cold, but your only other option was inside the tent, and without the fire it would only be colder.

You watched Arthur smoke both cigarettes with ease, one after the other, like he needed their smoke to breathe.

“Why do people do that anyway?” you asked, still miserable from the rawness in your throat.

“What, this?” he said, putting the one that had been yours to his lips and taking a long drag. He blew out of his nose like a dragon would, smoke billowing out of both nostrils.

You didn’t answer, knowing he was just trying to show off or work you up or both.

He finally turned to you. “Calms you down. Takes the edge off.”

The first time he’d offered you one, he’d said the same thing. What edge had he been so desperate to dull back then? And each day since? It wasn’t hard to figure now—cold like this could drive any man to madness. It was certainly making you want to run circles around the camp like a crazy person.

“Same as anything I guess,” he went on, blowing more smoke. “Why does anyone do anything? Alcohol, sex, drugs, they’re all the same.”

You didn’t quite understand the sex part but let it pass. One conversation with him about it was enough to last you a lifetime. But the mention of alcohol had you suddenly desperate to try that too. You had before, what little you’d been able to get your hands on up in the mountains, but it was never enough to take much effect.

“Would alcohol warm me up?”

He eyed you, that boyish gleam returned. “Not necessarily. Though it can make you too busy thinking about other things to remember how cold you was before.”

Anything would help at this point. “You got any?”

He huffed a laugh and stood, walking over to his horse. The poor animals were both standing with their backsides to the wind, close enough to share body heat. Arthur pulled a small glass bottle from his saddle bag and shuffled back over, kicking snow as he went. He tossed you the bottle, and you caught it, flipping it. It had no label.

“What is it?”

“Gin. ‘Fraid I drank all the whiskey.”

You eyed it. “How can you tell? There’s no label.” The liquid was clear, tinged green due to the tint of the glass.

“I can tell,” he said with amusement. “Can’t afford the labeled stuff.”

You eyed him for that, wondering about your saddle and bridle and the mule standing beneath them. He was either exaggerating, or you owed him more than you thought you did if one bottle of good gin would put him out. He just inclined his head toward the bottle in your hand with a slightly upturned mouth, not giving whatever worry you had about owing him a moment’s thought.

You uncorked the top with stiff, numb, gloved fingers then lifted it to your lips. The burn of it was immediate. Almost as bad as the cigarette. You forced yourself to drink it down but let out a wincing cough after you did.

“Christ. Are all the vices so terrible?” you asked, wiping the excess off your mouth and handing the bottle back to him. It had to be a punishment, for people to drink that. Addiction born of the need to punish one’s self.

Arthur was snickering again, but this time you joined him in it.

“Tastes smooth to me,” he said, lifting it to his own mouth. You watched him drink it down with near reverence, his eyes half-closing as he did. Savoring it. He brought the bottle down and examined it. “Shitty, but smooth.”

You leaned over and snatched it from him. Like hell was it smooth. It was as cutting as swallowing ice. But the aftertaste wasn’t near as bad as the cigarette had been, so you took another sip, letting it cut all the way down.

Arthur took it back. And after some back and forth, minutes passed and enough swallowed to dull its burn, he stopped you from taking it again. “Slow down there, or it’ll come right back up. I ain’t letting you put out the fire with your own sick.”

You cringed at the thought but felt that familiar defiance within you stand up at the challenge. You went for the bottle, but he snatched it away before you could grasp it.

“Don’t be dense,” you spat, going for it again. He again held it out, far enough you couldn’t reach it. And the resulting smile curving across his face was making you mad enough to tackle him for the damn thing.

You were about to lunge for it when he stopped you with a hand held out. “All right, all right, quit it. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You already didn’t like where this was going. To hell with the gin. Now you were just angry. You crossed your arms at him.

He grinned then said, “You answer a question, I’ll give it back.”

As annoyed as humoring him made you, you just shrugged.

“Agreed?”

“Go on,” you snapped. Better to get it over with, get the bottle back and walk away so as not to have to deal with him anymore.

He thought on it a moment, taking another sip as he held your gaze, an amusement lighting his eyes you didn’t much care for. Then, “What’s something you never told anyone?”

That you still wished you had died with your parents. That life didn’t feel like it had much meaning after their deaths. That one of the sole reasons you went on was because the man staring back at you had given a damn at the right moment. But you didn’t want to go down that slippery slope, not right now and not with him. So you reverted back to your younger years, to the girl who was full of life and grit and the ability to get her way. What had you kept hidden even from your parents?

You landed on it then hesitated, heat staining your cheeks from embarrassment.

“Spit it out,” he said accusatorially, sensing that hesitation.

“I…” How to word it and not sound ridiculous? “When I was a kid I…fancied the postman.”

Arthur burst out laughing.

“Shut up,” you said miserably.

“That’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

The deepest, maybe. Certainly not the darkest. But his laughter was slightly contagious given how stupid the confession had sounded, so you just said with a laugh, “I was little! He was handsome!”

“I’m sure he was,” Arthur said, tilting his hat to you in obvious sarcasm, his grin never leaving.

“And I never got to go to the post office,” you went on, unsure why you were explaining yourself. “So when Pa let me come with him, the hours that it took to get there, it was…it was just nice to see the man is all!”

Arthur was veritably howling with laughter now.

“Shut up!” you said, leaning over and shoving him. “Like you never had an infatuation with a girl.” This did seem to sober him some, and that gave you an idea.

“Give me that,” you snapped, yanking the bottle away. “And it’s your turn for a question.”

“Well, I never said-”

“Yeah, and I don’t care. You’re answering one.”

He settled back with a sigh but didn’t protest. So you took a swig of gin for courage and looked him straight in the eye. “Who taught you to shoot so well?”

Surprise crossed his face, lining every inch of it. He had obviously assumed you were going to ask about said girl, whomever that may be. But no, you wanted to know how he had taken down five men in a matter of seconds.

His face turned contemplative. Then, “No one, I guess. I always had a good eye. Good aim.”

“That aim was better than good,” you admitted. And the reference to what had happened back in that town seemed to sour his mood. He snatched the bottle back and took a long pull from it.

“Yeah, well, you’re either a decent shot or you get killed pretty quick in my line of work.”

His line of work. On the opposing side of the law, where bullets were aimed at you as often as a dirty glance.

“Do you ever get scared?” The question pushed out before you could stop it.

Arthur just looked at you, face tinged with mild curiosity.

“Not really,” he said. “Not anymore. But—” He tipped the bottle at you. “It ain’t your turn.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back, looking into the flames instead, knowing he would fire off another stupid question whether you got on to him for it or not.

Sure enough, he spoke, the amusement in his tone not lost on you. “You ever get into trouble up in them mountains?”

“What kind of trouble?”

You shouldn’t have asked. The smirk he shot back was enough for you to know he didn’t mean the kind where you got lost in the snow, where your life was in danger.

When he didn’t answer, you sighed like he usually did, drawing it out. “A few times. Once for this,” you said, taking the gin from him.

“What, getting drunk?”

“No, they caught me before it got to that point. I raided the liquor cabinet. It wasn’t much, a bottle of whiskey and some wine. But I was trying both when Momma and Pa came back from town early. They gave me hell for it.”

Arthur snickered. “How old were you?”

“Twelve,” you answered. “But it’s not your turn,” you said sweetly, making him shake his head, though his smile never left.

You took a sip of gin, wondering what it took to be drunk. But you wouldn’t waste a perfectly good question asking Arthur about it. Instead, you asked him something you had wondered since the night after leaving that trading town.

“Why didn’t you buy another bedroll? At that trader stall.”

Again, Arthur seemed surprised by the question. He took some time to answer, gesturing for you to hand him the gin. You did so, and he took another long pull of it. Long enough that you wondered how often he did this, drinking his thoughts away.

“It honestly didn’t cross my mind,” he muttered, staring into the fire. “I was trying to keep an eye on you when I was talking to that old croak. Weren’t thinking about it.”

You let out a breath of relief at his response. You had assumed he’d spent all his money and resources on you, that he couldn’t afford one. And, as it stood, he had been using the very edge of your bedroll ever since, both of you colder than you cared for but too prideful to cling together for warmth like you had that night after the wolves. So you had thought all this time another bedroll had been neglected at the cost of the coat on your back. But now that you knew otherwise, you didn’t feel quite so shameful. And you were grateful, too, that it had been because Arthur had kept such a watchful eye on you.

He took another long drink from the bottle, and you watched him, watched his throat work and his mouth purse with the harsh liquid. This man who you thought you knew—you didn’t really know him at all.

Arthur looked over and caught you staring.

“What?”

You shook your head, pushing the thought from your mind. Not because it scared you, but quite the opposite—you always assumed he was bad, that he was the low-down outlaw, and at every turn, he proved you wrong.

“Nothing.”

He chuckled lowly. Then, “You ever kissed anyone?”

“Excuse me?” It was all you could manage through your embarrassment. Not this again.

“Couldn’t ask it any clearer,” he said, about to take another drink. But you snatched it away before he could, taking a long pull yourself. Drunk. You needed to be drunk.

“How much of this do I need before it blocks out the sound of your voice?”

“So, no then,” he said with that god awful smirk.

You drank again.

He laughed. “Easy there.”

“I told you,” you said, voice hoarse from the harsh liquor. “There wasn’t anyone up there to kiss.”

“Not even the postman?”

You could have hit him. Instead, oddly enough, you laughed at that stupid smile on his face. “No, not even the postman. He was twice my age. Maybe more.”

“Hm.”

“What?” you fired at him, the bottle clutched tightly in your hands.

“Nothing, just…” He smiled again, his teeth showing. “Imagining it, is all. That life you led.” He pried the bottle from your clawed grip, smiling as he brought it to his lips. “Sounds…boring.”

You tried not to think about his mouth kissing the bottle, his mouth kissing anything, as you replied, “It was what you made of it. I enjoyed it.” At your nerves, you reached over and took the bottle away before he was even done drinking. He made a noise of protest, but it didn’t register before you had the bottle at your own mouth, trying desperately not to think of how his lips had just touched the same spot.

When you brought it away, you looked at him. Really looked at him, all notion of it being improper to do so suddenly lost. “There are other ways of enjoying yourself, you know.”

His brows rose high, either at the way you were looking at him or at the implication in your voice.

After long enough, he said, “You plan on enlightening me?”

“I…” Your eyes dipped to his mouth before you took another long pull, the bottle blocking your view of him. Shaking loose the thought that began to plague you. The urge to experience something new, something you were afraid would be addicting in its own right, alcohol aside.

When you didn’t respond, just pulled the bottle back down and looked to the fire, Arthur said, “I can’t imagine it would be much beyond snow sledding or the like all the way up there. You telling me that’s the secret to happiness?”

There it was, an out. A diversion to the path this conversation had led you down. And in anything other circumstance, you would have taken it. But for some reason, you were starting to believe that drunkenness snuck up namelessly after all, a haze of intuition lost.

You looked to Arthur, to the soft amusement on his face, to the casualness that seemed to always weigh on his shoulders and make its way to his mouth.

“You could teach me.”

“Come again?”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth again, seemingly of their own volition. Then words spilled out of you like gin from a bottle.

“Kiss me. Show me how.”

His face softened. Surprise, realization, a bit of embarrassment. Then deflection as he chuckled, his face tingeing redder in the gray light than the cold could account for. “Nah, you don’t want that,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Not your first-”

“Kiss me,” you said again. You couldn’t imagine it being anyone else in the world. There was no one else you trusted. “I wouldn’t ask if that were the case.”

He looked at you then with such raw surprise you wondered when the last time anyone had shown him such affection was.

He stared at you, and you stared at him, and before you could ask if his brain had shut down entirely, he looked to the fire and said defiantly, “No.”

You scoffed. “Come on. It’s not that big a deal. Just think of it as teaching me something new.”

“But it ain’t that,” he fired back. He still wouldn’t look at you. “It’s…kissing someone to learn something and kissing someone because you want to are two different things.”

“Exactly,” you said, taking another sip of gin. “If it‘s just for learning’s sake, what’s the problem?”

He shook his head, disgruntled. “Forget it. I ain’t doing it.”

You groaned aloud, unbelieving he was being the stick in the mud for once. “You know, for an outlaw,” you said, standing, pointing the bottle at him. “You’re awfully honorable.”

He let out a barking laugh like he didn’t believe that in the slightest but still didn’t take the bait. The stubborn fool.

The ground swayed a bit beneath you as you added, “And cowardly.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, the question poised somewhere between annoyance and a threat. But he had finally looked at you at least.

“Woman asks you to kiss her, and you won’t even consider it.”

He stood now, swiping the bottle from your hand. “You’ve had enough.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” But you couldn’t have pried the glass from his grasp if you wanted to, your vision starting to swim. “You don’t want to kiss me that’s fine, but don’t tell me what to do.”

He laughed that annoying laugh again. “I ain‘t kissing someone who can barely keep her feet.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, stepping over to him to prove a point. Close. You could have leaned over and kissed him yourself you were so close. In fact, the thought was a breath away from being turned into reality when he lifted the gin to his own lips, blocking you, his eyes catching on your mouth. Or maybe that was your shoddy vision making things up.

When he brought the bottle away, he was grinning. “Real impressive, being able to walk.”

“Shut up,” you said, but didn’t shove him like you wanted to. His closeness was…distracting you. And any forceful movement would likely land you on your backside.

“Tell you what,” he said, shifting his weight so that he stood even closer. Not backing down from you in the slightest, that cocky grin lighting his face. “You answer one more question, and I’ll kiss you.”

Your face burned with those words, like your body was realizing this might actually happen.

When you didn’t respond, his grin went wider. Feral. Then, “Tell me your name.”

Damn him. Because he knew it was the one thing you wouldn’t give him.

“That’s not a question,” you said simply, holding his eye.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Why don’t you want me to know it?”

Now it was your turn to grin. “Because they were the last people to call me that.”

Arthur was confused by your smile despite your words, his brows pinching together. And you said without hesitation, “And I just answered your question. So kiss me.”

Realization hit him again, and he immediately let out an unbelieving laugh. “You’re a damn sneak, you know that?”

When his eyes met yours, his gaze shifted the slightest bit toward serious in the harsh daylight. And he definitely eyed your mouth this time. Alcohol or no, you could see it plain as day. Then at last, he groaned his annoyance, or tried to shake how flustered he was, and said, “All right then. You win.” He dropped the gin and stepped toward you.

All you had ever known of this suddenly became futile, juvenile, worthless in the eyes of him bringing his gloved hands to the back of your head. Your scant knowledge couldn’t hold a candle to the gentle way he brought your mouth to his, meeting you at last in a kiss so tender it sobered you. This was happening. Arthur was…

All thought was lost when his mouth pressed against yours a second time. Slow. Caring. You let him be, forgetting entirely what this was supposed to be about, instead navigating the newness that was kissing someone back.

The kiss went on for an eternity, the effect better than any cigarette, any gin, anything in the world. There was no snow, was no cold, was nothing but the way his lips parted. You did as he did, and soon your mouth was at his with a fervor, his tongue warm against yours, the taste of gin and tobacco all you knew and all you ever wanted again.

Then he was stepping away, letting his hands fall, his gaze shy as it hit the ground.

“Was that…what you wanted?” he asked softly, meeting your eye as his hands fell a bit nervously onto his gun belt, fidgeting.

You just stared at him. Dove deep inside yourself to remember your words, to remember your circumstances and who you were supposed to be to each other. Because it was certainly blurring as the warmth of his mouth lingered.

After long enough that he kept shifting his weight, you spoke. “I understand it now. Why people…enjoy that.”

You thought you saw the smallest softening of his gaze before the mask returned, his teasing smirk back in place. “You really don’t know nothing, do you?”

You couldn’t even be bothered to chide him. Not after what he had just given you.

You pursed your lips like you could hold that kiss forever then looked at the bottle at your feet. You knelt and picked it up, pushing it into his chest. He grabbed it. And you wouldn’t meet his eye for fear of wanting him to kiss you all over again as you said with a giddy smile, “Thank you for teaching me,” and stepped around him. Aimed for the tent. Focused on keeping your feet beneath you, keeping your head somewhere inside reality, keeping your thoughts away from the man at your back. Away from just how much you truly felt for him, your fondness veiled like the unfamiliarity of a kiss until now.

_________

Chapter twelve is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

72 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 4 months

Note

Could I request platonic concepts for Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2) please? Maybe the reader's new to the group and he's kinda teaching them the ropes?

Sure! Here you go, I love Arthur.... Still new to RDR2 so I hope I get things right.

Yandere! Platonic! Arthur Morgan with Darling who recently joined the group

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Father Arthur Morgan, Manipulation, Trauma, Fear of loss, Murder, Violence, Brief blood mention, Dubious companionship.

Arthur isn't the best person, he's been involved with crime since he joined the gang with Dutch.

He's lost those he loved and has chosen to stay loyal to the gang (until he realizes the truth about Dutch).

As a result he is hesitant to be open with anyone.

He's intimidating and cold, but it capable of being kind, polite, and playful at times.

You most likely joined the gang at a young age.

You first joined at about 18/19, you were encouraged by Dutch to join as you had no other place to go.

You weren't as young as Arthur when he joined but Arthur still sees a little bit of himself in you.

I imagine Arthur tries not to get attached to you at first....

He keeps up the stoic behavior and only helps you when he has to.

But eventually Arthur is encouraged to connect with you.

He knows he isn't the best role model for you, but really who is in the gang?

Arthur almost feels guilty that he enjoys your presence.

Part of him yearns to have some kind of kid due to his past.

He tries to smother such thoughts as he doesn't want to lose anyone again.

But you still manage to make your way into his cracked heart, looking up to him with such bright eyes.

Arthur grits his teeth... he really can't say no to you.

The other members notice Arthur go from ignoring you to caring about you.

He teaches you lessons to survive in a world such as this.

Things like reading, shooting, and riding.

Dutch muses with Arthur that your companionship is very similar to how Dutch treated him.

Arthur grumbles and brushes him off.

It's just how he's taught.

Arthur is surprisingly careful with you.

He checks your grip when you shoot to make sure you don't hurt yourself.

He makes sure you're well acquainted with your mount before mounting to prevent you from being flung off.

Arthur may act calm and like he has no fear, but he has one fear.

He fears for the safety of those he cares about.

Since he sees you in the role of his kid in a way he is very attentive to your safety.

Some gang members find this funny yet endearing when Arthur acts like some smothering parent around you.

Arthur is a somewhat lucid yandere, he is aware of his actions.

Yet if it's for you he'd do anything.

He fears his own mortality along with yours.

It surprises you when Arthur's embraces are tight and his breathing is uneasy during tough times.

Arthur is a man who has no issue with murder.

He doesn't care for uneccesarry murder... but when it comes to you?

He'd be such a shotgun dad.

You know what I mean, one who'd shoot the partner of his kid if they did anything he deems wrong.

He can't risk anything.

Arthur would heavily manipulate you.

He wants you to stay at the camp with the gang while he goes out.

Arthur isn't sure if he can cope with another loss.

Which is the main reason he's so protective over you.

He normally isn't one for revenge, but if you were hurt he'd hunt down whoever did it.

I feel his honor matters and changes his yandere behavior in a way.

If he's high honor he is more considerate of you as his "kid".

He listens to you more, less intimidating, and less trigger happy.

If he's low honor, he's away more selfish.

He sees you as a coping mechanism and wants to lock you away more.

He's more willing to kill and use violence to keep you safe.

He'd even begin to scare you as he falls into this obsessive need to protect you.

Arthur cares deeply for you either way.

Although his honor changes how he'll deal with his obsession.

It occurs to him later on his manipulation is similar to what Dutch did to him.

Yet Arthur thinks he's better/is in denial.

He's not forcing you to do violence... he's protecting you.

He holds you close to comfort you and is a father to you...

Isn't he?

You love him... don't you?

He isn't the best man, he knows that already.

But Arthur would do anything for you.

He'd cover his hands and clothes in blood if it meant you'd be safe...

Soon... it'll be just you and him against the world... to Arthur no one else matters but you now.

#yandere red dead redemption 2 #yandere arthur morgan #platonic yandere

110 notes · View notes

julianalvarez9 · 1 year

Text

named after you / john stones

author's note: my mind hasn't stopped thinking about that damn interview where john speaks about bernardo's dog named after him so i had to write this. started as a blurb, ended as a full fic + socmed au. i hate myself.

wc: 1.5k words.

pairing: john stones x footballer!reader (doesn't really impact much of the story, except she's injured).

face claim: esme morgan 💌

contains: excessive use of pet names, roasting jack grealish just because (i love you jack), they're in love but they don't know it, mentions of injury and a foot cast but nothing too detailed (because i don't know shit about injuries)

summary: your best friend is dumbfounded to learn that you've never had a dog, not even as a kid. he goes above and beyond to change that when the circumstances ask for a way to cheer you up.

"you've never had a dog before?".

john can't believe his ears. but to be fair, everyone at the little studio set where you're filming the next video for city's youtube channel is as incredulous as he is. you just laugh at his reaction, before explaining. "well, i wanted one when i was a kid, but my parents said i was too small to have one. and then i just never asked again".

his brows just keep on furrowing, and it's like he had forgotten about the stack of cards he had in hand, with the 20 questions he was supposed to ask you for the video prepared by the team. "yeah, but you're what? 24 now? you could have a dog," he said, like it was obvious. to be fair, he was right. after all, you lived alone: no partner, no kids, no family in the country. having a little pet to take care of and love would make you happy, but you weren't sure if you would have the time to take care of a little dog now, with how packed your schedule is. maybe that's why you hadn't really thought about getting a furry friend. "i suppose. didn't think about it before," you shrug.

"fine. i'm getting you a dog".

it's been months since that interaction, and you haven't thought about john's promise since. the video went live on the team's youtube channel a few weeks after, and as expected, everyone loved it. the friendship you had with the city player was always cherished by the fans, and you couldn't really blame them. he was your best friend since you arrived in the club, and having his support from the beginning really made the adaptation period easier.

you realized how much you basked in his affection and care when you suffered a season-ending injury. it wasn't that hard, to be honest, but since the end of the season was less than a month away, you knew that the recovery period would be longer than what it took to get you back on the pitch in time for the last game. john has been there from the first moment, sending you a message as soon as he saw you went down on the grass. you only saw it after the medical exams were done, when the doctors had already told you that you probably wouldn't get to play again until next season.

facing the reality about you not being there for your teammates, not being able to help them in any way, shape or form, at least where it mattered to you -in the pitch-, was rough. you went from the training center for recovery to home, all day, every day, never getting quite far from the prefabricated route: your only focus was to get healthy again. you weren't even seeing john that often, with his schedule being as overwhelming as always and you don’t even daring to set a foot in the etihad if you weren't there to play.

but john, your good best friend john, knew exactly what to do to cheer you up.

“are you home?”.

the call alone was weird. john wasn’t one to talk much on the phone, and much less, while driving. if he wasn’t using free hands, you’ll kill him. “why are you calling me while driving, stones?”.

“asked you a question first. answer, little one”.

the nickname alone made you roll your eyes, and he swore he could picture your annoyed face in his mind. the joke had been running between you two ever since you two meet, really, not only because of the slight age gap, but also, due to how he towered over you. wasn’t rocket science, it was what his position on the field demanded, while you, as a striker, only had to be quick. “yeah, dad, i’m home”.

“whoa, what an attitude. i’m about to get home, so you better fix it”.

you couldn't even process him calling your place home, or protest against him coming without a longer notice -not a 2 second warning, like this one, because he had already hung up before you could even mutter a confused “what?”.

if looks could kill, you’d be charged with a murder.

you’re glaring at john’s car from the second it sets a wheel into your front yard. he’s quick in parking the car and stepping out of it, but instead of going to greet you, standing on the doorway with your arms crossed, he goes to open his rear door.

“what are you doing?” you ask, almost screaming, to ensure that he hears even if he’s quite far from you. john appears to be arranging something on the back of the car, but he smiles when answering your question. “go inside. wait on the sofa. eyes closed”.

you’re about to make a funny comment, except his smile goes away the second you take too long to fulfill his wishes. you decide to quit being difficult and, with a bit of difficulty due to the cast shoe you have in your feet, make your way to the couch. your eyes remain open, though, watching the match your team was playing on the tv. once you heard the door closing, you shut your eyes.

“do you have your hands ready?”.

you frown, but still, your arms are extended with your palms up per john’s request. soon, you’re opening up your eyes when you feel a warm ball of fur placed on your hands.

“john, did you get me a dog?”.

you almost have tears in your eyes when you place the little jack russell on your lap, and it curls into a ball, falling asleep almost instantly. “isn’t he the prettiest boy ever?” john coos, squatting so he can get a good look at the little dog you’re holding. “john, i can’t have a dog. i’m never at home,” you rationalize once the initial emotion has settled in. you start to think about your schedule, how you’re seemingly always away. the worry must have painted on your face, because the man in front of you notices it, and is quick to find your hand, previously resting on the little canine, to squeeze reassuringly.

“yes, you can. you’re home now, aren’t you?” he smiles, and you’re rolling your eyes, again, for what feels like the hundredth time today. “he’s gonna help with your recovery. but you don’t have to worry about him being alone here once you’re back: our schedules don't always match. when you can't have him, i'll take care of him". the way he’s looking at you now, with his fluffy hair and sweet smile is making you melt almost as much as the sight of the little puppy resting on your legs.

long seconds pass before any of you say anything, too focused on your little friend, before you realize john hasn’t told you how he’s called. “what’s his name?” you ask, and he looks up at you before shaking his head. “doesn’t have one. it’s up to you”. the smile you have on your face after hearing him speak, has your best friend thinking that you’re up to no good. and he’s proven right when you open your mouth again.

"i'm naming him after you".

his eyebrows furrow and he’s shaking his head again, clear discontent in his face now. "what? you can't. i won't allow you to," he opposes in a high pitched tone, and you laugh before answering. "why not? he's my dog,” you point out, and the puppy on your lap suddenly wakes up, probably awakened by the small argument held between both of you. you direct your hand to caress his little head, and he rewards you by licking your palm, almost like a little kiss. “i think he likes it. don't you, johnny boy?".

he has to straighten up so you don’t see the smallest pink rose to his cheeks when hearing you say johnny boy. he always told you he despised the nickname, which was why you had stopped using it, but instead, he lied because he liked hearing you say it.

"but why john?" he presses, again, hoping that, maybe, it’ll make you change your mind. he knows it's wishful thinking: after being friends with you for so long, john is aware that when an idea pops into your pretty brain, it’s almost impossible to shake it off. "first, you're the one that got him,” you list off, and it has him rolling his eyes. you think it’s funny how the roles are reversed, and the smallest giggle escapes your list before continuing with your explanation. “second, he's a jack russell".

"and? you could name him after jack," he says, and he’s hopeful when the doubt is planted on your face. it takes you a few seconds before you’re shaking your head, scrunching up your nose in disagreement. "nah, he can't jump that high”. you’ve switched your focus now, from person-john to dog-john, and your voice gets a little higher when speaking to him. “when you grow up you'll jump as high as your daddy here, won't you, pretty boy?".

john feels like he could faint by the amount of pet names that seem to flow effortlessly from your lips. "okay that's enough," he says, and you laugh at how agitated he is. "it's settled then. john stones, meet john stones".

yourusername

Liked by johnstonesofficial, jackgrealish and others.

yourusername everyone, meet john stones

View all comments.

jackgrealish glad to see he's into football like his daddy 😂 johnstonesofficial

yourusername such a talented little boy 🤍

johnstonesofficial john stones jr*

yourusername so you're john stones sr?

rubendias 🧓🏻🧓🏻

mancity bring him to training next time! 💙

yourusername will do 🤝🏻

#football imagines #football imagine #football x you #football x reader #john stones imagine #john stones x reader #john stones instagram au #john stones social media au #john stones x you #john stones fluff

381 notes · View notes

infiniteeight8 · 8 months

Note

ironstrange meet Morgan Stark

I debated for some time what constitutes “meeting” (does it count as IronStrange meeting her if it’s really only Stephen meeting her for the first time since she’s Tony’s daughter?) and how AU I wanted to go (Morgan as their daughter?) and then decided to use an idea I had that never went anywhere. I hope this counts! (It also got away from me a little... 511 words away. Oops.)

When Tony comes back, thanks to some bizarre echo of Infinity Stone energy that Strange has explained and which Tony promptly forgot, they don’t know, at first, if he’ll get to stay. Tony decides not to tell anyone that he’s around until they’re sure.

By the end of the first week, Tony is wondering if he should stick around. If it would be right to.

He wants to, of course. He never wanted to die. But now… It’s been fourteen years. Pepper is remarried. Morgan is off at her first year of university. Rhodey has been promoted more since Tony’s death than in the entire rest of his career. The Avengers have a bustling international roster of thirty-one heroes. Who needs Tony Stark anymore?

The only person who doesn’t seem to have moved on is Strange. He tries to be discreet about it, but Tony is living with the man. Maybe it should be uncomfortable to have someone he barely knows so hung up on him, but in reality, Tony is just grateful to be important to someone. It doesn’t take long for that to turn into something more.

When it’s time to reintroduce Tony to the world, Stephen goes with him to meet Morgan.

She’s a young woman now, dark haired and dark eyed and an inch taller than Tony and he missed it. Tony missed her growing up, he missed her entire childhood, and even as she throws her arms around him, his heart is breaking. He hugs her back, and it’s beautiful, but he’s still wondering what she’ll think of him, because kids love unconditionally, but she’s not a kid anymore, and Tony… he’s made so many mistakes.

Eventually they pull back and Morgan looks at him, eyes shining with tears, smiling so broadly it has to hurt, and then she looks over at Stephen, and then back at Tony. Her smile widens. “I’m so glad you have each other,” she says.

Tony laughs, startled. “How did you know?” Stephen wouldn’t have said anything.

Morgan wipes the tears from her cheeks, still beaming. “I was so little when you died,” she says, “people thought I’d forget, you know? Years later I’d get sad and people would say, ‘Do you even remember him?’” Her smile slid into a brief grimace at that. “But Stephen… he gets it. We talk all the time. About everything, but a lot about you.”

Tony glances over his shoulder at Stephen. He’d promised Tony that Morgan would be happy to see him, no matter how much time had passed, but he hadn’t mentioned that he had that assurance personally. “I didn’t want you to learn what kind of person she is from me,” he says softly. “I wanted her to give you that.”

Tears spring to Tony’s eyes all over again. “Thanks,” he says roughly, and holds out an arm. It takes a minute, but eventually Stephen steps in close enough for a three way hug.

It doesn’t matter if the rest of the world needs Tony Stark, as long as these two do.

#IronStrange #ficlet #one prompt in the queue #prompts are open #IronStrange or Steter both welcome

59 notes · View notes

tadpole-apocalypse · 6 months

Text

Working out how Astarion’s act 2 confession goes in my head. I always pick the non-araj confession, the one that’s locked behind killing Yurgir now. I really like that he’s beside himself with guilt enough to approach Tav about this, and I prefer how he confesses his sexual insecurities. Also just the fact we even get two different act 2 confession scenes is crazy to me.

Under a cut for length:

Morgan didn’t really know what a vampire was when she met Astarion because of her sheltered cult upbringing. Her only reference was vampire erotica she likely read at some point after she got out, which definitely glossed over the horrifying monstrous aspects of vampirism in favor of the sexy ones.

Their early sexual encounters were fun and satisfying but she wasn’t overly impressed. It was very standard romance novel level sex with little of his own personality. But he was attentive and thorough and technically very proficient and she liked that. She gave him a lot of leeway for being so hot…he has pretty privilege for sure. She writes him off as a fuckboy, brats it up in bed to poke him for reactions because it’s funny to her. He shows his personality more when he gets pissed off and when he gets blood and that gets her attention. It impresses her, to see him acting selfishly in bed when she is able to goad him into doing so.

She’s blindsided when he confronts her. She is someone who generally knows what’s going on with most people she interacts with; gentle prodding with detect thoughts to test their mental defenses, then peeking into their surface thoughts and intentions. She’s extremely good at doing this undetected to all but those experienced in mental magic. With Astarion she can’t do that, not without brute forcing her way into his head with the tadpole, anyway. But detect thoughts doesn’t work on undead, and she didn’t think it mattered because she thought she had him figured out; he wanted sex and her blood. Easy.

She totally fell for his seductions if not his cheesy performance and was only just starting to put together that wow…he was actually a bit more fucked up by what happened to him than she realized at first. This his slavery wasn’t hyperbole and he hadn’t living an existence that allowed him to reap any benefits from his condition. That his slavery included mental, physical and sexual torture that lasted longer than her human perspective can really comprehend.

It’s very hard for her to deal with at first. The revelation leaves her feeling humiliated, panicked (how could she have read things so wrong?), anger at herself and at him for making her feel like a fool. Shame, for teasing him as a poncy fuckboy with a blood fetish.

However she is emotionally mature enough to handle those reactions appropriately and recognize the severity of him revealing this to her face and it forces her to examine her own feelings and motivations. Him admitting he wanted their fake relationship to be real, that she deserved something real, was a gut punch.

They have some similarities in that they were both controlled in their own ways by powerful men with delusions of godhood and dealing with having their own autonomy for the first time, she’s just much further along in her healing. She’s had ten years to adjust and also the benefit of therapy (the cleric that rescued her started a counseling service for adventurers in Baldur’s Gate ☺️)

She feels bad that their relationship up until this point was the best relationship he’d ever had. His only one! She wants to be nicer and be better to him. They stumble over boundaries a bit until they get it settled by act 3 when they are firmly in their ride or die phase for each other.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3: Morgan #if I were able to i would write this out in fic #but I am not so stream of consciousness thoughts it is

21 notes · View notes

wilchur · 10 months

Text

I really don't think I'll ever get to actually writing it this decade because I have just That Many other wips and this story is Long, but my god I keep rolling that RDR2 Modern AU of mine in my head like a pretty pebble and I have Many Thoughts. Looong ramble under the cut.

The general gist of it that it's supposed to be a "happy ending" to a true crime story, but it isn't. Not for a long while, at least. Like imagine watching a 45 minute documentary on a missing person's case, the credits roll and you're like "Wow so happy that they turned up in the end" but on the other side of the country that person has been having the worst fucking time for the past year and would've probably been better off missing.

Let me explain.

Up until May 1999 the story plays out like your run of the mill Modern AU that is kept as close to canon as I can make it. Of course some things are different in the way that comes from throwing everything a 100 years into the future like how Eliza and Isaac died in a car accident, not a home robbery. People have jobs that are different, some backstories needed to be adjusted. Arthur's last name is Matthews and not Morgan, having been adopted by Hosea and Bessie when he was around 8 or so. Him and Mary have actually been married, but it still didn't work out. Small divergences, seemingly inconsequential.

Then on May 18th Arthur Matthews goes missing. Leaves no clues as to what might've caused him to leave and where, had showed no signs anything could be wrong before he disappeared. A proper mystery. Of course it's a big thing for a while, Hosea being a pretty well known crook defence lawyer makes it interesting for the news, but after 6 months of nothing even the nastiest vultures get bored and everyone pretty much assumes Arthur to have died. Especially since he's well known to be a recovering alcoholic with multiple relapses under his belt. Probably fell off the wagon again, tripped into a ditch, hit his head. Dead.

That's when Arthur Morgan shows up.

It's up to the reader to decide if this is some universe warping time travel shenanigans or if he's the same person that went missing, just having an episode of some sorts. To everyone in the story Arthur "I'm telling you, I jumped off a sinking boat in 1899 and then showed up here" Morgan comes off as Mentally Unwell, so it doesn't really matter since it is not told from his perspective anyway and there's no way of really knowing.

(It's John's POV by the way. Forgot to mention that, whoopsie.)

And the entire story is basically a whumpy hate letter to all time travel AUs where Arthur gets yeeted into our times and pretty much shrugs it off with minor discomfort (/lh I don't actually hate those, they're silly fun, but they're not realistic?? And I am a realism nerd). Here, he gets majorly fucked up by it. Because how could he not be? First off, Hosea, who he just watched die maybe days prior, is alive and well. So is Sean and so is Lenny. He may be happy, but all that only makes everything feel even less real, pushes him further into believing that the reality he's in is some sort of a mirage or a dream. People talk about all these things that have not happened to him, there are pictures of a stranger with his face in places he's never been to. It's distressing and Arthur might be a guy that handles pressure well, but I doubt there's a single person on earth that wouldn't break under the weight of that. He's no different.

He keeps getting really distressed whenever that kind of stuff gets brought up too often. Starts having regular panic attacks, gets put on medication, sent to therapy. The "gang" are there to help him through it, but the situation takes a lot out John in particular once he realises that whatever has happened to Arthur seems unlikely to be reversed. Just as much as the person in every single family picture is a stranger to Arthur, this Arthur is a stranger to John. It's like he really died in a way. So the plot is just as much Arthur learning to cope and maybe eventually accepting that all of this is real and he's just "crazy", as John watching him go through it while simultaneously grieving the person he no longer is.

Basically an essay pondering the question "What makes us who we are, our memories or personality?" disguised as a fanfic because I like getting philosophical sometimes lol And I genuinely love it. This AU is my baby and really want to work on it, but it would have to straight up be a novel-length story. I don't have that in me 😭😭

#couldn't make it fit anywhere but this is like.. preslash at best sowwy #realised i kind of might've made it sound like an established morston my apologies #rdr2 #rdr2 modern au #arthur morgan #john marston #rambles #oh the joys of fic writing

35 notes · View notes

benoitblanc · 9 days

Note

hey arwen, long time no see!! hope you're doing well! 💜

i know nothing about txf besides what i've gleaned from this hellsite which is a) mulder is a lovable idiot, b) scully both loves him (almost against her will??), and c) they literally invented shipping BUT tell me about your top 5 txf episodes!!!

hi mitali i have been EXTREMELY patchy on here lately haven't i lol. local woman appears on tumblr to write ten meta posts about the x files and then disappears again! i'm doing okay; my real life has been kind of chaotic (had to last-minute cancel a trip i have been desperate to go on for years so :/ but! on the bright side it means i get to see my flatmates sooner than i thought and i miss them even though i've been gone from my flat for like a week and a half lol). how have you been???

those are very accurate txf vibes but i will say that scully is a very active and willing participant in being in love with mulder even though he can be very very stupid at times lol. i hope you watch it someday- i think it would be right up your alley! kind of similar doctor who ecological niche of being weird, heartfelt, politically relevant sci-fi with no consistent quality or tone.

ANYWAY. top 5 txf episodes, bearing in mind that i've technically only watched up until the end of the fourth season so far; i'm just a ho for spoilers:

pusher (3.17)... what can i say about pusher that i haven't said already. a lot, probably, because every single day i log on here and i see someone's written new meta about pusher that makes the entire show make more sense. it's just... it's txf distilled to its barest elements. it's about trust and codependency and a supernatural force that is made all the more unsettling by the fact that at its core it is just some guy. it's funny and terrifying and heartfelt all at once. the russian roulette scene changed television

clyde bruckman's final repose (3.04) is also just so txf. darin morgan (the writer) tended to write episodes that were so absurdist they wrapped back around to satirical, but this is far and away my favorite of his because it's not too bonkers. i love coprophages and from outer space especially, but clyde bruckman is a little more grounded, and it manages to be sarcastic and sincere in equal measure. and i love when scully gets to solve the mystery

irresistible (2.13), which is famous for being pretty much the only txf episode where there isn't actually an x-file. and it's SO fucked up. it is hands-down the most fucked up episode of the entire sh- well. besides the episode that they banned from reruns for like a decade for being so fucked up, it's hands-down the most fucked up episode of the entire show

beyond the sea (1.13) and paper hearts (4.10) are thematic sisters so i'm keeping them together. they're both about choosing to move past grief instead of wallowing in it and choosing the future over the past. so what if a criminal says they can give you the answers you've spent your whole life chasing? what matters is that you're at your partner's hospital bedside when he wakes up from an injury, or that you save a little girl's life

right now? probably ice (1.08), because i just rewatched it with my flatmate (who is going through s1 for the first time and is almost as obsessed as i am). it's like if midnight doctor who and the thing had a baby. normally i think this slot would go to duane barry/ascension/one breath (2.05/2.06/2.08) or nisei/731 (3.09/3.10), which are the tightest, tensest episodes relating to the show's overarching mythology

honorable mention goes to elegy (4.22) because the a-plot is a very 90s depiction of neurodivergence and it's not the best-handled thing i've ever seen, but the character showcase of scully in the b-plot gave me fucking brain worms. i cannot stop thinking about it. it's haunting.

also, memento mori (4.14). vince gilligan and gillian anderson you're splitting my therapy bill

ask my top 5/10 anything!!!

#THAT WAS A RAMBLE AND A HALF #anyway as i move forward i think redux ii monday triangle and probably bad blood will be battling it out for some of these slots #but i'm not officially there yet!#thanks so much for asking!!!#answered #*mutuals #*mitali #the x files

7 notes · View notes

clovermunson · 2 years

Text

dating eddie munson would include…

author’s note: listen…the intrusive thoughts won, okay? so here’s this, i don’t know what else i can offer y’all at this point until i get some fics written. anyway, the only coherent thought my brain has is this man, and there are absolutely no regrets about it. first stranger things piece i’ve ever done in my life. don’t ask me why it took this long lmao anyway, enjoy this little slice of my eddie-induced brain rot . likes and reblogs are appreciated, but please do not repost my work!!—morgan🖤

tagging: @ardent-musings (since y’know…it’s your man lmao)

first off, flattery works with him (he literally said it himself), so if you call him any cute little nicknames like baby, sweetheart, love, or any other offbeat cutesy name you can come up with, and throw a sweet-sounding voice on top of it, this man will melt like ice cream on a hot summer day

he uses the money he gets from his uh…extracurricular activities to buy you little gifts. and they’re always little “i just thought you’d like this” or “i was thinking of you” gifts

he’s tried multiple times to try and teach you how to play the guitar, partially because you actually wanted to learn it, but the majority of the reason was because it gave you an excuse to be as close to him as possible

speaking of his beloved sweetheart, you’re the only person aside from him that’s allowed to touch the guitar

you sit in during corroded coffin’s band practices, listening to every song and Eddie’s been caught on several occasions losing focus on the song because he’s staring at you

he made a corroded coffin t-shirt for you, and when he gave it to you he said “it’s far from perfect, but it’s one of a kind…like both of us.” despite being so shy and slightly embarrassed by his craft skills

you thought it was absolutely perfect and you wore that shirt with pride, Eddie absolutely adored it and loved seeing you in it

you’re such a lowkey couple that people wouldn’t know you were dating unless they were told by someone else who knew

but in an odd contrast to that, pda does not bother Eddie one bit. this man will hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek or lips in front of god and everyone in hawkins

every time the resident preppy idiot Jason Carver talks trash about Eddie, you’re there to defend him; and the one time Jason talked trash about you, Eddie was on a warpath and you had to calm him down

you’re at every D&D campaign, with snacks and drinks ready for everyone, though sometimes the drinks end up getting spilled because they guys get too rowdy during the game. or because Dustin got upset over his roll being a miss

speaking of everyone’s favorite kid, Dustin jokingly refers to you and Eddie as his parents

no seriously, if Eddie lets anyone new into hellfire, Dustin’s introducing you two as his parents

“these are my parents, Eddie and Y/N.”

“Henderson.” you and Eddie both chide, almost in the same tone

“okay, they’re obviously not my real parents but they’re still pretty cool.”

you and Eddie don’t even try to deny that Dustin’s your favorite of all the kids

most wouldn’t guess it, but Eddie really takes the initiative when it comes to planning dates; and he’ll go all-out too even if it’s a simple at-home date

when you first started dating Eddie, the man couldn’t cook anything more than spaghettio’s, but he wanted to learn and you were more than happy to teach him how to cook

after that, he acted like he was the next master chef or something, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t cute

he’s also so proud of everything you do. doesn’t matter how little or big of an accomplishment, he’s just so goddamn proud

all you did was manage to get out of bed and brush your hair and teeth? doesn’t matter, Eddie’s still proud of you. you aced all your finals? Eddie’s proud. graduation? Eddie is super proud of you for that

he’s the cuddliest man ever. when the alarm goes off, he’s always saying “five more minutes…” but it turns into an hour and you’re both almost late to wherever you need to be

road trips with Eddie are a must, even if it’s just a quick getaway to the next town over, he always makes them so fun and picks out the best music

despite him being a metalhead, he actually does enjoy the cheesy pop songs you share with him…just not publicly

you think he made you your own hellfire shirt? wrong, he gave you one of his and he absolutely loves it when you wear it anywhere

he definitely made mixtapes for you, sure it’s full of songs from the likes of iron maiden, metallica, motörhead, dio, mötley crüe, black sabbath, you know all of his favorite bands that he loves to share with you, but he sprinkles a few cheesy love songs in there too and it’s adorable

he lets you wear his rings whenever you want, you don’t care if they’re too big on you because you’d never lose them anyway

eventually, he gives you his mood ring as a promise ring

and he apologizes profusely that he couldn’t afford an actual ring for you but you don’t care about that because Eddie actually cared enough to put thought into it and give you his ring

“i’m sorry i couldn’t go buy you a fancy ring, sweetheart…but i want you to have mine, if you’ll take it?” he’d sheepishly offer, hoping that you’d accept

“Eddie, you don’t have to buy me a big fancy ring or anything at all, even. i’d rather have your ring…it means more to me than anything you could buy in a jewelry store.”

this man was so happy that his heart was practically doing backflips and cartwheels when you accepted his ring

he’s literally just the proudest, happiest boyfriend he could possibly be

ugh, someone get me an Eddie, pls😩

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson headcanons #head empty no thoughts #only eddie munson #morgan’s writings📝

282 notes · View notes

ithebookhoarder · 3 months

Note

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help).

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now.

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight.

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with.

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found.

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again.

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying…

David Rossi

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work.

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake.

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else.

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again.

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit.

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing.

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first.

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States.

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick.

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’.

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in.

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe.

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close.

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again.

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike.

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will.

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back.

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag.

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected.

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out.

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best).

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field. Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case.

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!”

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers.

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you.

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you.

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar.

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed.

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare.

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe.

Masterlist

762 notes · View notes