mrsriddles-blog

[mrsriddles-blog]

I swear updates to the Oracle Weaver, requests, and a few Oneshots are coming soon! I’ve been a bit busy, so hopefully Thursday night if not Friday or Saturday! Stay tuned, Rebels! 🖤

Please keep the requests coming in! I have a majority written as of now, just have to get them into Tumblr and formatted 😂

[mrsriddles-blog]

Can we get something where Elias is infatuated with you, and your hair that’s a shade of moody plum. He finds out you’re in a neglectful relationship where you’re emotionally unsatisfied and he decides to “fix it”. Also a sneek peak into their lives a few years down the lane?

Please and thank you ❤️

Little Storm | E.V

Pairing: Elias Voit X Fem Reader

W.C: 2.5k+

Warnings/Notes: Abduction, Possessiveness, Obsessiveness, Abuse (Mentioned)…

A/N: I was so excited about this request! I had a lot of fun writing it! Hopefully, you guys love it too! 🖤

Elias sees you before you see him.

Not in the way most men do—quick glances, a lingering stare. No. Elias catalogues you. From the sharp curve of your jaw to the color of your headphones cord. He watches you when you don't know you're being watched. You should be watched. You're too soft to be alone in the world like this.

He first notices you in the back corner of the bookstore where no one ever goes. The lighting there is soft and golden. He wonders if it flatters everyone or just you. You sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by titles no one bothers to dust anymore, a sweater far too big for you slipping off one shoulder.

And then—your hair.

A shade of moody plum.

He doesn't even know what to call it at first. Not purple. Not violet. It's darker, richer. Like wine gone bitter. Or bruises that never healed. It makes his teeth ache just to look at it.

He stands in the next aisle for twenty-eight minutes, unmoving, just to listen to the sound of you flipping pages.

He doesn't know your name yet.

But he will.

You come to the bookstore often. Every Thursday around 6:15 p.m. Always alone. Always with that exhausted kind of sadness clinging to your expression. Elias learns your patterns like breathing.

And eventually, he learns the source of the sadness.

He hears you on the phone once, voice hushed but sharp with bitterness.

"I said I don't care what you do tonight. I didn't ask you to change plans. I was just telling you I had a shitty day and needed to talk. But if that's too much for you, fine. Just—whatever. I'll figure it out myself. Like always."

Click.

No tears. Just silence. Your fingers clench the book you're holding a little tighter, nails leaving crescent moons in the paper.

Elias presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Ah.

So that's what kind of man he is.

The kind who forgets what he has until someone takes it away.

He casually walks to the next aisle, the one you sat in, and acted as if he was browsing the books in this aisle. You look up startled as no one ever comes back here.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He says, a soft and genuine smile on his lips.

"You're okay...sorry, I'm just not use to anyone coming back here." You admit with a soft laugh.

He watches as you tuck a strand of that moody plum hair behind your ear, your cheeks flushing a light shade of pink.

"I've been...trying to expand the genres I read. Someone told me to try out a few classic romances. They told me it'd be worth it." He says.

"Do you have any books in mind?" You ask curiously.

"You know...they didn't give me titles so I thought I wing it...unless you know of any good titles." He laughs before suggesting softly.

"You know, I may be able to help you." You say, giving him a soft smile as you stand.

You bite your lip, looking through the different titles, unaware of his eyes on you. His eyes were locked on your lips before he took a breath and looked at the shelves as if he knew what he was looking for.

You pluck Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen off the shelf along with The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

"Start with these two. You'll have to let me know what you think." You say, handing them to him.

His fingers brush yours and he watches as you shiver, your cheeks flushing a shade darker.

"I will...I'm Elias." He says, holding a hand out.

"I'm Y/n." You say, shaking his hand gently.

"Well, I'll definitely let you know what I think of them. Thank you for your help, Y/n. It was nice meeting you!" He says, giving you a smile that stirred a heat in you.

"It was nice meeting you too, Elias." You say softly, unaware of what that did to him.

It doesn't take much.

You always sit by the same café window on rainy evenings, sketching idly in the margins of your notebook. Elias finds it poetic—how you're always creating, even in misery.

You trust too easily. That's what he likes about you. Your guard is made of tissue paper, and the world is full of razors.

He waits until you're distracted by the thunder. He knows you flinch at loud sounds. He likes that about you too. Fragility makes him feel important. Needed.

The rag over your mouth smells faintly of bleach and lavender.

You don't even scream.

He's gentle, as promised.

He always keeps his promises.

You wake in a bed that's too soft. The sheets smell clean, crisp. The room is dim, lit only by flickering candlelight and the blue hum of a single lamp across the room.

You sit up. Head throbbing. Mouth dry.

And then you see him.

A chair in the corner. A shadow that breathes.

Elias.

His eyes are endless. Not warm. Not cold. Just... consuming.

"You're safe," he says calmly, like he's offering you a cup of tea. "I had to bring you here. You were cracking in that old life. I couldn't let you keep breaking."

Your throat tightens. "Where—what is this? Elias...what is this? Why are you doing this?"

"Our new life, little storm," he says. "I'm the one who noticed. The one who cared. The one who saw you."

You scramble out of bed. Your knees buckle. He catches you, arms strong but not forceful.

You look up at him, your eyes fearful and teary. Yet, a part of you knew he wouldn't hurt you.

"You're not a prisoner," he whispers, brushing a strand of plum hair behind your ear. "You're rescued."

Your nails unknowingly dig into his arm that you were gripping onto for dear life. You swallow hard as you sway slightly. He pulls you closer to him, stroking your hair, which shouldn't have calmed you like it did.

The days blur.

He never locks the door to your room. But every window is barred. Every hallway leads only deeper into the house.

He brings you food. Hot, well-seasoned. You haven't eaten this well in months.

He brushes your hair at night. Every stroke slow, methodical. Reverent.

He tells you about himself in pieces. His childhood. His theories. The way most people are insects pretending to be lions. He speaks of your ex like he's already dead.

"I don't want you afraid," he says, one evening, kneeling by the bathtub as you sit in the water, knees hugged to your chest. "I just want you to see the truth. You were wasting away out there. He was letting you starve. I just fed you."

You glare at him, but your voice cracks when you say, "You kidnapped me."

He just smiles. "Did I? Or did I take you somewhere you were always meant to be?"

Your heart stops as your throat tightens. You turn away as something in you twists. You should be more scared. You should be putting up more of a fight.

Yet, you were bantering with your abductor.

You were willingly sitting in the bathtub as he washed you with a gentleness you never thought could've existed.

You stop fighting on day seven.

Not because you've forgiven him. Not because you've made peace with the room, the routine, the man who abducted you and insists it was salvation.

You stop because... you're tired.

And maybe—maybe part of you likes the way he looks at you.

No one ever looked at you like that before.

Like you were holy.

Like you were both the altar and the offering.

Elias notices the change instantly.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't gloat. Just brings you your tea with a softness that feels unearned.

You don't meet his eyes. But when he brushes your hair that night, you don't flinch.

When his fingers linger at your neck a little longer than usual—just long enough for the pad of his thumb to ghost over your pulse—you don't move away.

You should.

But you don't.

And that's what makes you dangerous, he thinks. That quiet shift. That half-second where you start wondering what it would be like to stop resisting.

He sees it in you.

And he wants more.

The argument starts over nothing.

You ask him a question about your old life. Something simple. "Did you take my phone?" A piece of the before-world you shouldn't even miss, but still—you ask.

His expression goes blank.

"I gave you peace," he says, low. "And you're still looking for a leash?"

"No," you snap, suddenly furious. "I'm looking for choice. You took everything from me, Elias. My life, my freedom. I don't even know what day it is anymore."

"You don't need to."

He steps closer.

"You needed someone to take the weight off your chest before it collapsed your lungs. You needed someone to see you drowning and pull you out. And I did."

You shove him.

It's weak, more symbolic than anything.

But it feels like slicing through ice with your bare hands.

Elias stares down at you. Not angry.

Hungry.

"You've got fire under that sadness," he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. "That's why I love you. You just forgot how to burn."

Your breath catches.

"I don't love you," you whisper.

He doesn't blink. Doesn't even seem disappointed.

"You will," he says, dragging his knuckles down your collarbone. "You just need time. And I'll give it to you. I have forever, little storm."

The silence hangs between you like a storm.

And then you do the one thing neither of you expected.

You kiss him.

It starts as fury.

Teeth. Desperation. Clutching his shirt like it's a lifeline.

His hands cage your hips, pulling you close, like he's terrified you'll vanish if he doesn't hold on tight enough. His mouth is brutal. Worshipful. Unhinged.

He kisses like he's claiming territory. Like he's digging into the parts of you no one else ever touched properly.

"You're mine," he growls against your lips, his breath warm, voice splintered at the edges. "You've always been mine. They just borrowed you."

Your nails scrape across his scalp, tangling in his hair as he presses you to the wall. He tastes like cinnamon and something darker—obsession, maybe.

The moody plum strands of your hair fall over your shoulder, brushing his cheek. He buries his face there like it's the only home he's ever known.

"You don't get to break me," you breathe, even as you arch into him, trailing a hand down his back.

"I don't want to break you," he rasps, kissing the hollow of your throat. "I want to build you. Into something that doesn't beg for crumbs. Into something that devours."

And the worst part?

You want it too.

"Then start by devouring me," you whisper, your breath hitching as your hands move to the front of his shirt where you fist the material of it. "Show me what it's like to be wanted like that—completely."

The sound that he makes next—inhuman. It was low and guttural, something feral that rumbled deep in his chest. He nips the skin on your neck where he had his face buried before pulling back and kissing you hotly.

It was like a starved man—no patience, no hesitation—just his heat and hunger for you.

His hands are everywhere at once—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, groping your ass as he pushes you closer to him, and threading a hand in your moody plum hair where he holds onto a fist full of it with a possessive kind of desperation.

The sting across your scalp was everything, but painful. It sent a vibrating wave of heat through you as you arched into him.

He presses you against the nearest wall roughly, a soft moan eliciting from you as you instinctively part your legs, allowing him to press a knee between them.

"You have no idea what you invited in," he mutters, biting down softly on the skin at the nape of your neck before kissing it softly, "I've been starving for you. Watching. Waiting. And now..."

His hand curls around your thigh, dragging it up around his waist as you tighten that leg around him, desperately trying to have him as close as possible.

"...and now you've handed yourself over to me. Brave little storm."

You don't look away. You don't flinch. Instead, you whisper against his lips, defiant and aching for more:

"Then devour me, Elias. I'm not afraid of being ruined by you."

His mouth finds yours again, harder this time—claiming. Consuming. And somewhere between the slide of his tongue and the grind of his hips, you realize:

You never stood a chance.

His kiss grows deeper, messier, and more unhinged—like he's trying to pour something into you with every press of his mouth. Not just want. Need. Claim. Ownership.

He pulls backs just enough to look at you, his eyes wild and dark, like the ocean right before it swallows a ship whole.

"You think this is just hunger?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous, "This is worship. Obsession. I would burn down everything that ever touched you before me."

His hands frame your face tenderly, it almost breaks the intensity—but then his thumb drags across your bottom lip, slow and reverent, and his gaze flickers down with such intent that it's like he's undressing your soul.

"You just don't get it, do you, little storm?" He murmurs.

Your silence was his answer, so he continued, "You were never going to be untouched by me. Even if I hadn't said a word. Even if I had stayed in the shadows. You were already mine."

A shiver raced down your spine, but not from fear.

From knowing he was right.

There's been something in the way he looked at you long before this moment—something that saw straight through the shell you'd been surviving in. The hollow version of you that settled for scraps. He hated that version. Not because it was weak. But because it wasn't meant for you.

"You let someone make you feel small," he says, jaw tight, nose brushing yours. "But I'm not here to fit beside the broken pieces. I'm here to replace them."

He lifts your chin, tilting your gaze to his. There's no space left between you—only heat and the sound of your breath tangling with his.

"And you..." he whispers, lowering his mouth to your collarbone, "are going to learn how to crave like I do. How to take. How to need without shame."

His teeth graze your skin. Not biting. Claiming.

"You'll see," he says, voice like sin. "Soon you won't remember what it was like before me. You'll forget the taste of anything less than this."

He rolls his hips against yours—deliberate, slow, the promise of everything he hasn't done yet.

And you gasp, head falling back.

"Say it," he demands, voice almost broken with restraint. "Say you want to be devoured."

You meet his gaze, breathless, trembling—but not afraid.

"I want it," you whisper. "I want you. All of you. Every ruinous, obsessive piece."

And that's all it takes.

He loses what little control he had left, lifting you as if you were the stars that hung from his sky, before he was pinning you to the bed and taking you like a starved man.

There are nights after that where the house feels smaller.

Not because you're trapped—but because you're wrapped around each other too tightly to care.

His mouth leaves bruises down your spine like his signature—inkless tattoos that say mine. You whisper his name like it's the only word left in your vocabulary.

And still, he gives you more.

More heat. More need. More madness.

He makes you feel—ruined, yes. But also wanted.

You sleep tangled in his arms, his hand splayed across your stomach like a warning to the world. He tells you stories until you fall asleep. Some of them are true. Some of them aren't.

He tells you, softly, one night:

"I used to think I couldn't love. That the way my mind works made me incapable of it. But then I saw you in that bookstore. And suddenly, I knew. I just hadn't met the right kind of broken yet."

3 Years Later

The house is gone now. Burned. Forgotten.

You live in a cabin deep in the woods. No cell service. No nosy neighbors. Just silence and sky.

Your hair is longer now. Still moody plum. Still soft. Elias brushes it every morning, even if you don't ask him to.

He wakes you with coffee and bruises on your hips from the night before. You kiss the scar on his chest he never talks about.

There's a garden out back. He grows flowers you once mentioned in passing. You think it's sweet. You also think the shovel he keeps sharpened is not just for gardening.

People sometimes disappear around here.

You never ask questions.

He calls you his "little storm" still.

You like that.

And when you curl into him at night, the world feels quiet. Like nothing outside your bedroom exists.

Maybe you're still a little lost.

Maybe you're not free.

But you're no longer starving.

And he still looks at you like you're everything he ever wanted in a world that never gave him anything.

You were never supposed to be his.

But you are.

You always were.

"Here is that cup of tea for you, little storm." He says, handing your mug before taking a seat next to you on the bench.

"Elias?" You question softly.

"Hm?" He hums, his fingers twirling a strand of your moody plum hair around his finger.

"I love you." You say softly, smiling softly at his stuttered breath.

While you've loved him silently for a while now, you realized you've never said it aloud to him. He's waited...and waited...and waited.

"Little storm, I love you so much." He mumbles, kissing your shoulder, careful not to cause you to shift too much because he didn't want you to spill your tea on you.

“You are trying so hard to stay calm over there, huh?” You laugh softly.

“Well, yes. My stubborn little storm finally told me she loved me. Littlest storm, you are my witness.” He says teasingly as he rests a hand on your belly.

“I’ve loved you for a while that I was so content with it that I guess I hadn’t said it. But, I do love you. So much, Elias. You saved me.” You say softly, leaning over to kiss him softly.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Unspoken

[mrsriddles-blog]

Unspoken | S.R

You knew it was stupid, falling for someone like Spencer Reid. Not because he wasn't worth it—God, he was. He was brilliant and kind and spoke to you like your thoughts mattered. But it was precisely those things that made this hurt so much.

You were invisible to him.

Or maybe not invisible. Just... neutral. A presence. A teammate. Someone he talked to and sometimes smiled at absentmindedly as he rambled about neurochemistry or the mating rituals of certain arachnids. But never someone he looked at like he couldn't look away.

Never someone he wanted.

So when Penelope had poked your side that morning with her pencil and whispered, "You really should just tell him," you'd only offered a sad little smile and shook your head.

"He knows," you'd said, eyes drifting over to where Spencer hunched over case files, muttering stats under his breath. "He just doesn’t feel the same way."

Emily and JJ had tried too. Even Hotch gave you a knowing glance from time to time, though he wisely kept quiet. But you'd made your peace with it, or tried to. You weren't here for fairytale endings. You were here to catch monsters.

The case was brutal—two missing girls, small town, too many suspects. You were stationed at the local precinct, combing through files with Reid and Morgan while Rossi and JJ interviewed witnesses.

You were exhausted. You were drained. You were emotionally numb until someone broke the rhythm.

Detective Samuel Kane.

He was handsome in that cocky, southern-charm kind of way, all drawl and swagger, leaning against your desk like he owned the air around you. He had the gall to wink when he asked, "So, Agent... You got a number I can call once this is over? Maybe you and I can talk without twenty corpses between us?"

You smiled politely. Uncomfortable, but used to brushing off advances on the job. “I don’t really date people I work with,” you said, even though he wasn’t technically a colleague.

He opened his mouth again—something smug forming—when a shadow loomed beside you.

“Actually,” Spencer said sharply, stepping between you and the detective, “she’s seeing someone.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Detective Kane raised an eyebrow. “She is?”

“Yes,” Spencer snapped. “Me.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Spencer—”

“Is that a problem?” he added, voice low, eyes not leaving the detective’s.

Detective Kane’s expression flickered—amused, annoyed, maybe a little intimidated. “No problem. Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

He walked away, hands raised in mock surrender.

And then it was just you and Spencer, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the nearest empty office.

It was a cramped interrogation room. The door slammed behind you.

Spencer’s eyes were wide, chest rising and falling fast.

“He was hitting on you,” he said, like that explained everything.

“And that gives you the right to lie about being with me?”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

He stepped closer. Just a fraction. “It wasn’t a lie. I mean… I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out. But I— I don’t want other people asking for your number. I don’t want you going on dates with random detectives who think they’re clever.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “You’ve never said anything. You’ve never— You act like I’m just some coworker you tolerate.”

His brow furrowed. “Tolerate? Are you kidding? Y/N, you’re— You’re everything. You’re the reason I don’t dread flying to another town every week. You’re the reason I actually sleep on cases, because I know you’re out there watching my back.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” Your voice cracked. “I thought you knew. I thought you knew and just... didn’t want me.”

He looked stricken. “No. God, no. I didn’t think I had a chance. I thought you’d never look at someone like me that way.”

You laughed—dry, bitter. “Spencer, you’re brilliant. You’re gorgeous. You’re... you. Of course I look at you that way.”

His hand lifted hesitantly, brushing your arm. “So... I wasn’t imagining it? You... feel the same?”

You nodded, slow. “I’ve felt this way for months.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could feel the heat of him, his fingers twitching like he wanted to touch but was still afraid to.

“You make me possessive,” he murmured, voice shaky. “That’s not like me. But when he asked for your number, I saw red. I couldn’t help it.”

You finally reached out, resting your hand over his chest, feeling the rapid thud beneath his cardigan.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” you whispered. “You don’t have to hold it all in.”

And that was when he kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. It was rushed, desperate, his hands shaking as they found your waist. But it was real. It was him.

And you kissed him back, because you’d been waiting for this longer than you cared to admit.

Outside the room, Morgan passed by and smirked knowingly at the closed door.

“Told you,” he said to JJ, who only smiled and turned back to her notes.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Matt Sturniolo with psychopath behavior??? Read this duet where male oc was psychotic and didn’t believe he could love until female oc came along. Matt knows he can love just bc his family—like he loves his family and he’d do anything for them to be happy, but he feels that when reader comes in picture. Reader gets scared when she discovers Matt’s true lifestyle that’s he’s managed to hide behind mastered manipulation. Happy ending. Maybe smut? Have fun with it 😂

Red Flags & Roses | M.S

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Warnings/Notes: Dark Romance, Psychological Tension, Smut (suggestive), Manipulation Themes, Language...

You should have known something was off.

Matt was perfect. Too perfect. The way he remembered every detail you told him. The way he made you feel like the only person in the room. The way he always knew what you needed---before you did.

It wasn’t just charm. It was precision.

And still, you fell for him. Hard.

Because Matt Sturniolo didn’t just love you. He chose you. With intent, like everything else he did.

“I’ve never felt this way about someone,” he said one night, voice low, eyes fixed on you like you were a puzzle he had finally solved. “I didn’t think I could.”

You smiled, flushed and soft. “Why not?”

He hesitated.

Because psychopaths don’t love, he didn’t say.

Because before you, everything was either a game or a threat.

It wasn’t until the night you found his second phone that things cracked open.

It wasn’t hidden. Not really. Just tucked beneath a false bottom in his dresser. Like he wanted to be caught. Like part of him needed you to see it.

The texts were clean, but cold. Coded. Names that weren’t names. Transactions that didn’t match his soft-spoken exterior. Audio logs with no voices, just the faint echo of footsteps. And one recording—a single, clipped line in Matt’s voice:

“Control is everything.”

Your blood ran cold.

You didn’t wait. You ran. And he let you.

For a few hours.

When he found you—shaking in your car outside your friend's place, fists clenched, panic behind your eyes—he didn’t shout. He didn’t plead.

He leaned into the window and said your name like it was a thread tying him to the earth.

“I know what you saw,” he murmured. “And you’re scared. But I need you to listen to me now more than ever.”

You didn’t speak.

He opened the door slowly, hands raised, eyes glassy—not angry, not smug.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he admitted. “Not illegal—not that kind of story. But manipulation? Lies? I mastered them. I needed to. My brain’s wired for it. I don’t feel things like other people.”

Your heart thudded in your throat.

“But then I met you,” he said, voice cracking. “And something changed. I feel everything when I’m with you. I didn’t think I could love. But I do.”

You blinked, tears welling. “You lied to me.”

“I did.” He stepped closer. “Because I didn’t want to scare you. Because I wanted to be worthy of you.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m done pretending. If you walk away, I’ll let you. But if you stay…” His jaw clenched, voice deepening. “I’ll protect you. I’ll love you in the only way I know how—completely. Obsessively. Without end.”

Your breath caught.

Every instinct screamed to run.

But your heart... stayed.

Back at his place, things were quiet. His touch was careful—like he was afraid of breaking you. But the moment your lips met, it was like a dam burst.

He didn’t kiss like a boy in love.

He kissed like a man starving—like he needed you to breathe.

Clothes were half-off, tension thick, but still, he held back.

“You’re not afraid anymore?” he whispered against your skin.

“I am,” you admitted. “But I’m more afraid of living without you.”

That was all it took.

He made love to you like it was his first time feeling. Every touch was reverent, every sound you made a drug. There was a hunger in him, but it never crossed the line. Just enough pressure to remind you who he was underneath the softness. Just enough control to make you feel safe in his arms—even when you knew what he was capable of.

When it was over, he held you close, forehead pressed to yours.

“Are you staying?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

[mrsriddles-blog]

Can I get some Elias Voit and toddler daughter! reader? She’s his youngest, his little delight. He sees himself in her and it doesn’t help that she’s his mini-me either.

Little Shadow | E.V

Pairing: Elias Voit x Wife!Reader, Dad!Voit x Toddler Daughter

A/N: Loved this request and had a blast writing it! Hopefully, you love it!

The mornings in your home were slow and warm—thick with the scent of cinnamon toast and fresh coffee, layered with the soft creak of your toddler climbing down from her bed and the subtle squeak of her dragging her stool across the floor.

You were still upstairs when you heard her pattering steps and Elias’s quiet voice greet her in the living room.

“Tiger didn’t make it through the night,” she announced with gravity.

There was a pause.

“That’s on me,” Elias replied, voice gentle and amused. “I’ll issue a formal apology.”

You smiled against your pillow and pulled the comforter tighter around your shoulders. These were the mornings you lived for—no screaming, no chaos. Just your strange, brilliant husband and your little girl, who was undoubtedly a carbon copy of him.

You got out of bed and padded down the stairs in his oversized hoodie, hair mussed, bare feet quiet against the hardwood.

In the kitchen, Elias was standing at the counter, cutting toast into triangles with the same precision he used on everything else in life. Your daughter stood beside him on her little stool, tongue poked out in focus as she spread honey across one piece with a plastic knife. Her curls were wild. Her face was serious. Her grey-blue eyes were locked in.

You leaned against the doorway and watched them, heart clenching.

“Triangular toast,” Elias said, placing a piece on her plate. “Approved?”

She inspected it. “Perfect. This one’s yours ‘cause it’s big. Mommy gets the middle one.”

“I see,” Elias murmured. “A hierarchy of toast.”

You finally stepped into the room. “Good morning, my lovebugs.”

Your daughter beamed. “Hi, Mommy!”

Elias turned, a small, genuine smile softening his face. “Morning.”

You kissed the top of her head first—she smelled like honey and toddler sweat—then moved to Elias, slipping your arms briefly around his waist.

He kissed your temple without thinking, like it was instinct. “Coffee’s almost done.”

You murmured, “You’re perfect,” and squeezed his side.

Your daughter looked between you both, then declared, “Daddy loves toast more than Mommy.”

“Absolutely false,” Elias said immediately, scooping her into one arm and your hand into the other. “Toast doesn’t tuck me in at night or make fun of my beard.”

“Your beard is funny,” you teased.

“See?” he said to your daughter. “This is how I know she’s the one.”

You watched as she giggled, snuggling into his chest—small fingers fisting into the fabric of his worn henley, cheek squished against him like he was her entire universe.

You’d seen that same posture in him before. Elias held her like he was afraid she might vanish. Like if he blinked, he might open his eyes and find himself back in some cold, fluorescent interrogation room, dreaming of a life that could never be.

You stepped in closer and pressed your hand to his back, grounding him.

“She really is your twin,” you murmured softly. “The quiet stare, the way she watches everything. It's all you.”

He let out a breath, low and almost unsteady. “I know.”

You didn’t need to say more. You knew how that scared him sometimes—how he feared what parts of him she might inherit, what shadows might lurk inside the quiet stillness of her gaze.

“She’s not you, Elias,” you said gently. “She’s herself. And she’s good. She’s so, so good.”

“I know,” he said again, but softer this time. “But when she looks at me… I see all the parts of me I’ve been trying to bury.”

Your daughter, oblivious to the weight of his words, yawned dramatically and muttered, “Toast now, feelings later.”

You laughed, wiping a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “She’s also a savage.”

Elias exhaled a laugh, warm and real. “That’s all you.”

He carried her to the table and set her down gently, brushing the curls from her eyes. You watched the way his fingers lingered on her cheek. He still didn’t believe he deserved this, not fully. But he cherished it more than anything.

She looked up at him suddenly, squinting.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You’re my favorite.”

And just like that, the last of the tension melted from his shoulders. His eyes found yours across the table.

“Mine too,” he said, not breaking the gaze.

You smiled.

Family. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was real.

And in this house—quiet and warm and full of love—it was enough.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.6| The Oracle Weaver

"It's been three months! What the hell do you mean you have nothing?" Emily snaps.

"Emily...I'm telling you, he won't budge. He's got his story down. I got everything about Gold Star, but he's refusing to admit he created a network for serial killers, that he coached them and that he committed murders himself." You sigh, handing your notebook over.

"You're at home until I get through this. No more visits to Voit. I'll work on getting the paperwork to get you both divorced." She mutters.

You stand, feeling as if you let her down. You knew what more you had to do and you sigh as you sit back down.

"I also think I need to resign. I really wish it hadn't come to it, but I'm not in the headspace for this job right now. Ever since I reached down to the Oracle Weaver...I haven't felt myself. I can't explain it, but I refuse to be a loose cannon or be a risk to this team. I think it's for the best and I hope that maybe in the future if I return that you'd be there for that decision." You say.

"We have a therapist...I'm sorry, I didn't realize how much you were struggling. Do you want to try that first before resigning?" She asks, her voice soft with concern.

"I think I need to take some me time. Maybe travel a bit. But, I need to get my bearings and I have to do this myself." You say, and she agrees.

You leave her office as you head to your desk to pack up what little items you have. You know what she said, but you found yourself going to the holding cell for Elias Voit.

"There's my lovely wife." He says with a smile as he stands.

"It's over, Elias...Emily is getting the papers to annul or have us divorced. You'll get what you want and maybe this time you'll keep your nose out of trouble." You say.

"I will, because I'll be with you. There's no need for the papers." He says, waving it off.

"No, Elias. There'll be no us. It's best to go our separate ways." You say.

His hands grip the bars as his face reddens. You frown, looking at the ground before looking at your left hand. You look at his to see him wearing the gold band.

Despite it being months of trying to get information, he's still evaded every question you've had. But, so much sex and whispered promises were exchanged instead of the crimes he committed.

"There will be. You are my wife and I won't let anyone come between that—us. I'll find you. As soon as I'm out of here, I'll find you." He vows.

Your heart thumps violently against your chest as you turn and leave. Ignoring his call back for you. You close the door, grabbing the box of your items and hurrying to your apartment where you grab your go bags.

In a matter of minutes, you were gone, heading for a ranch you owned under a different name in Texas. It was hard, but you needed privacy and time to heal.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.5 | The Oracle Weaver

Emily had pulled you back from the Elias Voit case, needing all hands on deck. She needed your skillset. She said she'd handle Voit's disdain towards the situation as long as you stopped this duo.

You tapped into a part of yourself you've shoved deep down. The Oracle Weaver. You had investigated this as you use to. Now, you were hunting them.

And they knew it.

They were fearful, trying to hide. But, there was no point. You had this tracked down in no time, cornered. You wanted to kill them for all they had done. Instead, you watched as your team cuffed them before walking off.

The entire journey back home, you were quiet. Elsewhere.

You were a black turtle neck that you were nearly drowning in, the black sleeves pulled over your hands that were clenched in fists. You wore black leggings. Your hair was down, framing your face.

All tells of yours that you weren't okay.

Not that any of these guys would notice.

Reid and Penelope—immediately.

Emily, maybe.

Elias Voit—definitely.

You all walk off the elevator and you freeze when you see Elias Voit sitting at your desk dressed in a white button up and black slacks.

"He...wanted to do the marriage ceremony." Emily sighs.

You had somehow been able to avoid him for four and a half days. It was heaven and hell in a sense.

"Bad timing?" He says with a wince.

"What?" Rossi asks confused.

"Her tells. That she's struggling. An oversized turtle neck that she's drowning in. Leggings. Hair down. Sleeves pulled over hands." He lists off as if it were nothing.

But, it were everything.

He knew you.

"Is this about...my ask on the case?" Emily asks confused

"What was the ask on the case?" Elias asks curiously.

"Shut the hell up." Rossi snaps.

"No...I'm just tired is all. It's all catching up with me." You lie effortlessly.

No one questions you, they move on, congratulating each other on getting through with this case.

But, you stood alone, staring at the floor as you conjured up some strength.

Unaware of Elias Voit watching you, his eyes showing a sadness and hurt as he sees firsthand what you do for this team just to be left alone.

"Oh thank goodness! You are okay! My sweet, angel-faced, glorious Goddess!" Penelope says, hurrying towards you as she wraps you in a hug.

A hug you melt into, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. An interaction that had Elias Voit tilting his head in, interested in you and this woman who meant so much to you. The only real member who seemed to see you for you.

"The ceremony will take place here. But, we are offering the privacy. We can see how this is...awkward for you, Y/n. We have an ordained pastor to wed you both." Emily says.

He enters the room as the team files out. You lead the way to the roundtable office, closing the blinds before he had you both stand before each other.

Elias had a soft smile on his face as he looked at you. As if you had hung the moon and stars in his world. He looks down, carefully rolling your sleeves up to reveal your hands that were still clenched tightly.

He gently unravels them, your hands an icy cold. He holds them in his large warm ones, and you look down, biting back tears.

Here he was, comforting you when he didn't understand why you were falling to pieces to begin with.

"Elias, if you'd place the ring on her finger." He announces.

Elias gently lifts your left hand, pulling a silver band out of his pocket that had a blood red tear drop gem that was surrounded by black diamonds.

"Y/n, if you'd place the ring on his finger." He says, holding out a ring.

It was a plain gold band, but upon further inspection, it was discovered that your name was etched onto it—specifically, Y/N Voit.

You take his left hand, gently sliding the ring on his ring finger before your guys' entertained hands rested between you both.

"Elias, you may kiss your bride." He announces.

Elias leans forward, kissing you slowly, deeply, dangerously. Your lips move against his slowly, moving a hand to his chest. He rests a hand on your waist, pulling you closer before you break the kiss.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Voit. I hope that we can do a much longer ceremony in the future. I understand your guys' schedules are quite hectic." He says before leaving the room.

"What has you falling to pieces over there? Only I can do that to you and at least it's pleasurable." He says, taking a seat.

You couldn't help that small smile on your face as you take a seat next to him before you sigh.

"Emily asked me to pull out my...other side. The Oracle Weaver in order to track down this duo. It was the same duo I was hunting before I was an agent, when I was caught." You say, looking at the table.

"And?" He asks, tilting his head as he tried to gain your attention.

You look at him, sighing as your eyes water.

"Elias, I buried that part of me for a reason. While I searched and needed to help those families...every time I killed, I lost a piece of myself. Thinking like that...acting that way again, it hurt. I felt myself falling back into it. It all felt so...cold and lonely. It was awful. I wanted to crawl under a blanket and just feel." You explain, a tear falling down your cheek.

His jaw clenches, hating that anyone would ask this of you. He reaches a hand up and wipes your tear as he cups your cheeks.

"Bury it. Bury it deep inside and don't ever call on that half again. I'm here. I'll hold you together. I'll be the inferno that alights you. I'm with you in every waking moment, every sleeping moment, I'm in your mind, body and soul, doll. I'm in the shadows, always." He says, his thumb tracing circles on you cheek.

Something about that comforted you.

It sent a wave of heat through you that made you shudder, curling closer to him. He hated that anything scared you other than him. He wanted to be the thing you craved and feared most.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.4| The Oracle Weaver

The water scalds your skin, but you don't turn it down. You let it burn.

Steam curls in the locker room around you, fogging the mirror as your scrub your neck, your thighs, your lips. But it doesn't come off.

The way he touched you.

The way you begged.

The way you said his name like a prayer and a curse all in one.

Your hands curl into fists as your lean your forehead against the coolness of the tile wall.

You're an FBI agent. A professional. You were sent to break him. But he...cracked you.

Suddenly, flashes of him through you mind: Elias with blood on his hands and softness in his voice. Elias whispering you're mine like a vow, not a warning.

You cover your mouth, trapping back the sobs as your eyes sting with tears. You refuse to fall apart.

You get to your desk and follow up on the case that they are following before going to the Roundtable room, Penelope coming in with you as she sets up the feed.

"Hey, you look tired...how was it?" Emily asks softly as the team comes into view.

"I didn't get any answers. He refused to speak about anything related to the case. He said tonight was about our elopement." You say, sighing as you sink into your chair.

"Hey, you're doing great. Win his trust. Take your time with it so we can get that bastard." She says.

"I'll try. I got to do brunch tomorrow so maybe that'll go better. Who knows." You sigh.

Penelope frowns, noticing that there was more than you were letting on. She rubs your arm, giving you a soft smile.

"You got this." She encourages.

"Thanks Penelope. So, I took a moment to look at the case. I haven't been able to fully look into this. I'll double back tomorrow with rested eyes, but I think this is a team, or a duo. I saw something like this in my Oracle Weaver days. Right at the end before the team caught me. I was chasing something eerily similar to this." You admit.

"Do you have your research from then?" Emily asks.

"I've already sent it over to you guys. It should be on your tablets. But, then again...this technology thing is confusing." You mutter.

"We got them! We will look over this. But, you need to go get rest. So go home, sleep and focus on Voit tomorrow." She says.

"Will do. Call me if you guys need me." You say.

You go home to your empty apartment, to get a few hours of sleep before you were up for good. You decide to start your day, dressing in a white cotton v-neck, black slacks and combat boots. You chose to wear your hair in French braids.

You wore black hoop earrings with a black crystal necklace. The necklace was from a friend who was much like a sister and it was your good luck charm.

It was hard to get dressed, seeing the bruises on your hips and thighs were a reminder of the night before. The soreness should have been enough, but you refused to acknowledge it.

You enter the same room where it all happened, the door locking behind you. He was sat at the table where your guys' dinner had been left untouched.

His gaze held no emotion as he looked you over slowly. You had half an hour before the brunch began as you awaited for it to arrive.

You wanted the upper hand.

You decided to touch up your notes about what you recognized from yesterday. Did you really notice much? No. But, you can refer back to the interrogation room if need be.

You could tell your silence annoyed him from where you sat on the couch nearby. He could see you, but he couldn't move. He was cuffed still as it wasn't time for you guys' brunch.

"Are you going to at least say good morning?" He asks.

You continue writing away, your handwriting was neat and never wavered. You hear him take a deep breath before slowly letting it out. You lean forward knowing exactly what you were doing. Hence why you wore the v-neck top.

The door opens several minutes later and you look up to see Adam's walk in. You stand, meeting him halfway to take the two plastic trays that were arranged with a nice breakfast.

"Do you need anything else?" He asks, his hand resting on your back as he guides you closer to the door after you set the trays down.

You didn't miss how tense Elias had gotten.

"I should be all good." You sigh.

"Ahem." Elias says.

You both look over your shoulders to see him holding his cuffed hands up. Adams sighs before walking over to undo the cuffs, giving him a bunch of warnings before walking back to you.

"Seriously, one text and I'll be here. I'm right outside the door." He whispers.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." You say, patting his shoulder before letting his leave, the door locking again.

You put your notebook and pen away, moving your bag by the door before taking a seat across from a tense, pissed off Elias Voit.

"You look very professional today. Not to mention covering up the bruises I gave you." He says.

You ignore him, taking a bite of your food. You take a drink of your coffee before looking at him.

"Why don't we eat and then talk, Elias? I'm hungry and a hangry me isn't a good me." You sigh.

"Why? Does your homicidal tendencies come out?" He asks excitedly.

"I don't own those anymore. I get snappy...moody...just an overall bad mood. I need my food and coffee in the mornings. So, eat. Then we talk." She sighs.

He agrees by taking a bite of his food. You avoided any eye contact while you ate, praying it went by fast. You also continued with your pep talk as half an hour passed and you both finished eating. Four and a half hours left.

"So, did you sleep well? I know I slept well." Elias says, a small smug smile on his face.

"We're discussing the Gold Star case today. You said you had information." You say, your voice detached.

He stands, moving toward you. Slow. Deliberate. Predatory. He pulls you up, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"You don't like being out of control," he whispers, "but your body...it loved it. It still does."

"Elias." You mutter.

"I couldn't stop thinking about last night. It's been on replay since. The way you looked at me. The way you begged. You think I don't know you now?" He asks, his hand brushing your waist, not enough to touch you, just enough to set you on fire.

"You don't know shit." You spat.

He spins you around, pinning you against the wall. No one can hear a thing, so no one comes. You were all alone with him—Elias Voit. You don't even try to scream, you just play it step by step.

"I know your heart races when I say your name," he says lowly as he presses his palm flat to your chest, "and I know you get wet when I call you mine. You can lie to your badge, but not me."

You slap him.

It echoes.

He smiles.

"That's it," he breathes, "show me there's still something to break."

And then he kisses you. Again.

But, this time it's slower. Deeper. More dangerous.

Because this time—it feels like love.

"You're not just a case to me," he murmurs into your mouth, "I've been waiting for someone like you my whole life."

You freeze.

"That's not fair." You say.

"Neither is the world, doll. But, I'm giving you mine." He murmurs, his lips brushing yours, "and in it, you belong to me."

The badge in your back right pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. But you don't reach for it. You don't scream. You should, but you don't.

Instead, your hands rest on his chest and curl into his shirt.

He sees it—your hesitation, the last flicker of fight. He doesn't gloat. He doesn't smirk.

He leans in and whispers, "I've never touched anyone the way I touch you. I've never wanted to."

You don't believe him. But God, did you want to.

He steps back, just enough to let your breathe, to make you chase the heat. And you hate yourself for doing it—leaning forward, following the devil back to hell.

He smiles when you do.

"You're not going to run, are you?" He asks.

"Should I?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I'd chase you," he says lowly, his tone growing darker, "and I wouldn't stop."

You both stare. Something sharp passes between you—deadly, tender, soaked in sin.

Then Elias does something unexpected.

He steps away.

He moves to the table he fucked you on last night and speaks low, like you both stepped into a confessional, and he's both the sinner and priest. You follow with your notebook and pen.

"You want to know why I did it? Why I built the network?" He asks.

You nod, slow, your body thrumming from the tension still clinging to your skin.

"Because no one ever saved me. Because when I was a kid, I prayed to every God I could to make it stop, and no one came. So I learned how to be the monster they were all so afraid of." He says, leaning forward, his elbows to his knees, his voice like gravel soaked in grief.

"I didn't wake up evil. I was made." He says.

He looks up at you then. You felt like a deer caught in headlights as you got lost in his eyes. Because this was different. It was not the monster. It was not the mastermind. Just Elias. Wounded. Brilliant. Real.

"And then?" You ask softly.

"You walked in. And I thought...maybe if someone like you could love me, even just a little...maybe I'm not too far gone." He says lowly.

You shouldn't feel it. But it crushes you.

Because that was the moment he stopped being a suspect and became something else.

Your heart beats louder than your conscience.

He stands again, walking slow. Deliberate. Stopping just inches from you, kneeling next you as he looks up at you.

"I don't want to break you, doll," he murmurs, "I want to rebuild you—with me."

You don't stop him when he turns your chair towards him. Or when his hand grasps your waist, slowly gliding up. Or when he guides them back down to slowly start pulling your shirt up.

"Last chance," he whispers, "say no, I'll step back. We'll talk cases. You'll leave untouched."

But...you don't say no.

Instead, you whisper, "Elias...please."

And then he's on you.

He takes his time—every touch soaked in purpose. He peels your shirt off like he's unwrapping something sacred. His lips find the hollow of your throat, your collarbone, the marks he left last time.

"You taste like sin," he groans, "and I've been starving."

He guides you to stand with him, backing you into the table, lifting you onto it as if you weigh nothing. Shoving your notes and pen aside. His pants hit the floor. Then yours.

"Elias." You moan, arching into him as he drags his tongue along your ribs.

"Mine." He says again. Louder. Fiercer. "Say it."

"Yours," you breathe, "I'm yours."

"Louder." He snaps, nipping the skin above your collarbone.

"I'm yours, Elias!" You moan.

He slams into you with a growl that sounds almost pained, as if this—you—is too much for even him to handle. His grip bruises. His kisses devour. He's everywhere, claiming, consuming, collapsing whatever moral high ground you had left.

"You're never going back," he rasps, "I'm in your head now. Your veins. Your soul."

And the terrifying part?

You want him there.

When it's over, you're both breathless. Shaking. Raw. He hovered above you, his cock still in you. Your orgasms mixed, leaking out of you.

He presses his forehead to yours.

"One day soon, they'll take me out of here. And when I walk free, you'll walk beside me." He murmurs.

You should laugh.

You should say it's impossible.

But you don't.

Because deep down, something inside you whispers, he's already halfway out...and I'm already halfway in.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.3| The Oracle Weaver

A dark blood red dress hugged your curves, ending about mid-thigh. There was a little slit, a bit dangerous, but not too risqué. The top was styled like a corset, pushing up your breasts. The straps were off the shoulders, but could be adjusted onto the shoulders.

You chose a pair of heels, black with the soles a dark red as well. You wore a silver necklace that had a black diamond in a tear drop shape. You chose a matching ring and earrings. You left your hair down in its natural loose waves. You did a light makeup to bring the look together.

You had your messenger bag—a gift from Reid—the only one who ever truly accepted you.

It had a notebook and a pen in it as you prepared yourself for the dinner at hand. The elevator doors opened and your team stood there with their go bags. They had a case, one you'd consult with from here.

"You look absolutely stunning like a Goddess." Penelope says in awe.

The only other one who truly let you in. It was the main crew that had made you feel like an outcast.

"Thank you, Penelope...I'm hoping to get answers, so...I did as he suggested." You admit tiredly.

"Well you look gorgeous." She says firmly.

"If you need anything—call me. Text Adams if you need more time." Emily says.

"Will do." You say, taking a shaky breath as you looked at the long hallway lined with men in full tactile gear.

"You've got this kid." Rossi said, squeezing your shoulder as he walked into the elevator.

You slowly, hesitantly make your way down the hallway, getting to a door where Adam's stood by. He gave you a nod, opening the door and motioning you in. You see Elias sat at a table, looking quite happy. His eyes roam over you slowly as Adam's rests a hand on your shoulder, stopping you from entering the room.

"If you need anything, kid, send the text. We all got your back." He says.

"Thank you, Adams. I appreciate it." You say, giving him a small nod before entering the room.

The door closes behind you and locks. You look at Elias to see the happy look gone, but a dark and angry look on his face.

"Elias...are you...okay?" You ask, setting your bag down on the table by the door and making your way to the table.

He stands, pulling your chair out before resting a hand on your lower back.

"I don't like that he touched you." He mutters.

"He was just being friendly." You say.

"Friendly or not. I don't like people touching what's mine." He says.

"Elias...I'm no object." You say before gasping as he pulls you into his chest, an arm wrapping around your waist and his hand tangling in your hair.

You were ashamed that a wave of heat traveled to your core as your eyes met his wild ones...his wild, possessive ones.

"You are no object, but you are my wife." He says lowly.

You let a shaky breath out as you try to find your voice that ended up buried deep inside of you. His arm around your waist loosened, his hand sliding down your back.

"You smell...divine. You look divine...like a Goddess. I could eat you." He says, a smirk on his lips.

"I...Elias." You manage to get out.

You gasp, pushing yourself against him as his hand grasps your ass. He groans and you can feel him against your thigh.

"My wife." He murmurs as his face drops to the crook of your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut, your heart thrumming violently. Your hands that were at your side move to his chest, fisting his shirt.

His lips gently kissed against your racing pulse—a test. You should've pushed him away.

You knew that much.

—but you didn't.

He leaves another kiss as he tests the waters. Your phone beeps, making you jump. He steps back, looking at you with a small smile as you stride to your bag, your hands shaking as you search for your phone.

Emily: Did you make it in okay?

You shoot back a reply as his steps come closer to you. You close your phone, sliding it in your bag as you turn, having to look up to meet his eyes.

"Talking about me?" He asks.

"She just wanted to make sure I made it in is all." You say.

"Come. We should eat. Unfortunately, we are on a time frame." He says, resting his hand on your lower back.

"Look...we can do some physical touch...but nothing more." You say.

"You're my wife, we can do anything." He says, pushing your chair in before taking a seat across from you.

"Elias...you'rere a criminal." You say.

"And you were a vigilante...now a FBI agent." He says.

"I killed serial killers, took down human trafficking rings—I killed bad people. My morals were warped in the beginning, but now I'm repenting those bad deeds by serving justice the right way. You though, created a network for serial killers, you guided them in what to do, and you killed people too—innocent people. There is a difference between you and I, Elias." Your voice steady, but your pulse said otherwise.

He tilts his head, studying you like you were an unsolved riddle. His lips tilt up to a small smile.

"Yet...here you are. Alone. With me," he says, his voice smooth, sharp, like velvet hiding a blade, "if that difference was so important...why are you trembling?"

"I'm not—." You start before he interjects.

"Lying doesn't suit you, doll." He says, looking at you with triumph before taking a bite.

You stand, taking a slow lap around the room as you try to find your inner strength.

Why was this so different?

You dealt with criminals all the time, yet Elias Voit was tearing you down piece by piece—getting the real you.

"I'm not lying." You say pointedly, turning to him before gasping as you realized he was just a few steps from you.

"You came here to interrogate me, to control the situation. But, you are unraveling," he says, his eyes roaming over you slowly, "and I've hardly even touched you."

"I'm here to get answers." You say coldly, squaring your shoulders.

"Are you?" He murmurs, stepping forward until your bodies almost touched, "Or are you here because you need something only I can give you?"

You blink slowly, your heart hammering against your chest. This was getting far too dangerous. But, before you could take the much needed moment to reign yourself back in, he was closing the distance between you both, backing you against a wall.

"No, I'm here for answers, Elias. Not here for whatever this is. You know the requirements." You say.

"There was a difference between you and I until this morning when you agreed to our requirements." He points out.

"You forced my hand." You defend.

"No, I offered you a choice. Daily visits, a marriage contract. I give you everything you want—the truth, the names—and in return, you give me you. Legally. Intimately. Exclusively." He says lowly, his tongue tracing his lower lip.

"Elias." You start, but he quirks a brow.

"And you agreed." He says.

"For the case!" You argue.

"For me," he corrects smoothly, "don't lie. Not here."

Your breath hitches as you look into his dark blue eyes.

"You knew the second you walked into that interrogation room earlier today, that you wouldn't leave the same," he says lowly, his voice dark and dangerous, "you knew something inside of you would shift. I saw it in your eyes the first time you looked at me like a man, not a monster. And now? You're here. Wearing perfume for me. No wire. No backup."

Your quiet.

It was like a bucket of cold water was poured over you. The wake-up moment was harsh and cruel.

Because he was right.

And you hated that he noticed it all and more.

"Tell me something, doll. What's worse? A man who kills for pleasure...or a woman who wants to be owned by him?" He murmurs, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

"I don't—." You start before he lifts a hand to cover your mouth.

"Yes, you do. You crave this. The loss of control. The danger. Me," his hand cradles your face as his thumb traces your bottom lip, "and you keep pretending this is about justice. But the truth? You want me to ruin you so completely there's no line left to cross."

Your lip trembles as something cracks inside of you—pride, maybe. Control. Logic. You don't know. You just feel the weight of his words crawling under your skin, hooking into something you swore you buried.

"You think I don't feel it too?" Elias whispers, moving just enough to brush his lips against yours, "this pull between us—it's not fake. It's not strategy. It's something primal. Feral. You're the only person who's ever matched me, and now that I've had a taste of you...I'll never let go."

His mouth crashes against yours, and it's far from gentle. It's claiming. Tearing. Possessive.

You gasp, and he takes the sound into him like a reward. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them tightly before he lifts you with ease, pressing between your thighs as he pins you to the wall. Your legs respond by wrapping around his waist, one of his hands pinning yours above your head.

"We can't—." You breathe out as you pull away from his mouth.

"We already are," he growls lowly his lips brushing against your racing pulse, "you agreed to the deal. We sign it tomorrow. You're mine now. You belong to me."

His other hand slides up your thigh, brushing against the lace panties you wore. You whimper, your eyes fluttering closed. His lips trail down the column of your neck like he's memorizing the taste of your surrender.

"You want real answers?" He pants, "then prove you're mine. Right here. Right now."

You hesitate—your mind screaming no, but your body thought otherwise, betraying you as you arched against him, your hips meeting his as his name fall from your lips.

"Good girl," he breathes, "you don't get to hold the gun anymore, doll. But, you'll get the truth...once you learn how to beg."

His teeth scrape across your collarbone, and in that moment—between the shame and longing—you don't know if you'll hate him more...or yourself for loving every second of this fall.

His mouth is on yours again—hot, demanding, coaxing every resistance from your lips as he walks to the empty table that was aimed to be used for the questioning later.

Your thighs tighten around his waist, the cold wood of the table is nothing compared to the burn of his skin.

"I want to hear you say it." Elias growls against your mouth.

You shake your head, eyes wide, breathless.

He bites your lower-lip—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who's in control now.

"Say it. Who do you belong to?" He says lowly.

You should lie.

You should play the game.

But, instead, your voice comes out soft, "You."

"That's right." He murmurs, his hands unzipping the dress and pulling it off you.

Your nipples harden from the cool air, his eyes darkening with hunger and something else—something dangerous.

"And you're mine. Every inch of you." He mutters lowly.

He leans down, his tongue flicking across a hardened peak as you arch beneath him, gasping. You grip the table overhead of you, your eyes squeezing closed as if the table was the only thing tethered to you.

His mouth, his hands, his voice—it's all consuming you like a storm you invited in without realizing.

"Look at you," he murmurs, "so powerful out there. So ready to be undone here."

His hips roll against yours and a soft cry escapes you, the friction teasing, maddening. He grips your hips harder, no doubt leaving bruises in his trail.

"You want the truth?" He breathes in your ear. "You'll get it, but not until you beg for it. Not until you beg for me."

Your body answers before your mind can as you arch against him, rolling your hips to meet his hardness as you moan out, "Please."

He groans—pure male satisfaction as his other hand undoes the tie on his pants, shoving them down.

His mouth devours yours again, and when he moves this time, it's desperate. Filthy. Possessive.

You've never felt more exposed.

Or alive.

And as he claims you on the table of a place where you should've been getting answers, you realize something terrifying:

You're not sure if you want to be saved from him anymore.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Editing 2-4 chapters tonight to hopefully have posted by tomorrow night for the Oracle Weaver series, stay tuned!

[mrsriddles-blog]

I have the urge to write again, which is nice 😂 I’m loving doing “mini-series” although we know nothing I do is mini, but request some stuff please! I want to be kept busy!

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.2| The Oracle Weaver

You stare at him in silence, waiting for the buzz of your phone. You wanted to say no right there and then. Refuse to talk to him ever again, but your mind flashed back to Emily.

Her desperation made your heart clench and you wanted to help. You wanted to make her proud.

Your phone buzzes and you pull it out of your pocket. It was Emily. Two words. Say Yes.

"I have a feeling there isn't any budging on that, is there, Elias." You sigh.

"No, this—I'm sure about." He says, smiling at you.

You purse your lips and bob your head slightly as you debate on it. You knew what you were going to say, but you decided to draw it out.

"Yes, but I keep my last name." You say.

"But, what if I want you to be Mrs. Voit?" He asks.

"It's a lot of complications and I really don't want everyone being like, "Oh, you're married to that serial killer?", so if you don't mind, I'm keeping my last name." You say.

"Hyphen?" He suggests.

"Elias." You sigh.

"Look at us, having our first argument as an almost-married-couple." He says, resting his hands on her.

"Elias, I should probably finish writing the requirements." You say.

"Yes, of course. Our third requirement, we get married. Hyphen last name. Um...I'd like to have a quick little ceremony. I know, your people will probably need to be in the audience. I want you in a dress. I want to dress up. I also want to get a ring for you." He says.

"You know, the ring isn't necessary." You mumble.

"It is. Unless you aren't trying to let people know you're married. You aren't trying to double time me, are you?" He asks, his eyes growing darker.

"No, Elias. I haven't been with anyone since high school and that's because I think relationships are complicated, require a lot of work and effort that I'm not sure I'm willing to put into." You say.

"We'll make it work. You'll see. So yes, ring is necessary." He says.

He moves his hands from yours and you finally start to write out the third requirement.

"Alrighty, wife, as of now—that's it. But, more may come. Especially if things you guys ask for ramp up." He says.

"Noted." You mumble, adding it to the list.

You go to stand, but he rests a hand on yours.

"Where are you going? We've got stuff to talk about." He says.

"I think we are good for now, Elias." You say.

"No. We aren't. I want to spend more time with you." He says.

"We have dinner tonight. And we spend time together after." You say, focusing on the notebook where you were writing.

"There's no rush to go though. We can talk for awhile." He says.

"Well...I assumed since it was a date, that I'd need to change and get ready." You say, desperately trying to get time to yourself.

"You know...pick out a red dress, it'd look lovely on you." He says.

You look up, surprised he had anything else to say. You've never had any guidance when it came to dates. You didn't even know what color would suit you. Until now.

"A brighter or darker red?" You ask.

"Darker. Silver jewelry. And leave your hair down." He says.

"Okay. Well...I'll see you later tonight, Elias." You say as you stand.

"See you tonight, doll." He says with a smile.

You grab your notebook, trying to seem like you were in no rush to go hide to catch your breath. The moment that door shut, you sprinted to the bathroom, kneeling before a stall and vomiting.

You had been apart of the team for five years now, yet you found yourself  struggling to fit in with them. You did everything to please them, feeling like they were always looking down at you.

Which you felt was because of your past.

While you didn't see to their ways in the beginning, you understand now. You've went through all the measure to be then. To follow the rules like them.

You weren't hardly invited to the outings they did together.

Emily was maybe the one who you were closest with.

Somehow...Elias Voit was seeing through her. He saw her for who she was. He understood her already. He knew things that she wasn't even sure she knew about herself and it terrified her.

"Y/N?" Emily asks, walking into the bathroom.

"I'll be out in a few minutes." You say quietly.

Your stomach twists again and before you could fight the urge, you were violently throwing up again.

"Y/N...I know this is a lot. I know we are asking a lot. But, this will be a game changer. We truly appreciate what you are doing. We won't let things get out of hand. Go on home and take some time to relax and get ready. Dinner will be at five. You guys will have an hour to eat and then four hours to talk. Ten o'clock sharp, the guards will escort him to his cell unless you give us a different order. Which if you feel like you’re getting good info, keep it going. If not, we can end it four hours on the dot." She says.

"Will do." You mumble.

[mrsriddles-blog]

Sunday 12AM EST 😈 Stay Tuned, Rebels

[mrsriddles-blog]

Ch.1 | The Oracle Weaver

The team sat at the round table, staring at the screen where live footage of Elias Voit was. He was sitting in the interrogation room, refusing to speak.

"Nothing is working. We need a new approach." Emily says.

"We've all took a hit at him except...Y/n." JJ says.

"True. The one person he didn't have in the shipping container of his evidence on us." Rossi says.

"That's because he's memorized it all. He's fascinated by her." Emily says.

You were downstairs, staring at Voit through the glass. You had got tired of hearing the team go in circles. You knew exactly what they were going to suggest. There was no way around it.

You've fought to avoid it this far, but now—you've got no choice. You open the door, pausing before stepping inside. He looks up from where he had his head dropped, looking at the table. He grins when he sees you.

"Good evening, Mr. Voit. I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N. I don't believe we've got the pleasure to meet yet." She says.

"The Oracle Weaver." He breathes.

"Oh no," you laugh shaking your head as you take a seat across from him, "you are lucky that I'm not the Oracle Weaver and I've retired from my previous work. I would've had so much fun with you, you twisted fuck."

His smile flickers to something dark momentarily before he smiles through it. Your lips curve up into a slow smile.

"You are just a whole ball of delight, but I know about you." He says.

"Oh yeah? What do you know?" He asks.

"You joined the NAVY at eighteen, escaping an abusive father and druggie mother. By twenty one, you showed great skill in combat and had the highest level of success, so you were given a chance to become a NAVY Seal. You did a bunch of great work, but you got injured. You took one for one of your brothers. Put you out and then, you found something better to do with your time. Oracle Weaver. You started creating your own cases, slowly torturing your victims who were serial killers and carefully stringing them up with all the evidence creating such elaborate scenes. Then, the FBI wanted you. So, you promised to never kill as the Oracle Weaver again in exchange for your position now. You and I are the same." He says.

"Most of that is correct. Except, you and I aren't the same. I don't enjoy killing like you do, Elias. I killed to bring justice to the family and victims who were murdered. I picked their fate to be slow, torturous, painful...each one varying depending on their crimes. I don't enjoy it. I lost a piece every time, but to see how relieved the people felt when those monsters turned up dead, was what kept me going. The peace these families felt was worth it. The victims justice was what helped me sleep at night. Their souls being able to rest at once was all that mattered." She says.

"Oh, what a hero." He says, resting his face on his cuffed hands.

"And you are the very monster I would've loved the most, but I'd also love to see you locked up and rot behind bars." You say.

"Sounds romantic, will you visit me?" He asks.

"In your dreams." You say, looking at him with a serious expression.

"In my dreams, I've imagined a million ways we'd see each other." He admits.

"What's different about me? Why are you talking to me, but no one else?" You ask.

"Surely you feel it?" He says.

"Feel what?" You ask confused.

"The connection! You walked in here and it was like time stopped. The air was buzzing, I just feel so drawn towards you. How could I not be though? Any man would be a fool not to be attracted to you. But, it's deeper than attraction. You are beautiful, yes, but you are so smart, brave, and fearless. I admire your drive. Your ethic and your dedication." He says.

You are quiet, looking at him as you gaged his reaction. You hoped that he was just speaking out of his ass. But, he was dead serious.

"I'm hoping you can help me, Elias." You say, deciding a change of the subject was necessary.

"I can, but I'll definitely have some requirements if I'm helping. Your going to ask the same thing those other agents asked because they knew I'd talk to you." He says.

"I'm asking the questions because it's my job as a federal agent to put you behind bars." You say.

"What if the Oracle Weaver came out of retirement and then I helped you track down all the serial killers on the network? Their death in exchange for a new name and maybe a lighter sentence." He suggests.

"Absolutely not. She's retired for a reason. And why help you take down your network that way when you created that network?" She asks.

"I created a network for communications. I didn't know a bunch of serial killers were using it." He says.

You take a deep breath before opening your notebook to a new page. You nearly scrawl the date on the page along with: 1st meeting with Elias Voit.

"Ohh, does that mean we'll meet more? I sure hope so." He says.

"I need answers, Elias. Real, honest, reliable answers to help us. Can you do that?" You ask.

"I can, but there's a price." He says, feigning discomfort.

"Oh, what might that price be?" You ask.

"One, any information I give to you today means we get a date later tonight. Along with that date I want four hours alone with you in a private setting, no cuffs, just you and me so we can bond." He says.

"Two hours." You counter.

"Five?" He suggests.

"Three." You say.

"Six? Plus brunch the following day?" He suggests.

"Four it is." You sigh.

"Plus brunch the following day. I love the sound of brunch with you." He says.

"Elias. A date along with four hours alone with me in exchange for information on the questions I ask you today." You say, fighting to keep calm.

"Plus brunch. Or no deal." He says with a smirk.

"Plus brunch." You sigh, writing down his requirements.

"With four more hours of downtime together. Since you're being so stubborn." He says.

"Elias." You warn.

"I love the way you say my name, doll." He says.

"No, no nicknames." You say seriously.

"You guys call me Sicarius, so I want to call you doll. Anyhow, requirements. We also have brunch and four hours alone tomorrow too. Write that down." He says.

You glare at him before looking down and adding the last of that requirement along with dates and times.

"Alright. Date with four hours tonight and brunch with four hours tomorrow. That will be in exchange for some information on Gold Star." She says.

"Yes. Of course." He says.

"Then...I need you to tell me how I can track down the rest of this network." You says.

"I actually have a requirement for that too." He says.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not playing fucking games, Elias! There are innocent people out there! Among those innocent people, your ex-wife and children are going to have targets on their back. They are angry with you. For leaving them in the dark. Getting caught like a pathetic piece of shit." You snap, and his face goes cold.

"She left. I tried to protect them! They left! I want nothing to do with them. I just want you, doll. I don't care if you think I'm pathetic or a piece of shit. You'll realize sooner or later exactly what I'm talking about. The requirement." He says.

"What's the goddamn requirement?" You snap coldly.

"Two, visit me everyday for a minimum of an hour. That's all I want. Conversation with the one person I want. Three, I want a deal and I need you to speak with the Director about getting that for me." He says.

"The first part I can do, that second part is complicated Elias." You sigh.

"Let me think on three for a few minutes then. Do you mind if I have a moment?" He asks.

"Not at all. Would you like me to get you a water while I'm out there?" You ask, standing.

"Actually, that'd be great. Thank you, doll." He says.

You grab your items, walking to the door, ignoring his whistle. You open the door and walk out before walking to the round table.

"You've got to take number three. You're right, we can't really talk to the Director. He's on our ass enough." Emily says.

"We don't even know what's going to come out of his mouth, Emily." You say.

"I know, just...keep your phone on you and I'll let you know if we agree or not. He's not just infatuated with you, but obsessed. We need to take advantage of that." She says.

"I understand, but at what cost?" You ask.

"All of them. We have a network of serial killers. A national security threat—Gold Star. And we have Sicarius in our hold. Your hold, so please...I don't ask for a lot and I know this is a lot, but please." She pleads.

"Fine." You mutter.

"Here's that water you offered him. Would you like to go share a glass of whiskey or something before you go back in there?" Rossi offers.

"No, I want to be on my toes around him." You say, taking the water from Rossi.

You turn, walking back to the interrogation room. He looks up and smiles at you.

"Here's your water." You say, handing him the paper cup.

He reaches out, taking it, but being sure to touch your hand in the process. You take a seat across from him, sitting your notebook out as you look back at him.

"Did you think of your third requirement?" You ask.

"I did." He says after a moment of taking a long drink of water.

"Alright, what is it?" You ask.

"You become my wife." He says with a grin.

[mrsriddles-blog]

The Oracle Weaver Series

New Series Alert

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

[mrsriddles-blog]

Elias Voit Masterlist

The Oracle Weaver Series

Little Shadow

Little Storm