#agent m.e.

[aandlorr]

"Who are you guys?"

"Just... your average Good Samaritans."

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[bullet-prooflove]

Safe: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @riley-kore @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Umbrella - Gibbs gets more than he bargained for when he offers you his umbrella.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

The thing that Gibbs likes most about you is that you don’t give damn about what anybody else thinks. That becomes blatantly obvious over the months he continues works with you. You’re a consummate professional, a fierce victim advocate and the most compassionate woman he’s ever met.

The way you speak to the families, it’s an art form.

He could only wish for more people like you. People who haven’t become desensitised by everything they’ve seen. People who still give a shit.

“I don’t know how you do it.” He says to you one night over drinks at a bar he’s already forgotten the name of. “How do you stay sane after seeing so much death?”

Meeting up like this, it’s starting to become a regular thing between the two of you. You’ve been doing it ever since the day you ran into each other at the cemetery. Most nights he grabs a few drinks with his team but Thursdays, he reserves those especially for you.

“I know that people think I’m cold, detached…” You say as you swirl the ice cubes around whiskey glass. “But when I look down at them, I see the person they were. Lieutenant Colchester’s calloused fingers from where he played guitar, the scar on Ensign Lopez’s knee from a cycling accident. They all had hobbies, a life, people who care about them.” You take a sip from the glass. “I guess that makes me driven.”

“It’s a good way to be.” Gibbs tells you, his gaze meeting yours. “You fight for them, even when the lead on the case tells you, you shouldn’t.”

He’s talking about the blow up they all overheard coming from Family and Sexual Violence and Threat Management Unit this afternoon. You have a dead Corporal on your table and Special Agent in Charge LaRue is shoving the file to the bottom of the pile because the deceased used to be hook to put food on the table before she joined the service.

“I’m gonna be person non-grata in that department for a very long time.” You state as you signal to the bartender for another round. “They’ve already requested another M.E.”

“It was the right thing to do.” Gibbs tells you as if it’s something irrefutable.

That’s one of the reasons you like about spending time with Gibbs. There’s no platitudes, there’s only frankness. He’s a man without an agenda and you can not express just how refreshing that is.  

“I know.” You say, pushing your used glass away from you. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I thought it would bring any of them justice.”

You damn well would too, he knows it.

It’s an hour later that he begins to tug on his jacket. It’s the same everytime. Eleven o’clock hits and he walks you home. Only tonight you aren’t pulling on your coat, your still sitting there, your finger tracing around the top of the glass you’ve been drinking from.

“Maeve?” He questions, tilting his head to meet your gaze.

“I think I’m gonna stay a while.” You tell him and he sits back down on his stool.

“Alright, well I’ve got nowhere else to be-”

“Jethro.” You say softly, your hand coming to rest on top of his ensuring you have his full attention. “You know that feeling you get, that frustration that builds and builds until you end up starting a fight. I get that too, only I fuck it out.”

“Oh.” He says as it dawns on him. “I’m cock blocking you.”

“You look like a big strapping Marine, ready to beat the shit out of anyone that approaches me.” You inform him and he supposes he kinda does.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I feel…” He begins because his momma taught him a lot better than to leave a woman alone in a bar.

“It’s not about your comfort.” You remind him, your voice turning brittle. “It’s about me getting what I need and what I need is to get fucked.”

He doesn’t like it, not because of the sex but rather the danger it presents. You’ll be taking home you don’t know, someone who could hurt you or worse. He also knows he can’t stop you, that you’re going to do this no matter what he says because it is a need, one that he recognises all too well.

“Will you call me or page me?” He asks you as he raises to his feet once again. “Just so I know you’re safe.”

You sigh, rapping your fingertips upon the surface on the table. He gets the feeling you aren’t used to people actually giving a shit about you. Well tough, he does and you’re just gonna have to get used to that.

“Maybe.” You concede. “If you leave within the next five minutes.”

Maybe…

That’s the best he’s gonna get for now.

It’s a couple of hours later that his pager chirps. He’s doing push ups in the dark on the bedroom floor, trying to chase away the images of another man touching you, tasting you, fucking you. He’s not a jealous man but he is protective, he would go to hell and back for the people he cares about and apparently you’re one of them. He picks up the tiny black device, his gaze fixating on the letters as they scroll across screen.

S-A-F-E.

Safe.

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[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Girls Can't Drive | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: talk of sexual assault, sexual harassment, rape and murder. ends in fluff :-)

Author's note: Loosely based off Girls Can't Drive from Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies, as well as the Season 6 Episode 8 of Brooklyn 99 "He Said She Said".

Words: 3,208

Working a case like this was always hard. But this time around, it seemed to be even tougher to get through for her. Five women had already fallen victim to a rapist. Five women murdered. All five women worked in the same company at one point or another, so it was only logical for the team to look into them. 

“Reid, y/n, you’re gonna take the statements from the coworkers,” Hotch ordered when the team was being informed about the case in the briefing room. “Rossi, Kate and I will go to the M.E. Morgan, JJ, you’re to go to the latest crime scene. We’ll be working from here.” 

Everyone nodded their agreement before leaving the briefing room and heading out to do their part of the job. Y/N had fallen quiet upon hearing the details of this case. Every case they worked was pretty gruesome, but none ever affected her in the same way this one did. Maybe it was the fact that these women were on their way home from work when they were raped and brutally murdered. Maybe it was the fact it was all happening in Washington D.C., where she herself lived. 

Whatever the reason was, her sudden silence hadn’t gotten lost on Spencer, her boyfriend of two years. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” he asked when they got in the car and drove to the company. 

Y/N offered him a smile that all but convinced him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired, I guess.” 

Spencer had let it go, believing that if his girlfriend wanted to tell him what was bothering her, she would. Instead, he focused on the case. The two of them walked into the company’s building, curious to see what they were going to find out about who worked there. 

They sat down with the manager, Tomas Ramos, first. Each taking turns, Spencer and y/n asked the man their questions about the victims and if he knew someone on his staff that could’ve done something like this. 

“Oh, no,” the guy said, “There’s no one here that could’ve done that. No one here would ever hurt anyone. We’re a very professional company.” 

Spencer and y/n thanked the man for his time and sat down with the next person. Tyler, the finance guy. When he was asked if one of his coworkers could do something like this, his words sounded a little too familiar. “Oh, no. There’s no one here that would do that. No one here would hurt anyone. We’re a very professional company.” 

Neither one of the agents commented on it until every single one of the employees told them the same thing. Spencer and y/n exchanged glances, which was enough for the both of them to know they were thinking the same thing. 

“I think we should talk to the manager again,” y/n suggested and Spencer agreed. 

As y/n sat down on one of the chairs in front of his desk, Spencer placed his hands on the backrest. “You told your employees what to tell us,” Spencer pointed out. 

Mr. Ramos furrowed his brows, though y/n noticed the twitch of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re all just honest people who happen to share the same story. Maybe this is just your sign that you’re looking in the wrong place.” His eyes raked across y/n’s body from head to toe, halting for a split second at her decolletage before focusing on Spencer behind her. 

“In most cases, when people’s stories are identical, it means they need everyone to get the story straight to hide something,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. 

Tomas shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agents.” 

Realizing they weren’t going to get anything else out of Mr. Ramos or any of his employees, Spencer and y/n left the company. There was something about this Mr. Ramos and the way he handled his company that stood out to the couple. They knew he wasn’t speaking the truth and that they were hiding something. 

“Do you think it’s him?” Spencer asked when y/n drove them back to the BAU. 

Y/N shrugged, sighing. “I don’t know. Every single one of those men was looking at me like I was a piece of meat and the handful of women that work there, looked too scared to say anything. It could literally be anyone working there.” 

Together with the team, Spencer and y/n looked into it further. The more they looked, the less sure they were of their profile and theory. Either all of the men in that office were guilty or none of them were and they were looking in the wrong place. 

“Y/N,” JJ caught her attention when she and Spencer were looking through the files. The thirty-something looked up at her blonde coworker. “There’s someone here that wants to talk to you. Uh, an employee of Mr. Ramos’.” 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she shot a quick glance at her boyfriend before getting up and following JJ into the family room. A woman, around her own age, sat waiting for her. She was nervous as she picked at the loose skin around her cuticles. 

“Amanda?” JJ called out for the woman. 

Amanda looked up at the agents, her green eyes wide and filled with fear as she shot up from the small couch. “Agent y/l/n,” she said and shook her hand politely. 

Motioning for Amanda to sit down again, y/n took a seat as well. JJ offered her coworker a quick smile before shutting the door to the family room behind her as she left. This seemed like a conversation Amanda wanted to have with y/n alone. 

“I know I already talked to you this morning,” Amanda started, hands shaking in her lap. “But I wasn’t entirely honest.” 

Y/N’s head tilted slightly as she gave the woman in front of her an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?” 

“Tomas told us what to say if there was ever a police investigation of all kinds. He’s…” she took a deep breath. “The office is a very toxic place, especially for women. The women that work there are basically just a token to show the world that Ramos Inc. is inclusive. If it wasn’t for the feminist movement, none of the women would work there.” 

“Why do you work there?” Y/N wanted to know. 

Shrugging, Amanda heaved in another deep breath. “I’m good at my job, it pays very decently and I love watching those men squirm whenever I fix something they couldn’t.” She let out a soft chuckle at that and y/n couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of pride at this confident woman. “The thing is though… Because I’m so good at my job, these men think I owe them for it or something. Every one of my female coworkers feels the same.” 

A shiver went down y/n’s spine. She knew this story all too well. 

“Has any of them ever been inappropriate with you?” y/n then asked, but Amanda simply scoffed. 

“Which one of them hasn’t?” Y/N stared at Amanda for a moment. There could literally be a guy working at the firm she was working at that raped and murdered five women. “But Andrew is the one you should be looking at.” The words piqued y/n’s interest. “He almost…” Amanda swallowed her words, but y/n didn’t need anything else from her to know this Andrew guy was the one they should be looking at. 

“Do you know why he’s still working at the firm?” she asked. 

Amanda grimaced. “Because he’s Tomas’ little brother.” 

With that information, y/n thanked Amanda and headed out to the briefing room where her coworkers were still working hard on the case. Her brain was going at a hundred miles an hour, trying to piece everything together. Of course it was Andrew Ramos. She and Spencer had talked to him before. He’d given her the creeps then, too. She should’ve felt it. 

“It’s Andrew Ramos,” y/n informed her coworkers. 

The team did a deep dive into Andrew’s life. Nothing they found could pinpoint him in the area at the time the murders happened. Everything had been seemingly sweeped under the rug, no doubt by his big brother. They worked for two days straight on trying to find evidence that Andrew Ramos did indeed rape and kill those women. 

Y/N didn’t even go home while the others did. She needed to get this done. She needed to get this guy. 

“Hey,” Spencer greeted when he walked into the breakroom where he found his girlfriend on the second morning in sweatpants and a BAU shirt she probably found at the lost and found. “What are you doing? You didn’t come home for two nights.” 

Y/N sighed and looked up at him. She looked worse for wear. Her hair was messy, her makeup smudged underneath her eyes and she had exchanged her contacts for her glasses because they were drying out her eyes. “I need to get this guy, Spence. I won’t sleep until I do.” 

Spencer looked at his girlfriend for a moment. There was something that had rendered her silent when they first took on the case, but he didn’t want to push it then. Though right now, he really had no other choice than to ask. 

“Why is this case bugging you so much, y/n? You’ve never done this before,” he said whilst sitting down next to her on the couch. 

“It’s just… Remember how I was a detective before I came to the BAU?” she asked and Spencer nodded in response. “My Captain back then, he was kind of my mentor. When I made my biggest arrest ever, he took me out to dinner to celebrate. I-I thought it was gonna be the whole team, you know? We all worked hard to arrest those guys. But no, it was just me. That night he-he tried to kiss me…” Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes that she couldn’t hold back. “I just… I threw my glass of Martini at him and ran out of the restaurant. I transferred to another precinct the next day…” 

Spencer’s eyes glazed over as he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry, angel.” 

Shaking her head, y/n sniffled. “It’s the same for so many women. Literally every woman I know has been sexually harassed. For some it’s on the daily… It’s just so hard being a woman sometimes because you just… men just think they own you and that you owe them your life and your achievements. Everything we do is for the men, according to them. And I just… I hate how there’s this one guy in this one firm that can get away with five counts of rape and murder just because his big brother can pull some strings. If we as women say something about the sexual harassment we encounter every day, we ruin the guy’s life. But they’re literally out there, murdering women.” 

With a sigh, Spencer wrapped his arms around y/n and held her against him for a hug. It only lasted a good half minute before he pulled back and got up, earning a confused glare from the woman. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, wiping her tears away quickly. 

“I’m going to get you a change of clothes and some coffee. After that, we’re gonna work together to solve this case. This guy is going to jail today, baby. I promise.” He sounded so determined, it put a smile to y/n’s face. 

Spencer shot her a smile back before turning on his heel. “Hey, Spence.” He turned back to face her. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, honey.” He looked at her for a second longer. “I’m also gonna get you a hairbrush, but you only have to use it if you want to use it.” 

With a nod and a smile from his girlfriend, Spencer headed home to get everything he needed to get her back to her normal self. The fresh pair of clothes, the hairbrush and especially the coffee made her feel almost brand-new. Which helped a lot in solving the case. 

Spencer and y/n eventually worked it out with the help of Penelope’s illegal sleuthing to pin the guy and get him locked up. It made the weight on y/n’s shoulders drop as she walked back into the BAU with Spencer. Never had she ever felt this drained after a case. 

“You did a great job, y/n,” Emily congratulated her with a smile and a squeeze of the shoulder. 

Y/N offered her coworker a tired smile. “Thanks, Em.” 

“Why aren’t you happy about it?” JJ wanted to know, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

Sighing, y/n shrugged. “I don’t know… It’s just one guy we managed to put away when there are so many other guys like that walking around…” 

“It’s like that with every case, y/n,” Rossi reminded her. “You did great. One more guy you put away.” 

A smile befell y/n’s lips as she listened to her colleagues, but before she could say anything, Spencer beat her to it. “Y/N’s just upset because the historically entrenched patriarchy has created a culture of victim-shaming that suppresses any power shift in our masculo-phallic system.” 

Of all the facts he ever ranted about, y/n didn’t expect him to start ranting about a feminist topic. It was the first time he had ever even shown such interest in feminism. She couldn’t lie that it surprised her in a very good way that would become of use in the bedroom later that night. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I read some books about feminism,” he added with a tight-lipped smile. 

“I love you,” y/n whispered. “But it still kinda sucks that people like Amanda still have to work there and that women are murdered and raped every day.” 

“Look, this is a hard fight, but it’s an important one,” Emily reassured her. “It’s good that you rid the world of one more of those guys. Step by step, y/n.” 

The woman nodded her head as she let the words sink in. She had done a good job. Even if it was just one of many guys, it still was one guy less. With that in mind, she headed into Hotch’s office for the debrief. It was short but ended on a sweet note, with Hotch telling her how good of a job she did, only further reassurance of what her other coworkers had already told her. After her debrief with Hotch, it was finally time to go home with Spencer. Something she had been looking forward to since they started their super deep-dive into Andrew Ramos’ life to get the proof they needed. 

“Did you know that it’s two women who hold the highest IQ-scores?” Spencer asked her when they were lying in bed together, ready to sleep. He had been rambling off facts about feminism that he’d learned about when reading last night. 

Y/N, who was laying on his chest, turned her head to look up at him. “Oh, so you don’t have the highest IQ in the world?” 

“No,” he answered, “I’m glad it’s two women holding that title.” 

Chuckling, y/n turned her head again and began circling patterns on his T-shirt-clad chest. “I’m glad I awakened the feminist in you.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile and buried it in her hair to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Is it really that bad for you? You know, on the daily?” 

A sigh rolled off y/n’s lips as she thought about it. “I can think of four instances that happened today alone,” she started. “When we went to get coffee this morning, the barista wished you a good day and he told me I had beautiful eyes before wishing me the same. Even when Andrew was being handcuffed, he was still eyeing me up as if trying to calculate how to make me his sixth victim. In the elevator this morning, Robert from the seventh floor stood behind me, a little too closely while there was plenty of space for him. And when we went to pay for gas earlier, the guy behind the till was so confused as to why I was paying for gas. When I told him it was because I was driving, he looked at me as though I was speaking a foreign language and he literally said “girls can’t drive”.” 

Y/N was almost out of breath from summing up all the instances. 

“Wow,” Spencer gasped. “I didn’t know it was that bad for you.” 

An airy chuckle erupted from her throat. “Yeah, some days are better than others, but it’s always something. As young girls, we’re taught to behave, never be loud, always apologize. We’ve learned not to say anything about it because society taught us that ‘boys will be boys’. It’s exhausting, you know?”

“I don’t,” Spencer mumbled. “But I am willing to learn.” 

At his words, y/n turned on her side and propped her head up on her hand, elbow resting just above Spencer’s shoulder. His golden-speckled eyes looked inquisitively into her y/e/c ones. “You’re amazing, you know that?” she asked and pecked his lips. 

“Mmh, you’re amazing,” he argued before she kissed him again. Deeper and more sensual this time. “You never have to apologize to me, you know that?” 

Y/N’s eyebrow raised. “Not even when I steal the last of Penelope’s homemade cookies?” 

Her mention of the homemade cookies Penelope had given them a few days ago made Spencer’s eyes go wide. This was her confessing that she was the one who had eaten the last three cookies in the tin when they could’ve shared them. “You ate the last ones?!” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes, I did…” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out innocently. 

“You devil woman!” he exclaimed before attacking her sides with his fingers, sending her into a fit of laughter at his tickles. “How dare you steal those delicious goods from me! We could’ve shared!” 

Exclaims of ‘stop’ bounced off the walls, along with her laughter while she tried to pry his hands off her to stop his attack. When he finally did, y/n calmed down again and even faltered when, instead, he attacked her lips with his in a long kiss. 

“I love you, y/n y/l/n,” he muttered when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers. 

Smiling, y/n kissed his nose. “I love you, Spencer ‘The Feminist’ Reid.” 

Spencer was always able to get her mind off the case, no matter how tough. In this instance, he’d been the buoys that kept her afloat, the rock that kept her steady. He’d been exactly what she needed him to be in a world that seemed to be against her and every other woman. 

Thanks to him, she dared to be seen, she dared to be loud. 

Because girls can drive. 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: 

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips

[ickleronniekinsemotionalrange]

Cooler Than Me - S.R

Cooler Than Me - S.R

Summary: Spencer can’t quite figure out why you dislike him so much. It drives him crazy. 

tw/cw: sexual innuendos, tension, cringing and a minuscule moment of worry about consent (it’s given dw!)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader (f!reader) (no y/n)

a/n: Hi loves! sorry I went all MIA but I had ZERO motivation to write and college life is dragging me to hell. This is my first Spencer pic and to be honest, i'm nervous. nobody asked for this, but i wrote it anyway because I can’t keep this man out of my head. I recommend listening to Cooler Than Me by Mike Posner (slowed) while reading, because it played on loop when i wrote it. anyway, hope you’ll enjoy this, please like/repost if you do. your support is, as always, extremely appreciated. (this is not beta read, all mistakes are on me).

 When you first walked into the bullpen, Spencer didn’t even notice, his face was buried in War and Peace, yet again. Elle was giving you the tour and introducing you to your new teammates, who would quickly become your friends. However, the resident genius was much too busy to pay you some mind. It wasn’t until Hotch stood before him and called his name, that he put the book down and focused on you. 

God did he regret not giving you his undivided attention for the past 5 minutes. 

Your smile was friendly, somewhat awkward at his lack of interest in his new colleague, but it was there, nonetheless. He wondered how bright it could shine when it wasn’t embarrassed. 

You extended your hand, to try and shake the awkwardness in the room, but all Spencer cold do was smile his typical-tight-lip smile and wave. You retracted your hand, even more embarrassed than before and cleared your throat. 

After that deeply uncomfortable moment, some awkward laughs echoed quietly in the room; all the other profilers knew what Spencer was like. But not you, and you took offense at what you misunderstood as disdain. 

Hotch spoke again “well agent, this is our team. We are very glad to have you with us. Please, follow me to my office, there are some forms I need to review with you”. 

“Of course” you nodded. 

Your voice was gentle, and as cliché as it sounds, Spencer couldn’t help but feel a tingling in his chest. 

The next morning, when you entered the bullpen, you knew better than to try and say hello to him. You walked around and talked to everyone else, but not him. He frowned, did he do something wrong? Spencer’s genius brain was confused, did he do something to upset you?

Hotch stood in front of his office and spoke to the team “we have a case”, he said nothing more and headed toward the conference room. 

Spencer stood up and looked around, trying to find you. You were laughing at some joke Morgan had made. Elle and JJ were right behind you and exchanged knowing smiles; clueless as he was, Spencer knew that wasn’t a good sign. 

Now in the jet, you were sitting right beside the resident flirt, smiling at him. And though he was on the other side of the plane, Spencer caught a bit of your conversation. 

“Hm, so pretty and smart” Morgan said, flirtatiously. 

“That’s me” you answered, only half jokingly. 

‘Add confident to the list’ Spencer thought, making his own list of things that made you amazing. 

As Garcia appeared on the screen, the jokes stopped, but the smiles remained. It made Spencer jealous, and he wasn’t normally jealous. 

“Alright, Morgan and JJ head to the crime scene and see what you can find out about our latest victim” Hotch said with authority “Gideon, Elle, you’re with me, we’ll head to the station and interview the families”. The team leader looked at you “you’re with Reid, you’ll go to the M.E and see if we missed something”. 

Your face looked confused. 

Hotch pointed at the genius, “Reid” he spoke again. 

You nodded in understanding “Oh right” you answered back.

Morgan and Elle chuckled silently. 

Spencer didn’t find the situation the least bit amusing, had you actually forgotten his name? 

The rest of the fight you kept going over the case, and you joked lightly with everyone, everyone except him. So Reid took matter in his own hands and tried making a joke himself, but much to his dismay, you only gave him an awkward smile, as did the rest of the team. 

Spencer tried not to think about it too much, choosing to focus on the case instead. 

When the jet landed, you were once again flirting with Derek. 

“Alright, try not to miss me too much” you said as you got behind the wheel. 

“Can’t make that promise” Derek answered, winking at you and getting into his own car. 

Spencer’s stomach churned as he got in the passenger’s seat beside you. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and started driving. 

The drive was spent in utter silence, it was clear you weren’t interested in kidding around with the doctor. And the situation was uncomfortable, to say the least. 

You weren’t partnered up with him for the rest of the case, and you talked to him only when necessary. Spencer was getting desperate, he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at Morgan. He didn’t even know why, he felt like a kid who wanted a toy solely because he couldn’t have it. As cliché as he thought it sounded, Spencer had never felt that way about anyone. 

When the case was closed, and you were back on the jet, Spencer hoped he could sit by your side and, much to his dismay, the seat was already taken by Morgan. The genius all but stomped his foot on the ground and sat in front of you, right by JJ; who by the way did not miss the looks of hope Spencer was giving you. 

“Genius got a crush?” She asked in a whisper. 

“WHAT?” He answered in a high-pitched tone that made you and Morgan look at him quizzically. 

JJ wasn’t fooled, the high-pitched voice was Spencer’s tell. 

“Uh-uh Reid, you heard me” she whispered again when you and Morgan got back to your conversation. 

Spencer looked into JJ’s eyes, pleading, he knew the jig was up. 

“I won’t tell her, don’t worry” she said softly. 

Spencer let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Thanks” he said, relieved but still nervous about the whole ordeal. 

Some months had passed, and you felt at home with your team. JJ, Penny, Elle and you were constantly going out and having ‘girl’s night’; Hotch seemed pleased by your performance, Gideon had warmed up to you. The flirting with Morgan remained, but you both realized you were more like older brother and annoying baby sister, Morgan was your best friend and you were his (tied with Garcia, but don’t tell her that).

But things were still awkward with the resident genius. You understood perfectly he wanted nothing to do with you. That hurt your pride, so you ignored him as best as you could, thinking that would make the stupid, pathetic little crush go away. 

You ignored him as hard as you could. 

Until you couldn’t. 

While in the conference room, Hotch looked at you “You and Reid head to Miami to see if you can find out about the victims there while we head to Jacksonville.”

You felt a chill run down your spine, terrified at the idea of spending alone time with Reid. 

Spencer was just as terrified. He knew you were much cooler than him, and totally out of his league. But he figured maybe he could finally ask you why you hated him. 

Garcia booked your flight to Miami and wished you luck, giving Spencer a knowing wink when you turned around. The rest of the team got on the jet while you drove to the airport, and once again it was filled with tension and silence, except for the music that floated in the car. 

You couldn’t handle the tension, so as soon as you sat on your seat (right beside Spencer, to top it off) you pretended to fall asleep. Boy genius turned his head towards you, mustering up the courage to ask his question, but he exhaled defeated when he saw your sleeping form. 

Two and a half hours later, you were being softly shaken awake by your partner for the case. Turns out you had really fallen asleep, much to your surprise. 

“Uhm, s-sorry to wake you but uhm, we’ve landed” Spencer said softly. 

His handsome features were a sight to behold, and in your sleepy state, you couldn’t help but stare at him. 

His mouth now a tight line, he was shuffling uncomfortably under your burning gaze. This you noticed, so you unwillingly got out of your reverie and picked up your bags. 

“Cool, let’s go” you said quickly and started walking in front of him. 

Spencer couldn’t help looking at your ass, swaying gracefully in front of him. He bit his lip and shook his head, following you like a lost puppy. 

Although you hated to admit it, you worked really well as a team, your confidence intimidated the suspects and Spencer’s intelligence intimidated the police. You got what you wanted fairly easily; so when Hotch called for an update, you begrudgingly told him how great you were doing. 

Spencer was still nervous around you, but he started (little by little) to work up his confidence. He was absolutely decided to ask you why you despised him so much, and how he could mend things. 

So when your unit chief called you back to Jacksonville and you got on the plane, Spencer left you no time to pretend you were asleep. He went for it. 

“Why do you hate me?” He blurted. Well, that was definitely not how he wanted things to go. 

“Excuse me?” You asked bewildered, eyes nearly popping out of your skull. “For a genius, you got things pretty backwards Reid. You hate me, not the other way around” you said defensively. 

“What?” Spencer all but screamed, earning annoyed looks from the passengers around you. “Sorry” he whispered, looking around. 

“You heard me Reid” You deadpanned. 

“Yes I heard you, but I don’t hate you” Spencer corrected you. “You hate me, you avoid me, you ignore me, you’re annoyed when we get paired together. I mean for Christ’s sake, you didn’t even remember my name the first day!” He rambled, his pulse quickening. 

“Well you heaven’t made things easy either! You completely ignored my presence on the first day, and you made a fool out of me when you left my hand stretched without having the courtesy of shake it!” You answered, agitated. 

“Do you know it’s actually safer to kiss? Because-“ Reid said before you interrupted him. 

“Did you wanted me to kiss you?!” You asked sarcastically. 

“Yes!” Spencer answered without really thinking.

Upon hearing that, you both widened your eyes and Spencer turned a violent shade of crimson. 

“What?” You asked in a whisper, still shocked at his confession.

‘Fuck it’ he thought. 

“I like you, I have since I laid my eyes on you” Spencer took a shaky breath before continuing “and I know you’re out of my league because I may be a genius but I’m a loser, I know you’re definitely cooler than me; but I can’t help it, you’re so confident, and smart and so gorgeous. And I know you don’t feel the same because I have seen your flirt with Morgan, and I know he’s exactly what women want, not some un-athletic nerd who rambles when he’s nervous and-“

You interrupted Spencer again, this time by slamming your lips on his, taking him entirely by surprise. But you stopped when he didn’t kissed you back, mortified about kissing him without his consent. 

You pulled away, avoiding his eyes by closing yours, cringing. 

“I’m so sorry Spencer” now it was your turn to ramble “I just — since you said you wanted me to kiss you I thought-“ 

Spencer silenced you by cupping your face with his cold hands and pressing a heated kiss on your lips. You kissed him back immediately, fearing he would disappear the second you let go. 

“Finally!” The grandma behind you shouted with a big smile on her face. 

Spencer and you both laughed on each others lips, his face still cupping yours. You placed a peck on his wide smile and pulled back to look at him. 

“Two things” you said, looking into his eyes. Spencer looked at you, scared this was a prank or something similar. 

“One, Morgan is like my big brother, we flirt a lot but it’s all for laughs. And he discovered my crush on you veeeery early on, so don’t even worry about that” you told him, holding his hand.

Spencer exhaled completely relieved, until he remembered and said “and the second?” . 

“I am definitely cooler than you, lover boy”.

[chiefdirector]

Bullets and Broken Glass | G Callen | NCIS: Los Angeles

No.26: Curse

Callen knew from a young age that some people were meant to be alone, that some were forever cursed to solitude, that some people did not deserve to be loved. For a long time he thought that he was one of those people.

And then he met her.

Agent (Y/N) (L/N) crashed into his life with a series of bullets and broken glass. She was on an undercover operation, sent in from the NCIS basis in Washington D.C, nobody in the L.A office knew that she was here. Hetty had a field day talking to Vance about her presence and her abrupt gatecrashing of their own operation.

It didn't take long for Callen to know he wanted her on his team; it also didn't take long to convince her Los Angeles wasn't so bad. Despite his reliance on his partnership with Sam, Callen always cherished the days where he ended up with her in the field instead. It took him months to realise that the ease and trust he felt with her was something more than a professional friendship.

He had never truly be in love before, so much so he didn't even clock onto the feeling until he found himself wrecked by another nightmare and he found himself driving to her apartment, craving her presence. He also did not realise that he confessed his love for her at her doorstep not even twenty minutes after.

Callen hadn't expected to have the pieces of his life fall into place shortly after. Everything started to make sense; he did not believe in fate, but even he would acknowledge that something greater was at play to send something so divine to him.

He should've known that it wouldn't have lasted forever.

He lost her the same way he had found her, with bullets and broken glass. Nobody had expected the operation to go wrong, the building was meant to have been abandoned weeks ago; they were just scoping out the place to see if anything valuable had been left behind.

They were right, the building was deserted, but the neighbouring rooftop was not. The glass window next the the staircase gave the sniper a clear and direct view to (Y/N). Nobody noticed the red dot hovering on the back of her head until she crumpled to the ground. She died before she hit the floor.

It took a few moments for Callen to notice that she hadn't dodged the attack. He had assumed she had dove for shelter when the gunshot fired. As soon as he clocked on to what had happened, he rushed to her side, pulling her body into his as if that would bring her back.

The crunching of the glass around him caused him to lift his head away from her. Sam, Kensi, and Deeks all stood there, looks of pity on their faces. Callen looked down at her again, not letting himself believe what had happened.

Eventually the M.E came and took her body away. Sam took Callen back to the office and they both sat in silence. It took a while, but he stood up again and moved to the locker room where he stripped out of his ruined clothes and into the showers where he washed her blood from his skin.

Callen stood under the water for a while. He couldn't help but blame himself. He could not love anything without it being destroyed. Maybe if he hadn't of loved her then she would have lived. Deep down he knew that her death had nothing to do with him, but as his thoughts circled on the diamond ring he had planned to give her this evening, Callen couldn't help but feel cursed.

Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist

@ailesswhumptober @happygirl-0408

[countesspetofi]

Today in the Department of Before They Were Star Trek Stars, Jonathan Frakes guest stars in "Ghost of a Chance," episode 2 of the eighth season of Quincy, M.E. (original air date October 6, 1982).

Frakes plays a young surgical resident working under an eminent heart surgeon played by Hollywood legend Jose Ferrer, who is padding his billing by booking more procedures than he can possibly do himself, and then leaving the actual surgery to be done by inexperienced, unsupervised residents without the knowledge of the patients.

Other Trek connections under the cut:

The family of a patient who dies as a result of this arrangement, who request an autopsy from Dr. Quincy, is played by future Next Generation guest stars. The patient's widow is Ellen Geer, who played Dr. Kila Marr, the Federation expert on the deadly crystalline entity in "Silicon Avatar."

And the patient's brother is Nicolas Coster, who had a memorable role as Admiral Haftel, the Daystrom scientist who tries to take Data's daughter Lal away from him in "The Offspring." It wasn't until I was researching this post that I learned Coster passed away just over a year ago. I rewatched "The Offspring" last night because I needed my heart broken again, I GUESS.

"She won't survive much longer. There was nothing anyone could have done. We'd repolarize one pathway and another would collapse. And then another. His hands… were moving faster than I could see, trying to stay ahead of each breakdown. He refused to give up. He was remarkable. It just wasn't meant to be."

Harry Townes, who portrayed the underground leader Reger in the Original Series episode "The Return of the Archons" plays the chief of staff of the hospital where Ferrer and Frakes practice.

The head of the Board of Medical Quality Assurance is played by character actor and Fifth Level Eyebrow Master Philip Pine. He also played Colonel Green, one of the "Evil" historical figures the Excalbians conjure up for the battle between the forces of Good and Evil they stage in the Original Series episode "The Savage Curtain."

Unfortunately we never get to see the face of the surgeon on the left, but he's played by Conroy Gedeon, better known to Trek fans as the agent who apprehends Dr. McCoy and takes him off to the "Federation funny farm" in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock.

[postmodernbeliever]

Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Five: Two Creams, Two Sugars, and a Little Blood

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 3,750

TW: mentions of murder details, some slight graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You were running a little late, which meant you were scatterbrained to the nines. You managed to fall asleep at some point between when Fox left your room and when the rain stopped and you forgot to set your alarm, so now you tore through the motel room like a tornado. You were exhausted, all the residual stress and anxiety of yesterday catching up to you, and you weren’t even dressed by the time your partner came knocking at your door. Bright and early, too- seven in the morning- and he was chipper as a bird. You wondered if he ever slept because you could see the violet shadows that caused his green eyes to glow, but he was in far better shape than you were. You swung the door open and then shut it, realizing you had two rollers sitting matronly atop your head, and you were in a wrinkled dress shirt and pajama pants, squinting without any contacts in. You opened it again, revealing just a sliver of yourself to a bewildered face.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed. 

You peeked through the crack of the doorway, and he was smiling sweetly at you, holding two paper cups. He nudged the door open to hand you the coffee, which you took gratefully, feeling the crabbiness of caffeine deficiency creeping up already. You were almost jealous of how easy it must be for him to wake up and get ready. His hair was tucked tidily atop his forehead, but he was not dressed in uniform- all he wore was a pair of slacks and a blue button-down, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up. You knew he was smarter for it because the mugginess hit you smack in the face when you opened the door, but you got a whiff of the piney scent he wore and knew he probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago just looking alright to begin with. How nice would it be to look like that in just a few minutes, needing only a comb and some cologne to make you presentable? If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve seen him wearing something like this on a date, all laid-back, careless, dripping with charm as always…

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Yeah, no problem. They have a coffee maker in the office. It’s not great, but after last night, I don’t trust any of those shops in town claiming they’ve got the best coffee in Marysville,” Fox joked, “You, uh, you don’t look ready,” 

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

You made him stand outside as you shuffled into a pencil skirt, hoping it was wiser for the weather, and tugged a little cardigan over your creased blouse. You grabbed your makeup pouch and took it with you, hoping he wouldn’t pay much attention to your bare face. He may have seen you last night, but you’d already convinced yourself that it was dark enough to hide anything of notoriety. The agent chuckled when you opened the door again, seeing your arms full with a coat that it was far too hot out for, the coffee, a loose gun and badge, a glasses case, your hairbrush– you looked like you just looted a house of all its most unimportant belongings. 

“Let me take that for you,” he stole the coffee back and walked you to the truck parked outside your rooms, opening the door for you. You hopped inside and threw your crap in the backseat, and he slid into the driver’s side, setting your drinks down in the cupholders. He started the truck and gave the engine a minute to warm up, reaching for the Kansas map that you left on the dashboard, but he wasn’t really looking for directions to meet the coroner. He peeked at you in his peripheral, watching as you swiped some kind of sheer powder across your face, smoothing your complexion over. He never noticed the little beauty mark on the bridge of your nose, but now he watched you paint over it, and he wished you wouldn’t. You’ve gotten ready like this before, he could tell; you had the motions down, knowing exactly how not to poke your eyes out with the mascara and not to overdo the blush in the car. When he felt like he’d sufficiently given the engine enough time, he placed the map down between you two on the bench and shifted it into reverse. 

“You okay if I start driving?”

You turned to him, mid-lipstick swipe, and you nodded. “Sure. I don’t look like a mess, do I?” Fox admired how you pushed your glasses on, adding, “I forgot about my contacts. I feel like a librarian.”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

You’d never seen the Midwest in the morning. The sun wasn’t high yet, so everything had a soft, golden tone to it; the wheat fields swayed, lining the street into town, homes croaked on sprawling acres, and street signs were so faded you had to rely on the shapes to conclude the directions they gave. It was silent, only birds and wind. You liked this part of the middle of nowhere. Back in D.C., and even worse in New York, people are everywhere, clogging the streets until they burst, cutting you off and giving you the finger. You can’t get a seat at a restaurant. You have to get put on a list for bestsellers at the library. But out here, life is slow. There’s always room to breathe, and to look up and see actual stars, rather than cloudy, light-polluted skies. Something about that spoke to you. You found yourself thinking that maybe someday when your work was done with law enforcement, and you have some money put away, you could come back out here and buy a little bungalow and live out the rest of your days in a place where you don’t have to worry about running out of space and time. Fox seemed to enjoy the quaintness of it all, too, because he was quiet as a mouse beside you. 

Fox drove straight through town, and you finally got a glimpse of what the local life looked like as you passed. There weren’t many men around, but given that it was mainly an agricultural economy down here, they were probably out working on the farms. But there were pretty women in sundresses crawling up and down the streets with coffee cups and big purses, hair done up like it was a Sunday; little kids were scuttling down the sidewalks towards the school near the police station. You spotted Sheriff Hale’s car parked outside the bakery, but no one inside. 

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You rolled the window up a bit, knowing you were allowing your hair to poof up like yesterday. You settled against the bench seat and took up the map, flipping to the larger scale with the main country road running through. With your finger, you followed it to the county medical examiner's office, which was a whopping sixty miles from Marysville. You knew this place was a blip on the radar, but you had no idea just how far away you were from civilization. Fox’s screw-ups getting you both here had skewed your sense of direction.

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location. 

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign. 

You watched it fly by, announcing the stretch of road was a 35 miles per hour zone, and you smiled. Flopping the map onto the dashboard, you reached for your cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing in the room-temperature taste. It tasted good for about a second, and then it turned sour on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Your face scrunched up and you smacked your lips. Fox seemed to have his own lightbulb going off, and he kept one hand on the wheel while he reached across your lap to open up the glove compartment. You drew in a short breath as his arm brushed against your thigh, and when he uprighted himself, you huffed in frustration. 

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

“Jeez. We’re on the road, aren’t we, Piglet?” he mocked, gesturing for you to look inside. A mess of pink sugar packets and little cream containers littered the compartment, and he giggled, “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth. 

“You’re welcome.”

You grabbed two creams and two sugars, and as you stirred them into the chilling coffee with your finger, Fox made a note of how you took it and kept driving. You piped down and watched the scenery go by, all yellow fields and blue sky, and wondered what they might have found regarding Liane’s death. What you were aware of from the case files was the girls were all beaten and penetrated postmortem, but in the last murders, the object of violation wasn’t ever identified. There was no clear definition of the instrument used in the mutilation of their bodies, either. Everything was suspiciously contactless, like whoever was murdering these teenagers never had to lay a hand on them to do it; you weren’t sure how that was possible, and you weren’t convinced it was. Someone had to be committing these crimes. It was just in a way you’d never seen. 

You were engrossed in your thoughts when Fox began to slow the car to a stop in the center of the road. You saw his attention being drawn by a dilapidated building on the side of the route– a building that could barely fit twenty people was rotting all over, with an eaten-away roof and rusted windows. You would’ve assumed it to be an abandoned shack if it weren’t for the silver cross nailed to the front door. 

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

You watched the man slip out of the car and trot around the front, heading off the road. You sat for a second, watching him disappear into the overgrown weeds, and a pressure began to inflate in your chest. 

“Damn it.”

You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car, leaving your door wide open as you followed in his footsteps. You watched the church door close, his hands slipping out of view behind it, and you groaned. You patted your hip to find you forgot to grab your gun, so you prayed to God that these wouldn’t be your last moments alive, stranded in Kansas with Spooky Mulder. You walked up to the door, looking back to check no one was coming on the road, and you huffed, pulling it open. Stepping inside, you instantly felt disgusting. It was dark and windowless, trapping all the heat in a dead building where mold was absolutely growing within the walls. The only light inside poked through holes in the wood where bugs probably had eaten through, and everything was upturned or offset. It looked like people had left in a hurry- there was still a cloth atop the altar, and Bibles were discarded on the six slender pews filling the room. You looked around for Fox, walking further down the aisle when you heard a creaking from somewhere behind you. Turning quickly on your heels, you saw nobody by the door, and then a creak sounded again, this time too quick for you to locate its direction. You slowly turned back towards the alter, and when your eyes caught up with your body, the agent appeared but inches from your face, holding a flashlight and shining it on a creepy expression. You yelped and turned away from him, covering your face. 

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he wouldve insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs. 

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,” 

You walked to the back wall, in front of the chairs, where there was a little wooden trapdoor. You tugged it open, fighting with the swollen lumber, and inside was a silver bowl full of what looked like wine, and beside it, a torn-open package of Eucharist. 

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar. 

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

Curiously, you dipped your fingertip into the wine, and a violent chill ran down your back. The liquid was a familiar viscosity as it ran down into your palm, staining the creases. You drew the bowl out of the cupboard and carefully raised it to your nose, and a gag rose in your throat. 

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

You put the bowl back inside the cupboard and shut the door, feeling an anxiety swell in your chest. You stared at the brownish-red on your finger and thought of how it once belonged to somebody, and now it was sitting inside an abandoned church. You stumbled back like you were learning to walk, heading down the altar steps and to the pews.

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces. 

“You know, now that I think of it, the other girls in the file had a loss of blood reported in their autopsies. Each a few pints. I figured it was a result of the mutilation of their chest cavities, but it could be possible that some of the blood was for sacrifice…”

“You think this has to do with the case?”

Fox began to pace, spanning the church from wall to wall as he mused. “Think about it. Whoever’s killing these girls is doing it for some divine purpose, right? What if they’re making sacrifices to God with their blood, the blood of another who’s untainted and innocent as Jesus Christ?”

“Fox–”

“No, seriously, it makes sense! This guy is clearly working in the shadow of Iscariot, and if that guy had a connection to the real Judas, wouldn’t he need to atone for his sins passed down through history? By sacrificing pure blood to God he could be saving himself from damnation in his own twisted way. Maybe his God-fearing devotion drives him to kill, to make up for Judas’ betrayal.”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out. 

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

“You were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold and silver, but with the precious blood of Christ, as a lamb unspotted and defiled,” the man recited, “Peter 1:18. Maybe it’s not widley known as human sacrifice, but Christ and the lamb are thought of as one. Maybe this guy is recreating the sacrifice in the hopes that he will be forgiven. Offering up sacrificial lambs to win the favor of Heaven.”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

Fox shot you a look that said, You know it is. He wasn’t going to budge, and you knew it. You watched him open the cupboard and take the bowl out, carefully walking it to the table at the altar. Even if you wanted to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this shithole, you knew he was right. Churches don’t store human blood in silver bowls, and if that belonged to someone who could be in danger or already dead, it was your duty to find out. You let out a stressed groan and hurried out the front door, jogging back to the truck. The sudden sunshine strained your eyes, but even through a squint in both directions on the road, there was still not a soul to be seen out there. You leaned in through the open passenger side door, fished his empty coffee cup from the cupholder, and hurried back inside where the man waited with the bowl in his hands. 

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

Fox was careful to only pour a little of the blood into the cup, and even more careful not to spill it on you or the mildewed carpet. Once there was an espresso shot’s worth, he tipped the bowl back level and shoved it in the tabernacle, shutting the door tight on it. You fastened the lid onto the cup and held it between two fingers, freaking out just to have it in your grasp. You followed the man down the steps again, and he held the church doors open for you, which you walked through quickly, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to. 

“We can get this tested at the county morgue, they can test it alongside Liane’s blood to see if there’s a match,” Fox explained, taking the evidence from your hand as you hopped into the truck.

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

He shut your door for you, and then he clambered behind the wheel, placing the blood down beside your coffee cup, which you elected to have no more of. As he started up the engine and remind himself of how many more miles he had to go on the map, you tapped his shoulder. The two of you gazed through the windshield as a little truck with a tow attachment sped past, the first car you’d seen all day. Inside was a pale man, one you didn’t get a good look at, but you saw his dark hair and small eyes, and as he drove by you felt the presence of him like an omen. You remembered how it felt to look at Liane’s cold face, and recognized the feeling as the same. Maybe you were just on edge, but everything about this felt very, very wrong. 

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

Fox raised his palms in surrender and chuckled, shifting the car into gear and pedaling away down the road. You watched the run-down church grow small in the rearview mirror until it disappeared, and you wondered what happened inside. Maybe everyone did get up and leave. Maybe a Mass had gone horribly wrong. Maybe teenagers broke in and trashed the place. Maybe God had come down, or He had brought them up. But of all the theories you could draw, not one of them explained what that blood was doing inside the wall, and even if it was your job, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. Liane’s face flashed before your eyes as you closed them and slumped in your seat. Fox watched you out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the blood on your finger, and he hoped that you’d come away from this case with more than just resentment for his insane methods. He kept driving, and you kept breathing, and the both of you prayed that the medical examiner hadn’t called the Bureau about the agents who were an hour late for their meeting. 

You were running a little late, which meant you were scatterbrained to the nines. You managed to fall asleep at some point between when Fox left your room and when the rain stopped and you forgot to set your alarm, so now you tore through the motel room like a tornado. You were exhausted, all the residual stress and anxiety of yesterday catching up to you, and you weren’t even dressed by the time your partner came knocking at your door. Bright and early, too- seven in the morning- and he was chipper as a bird. You wondered if he ever slept because you could see the violet shadows that caused his green eyes to glow, but he was in far better shape than you were. You swung the door open and then shut it, realizing you had two rollers sitting matronly atop your head, and you were in a wrinkled dress shirt and pajama pants, squinting without any contacts in. You opened it again, revealing just a sliver of yourself to a bewildered face.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed. 

You peeked through the crack of the doorway, and he was smiling sweetly at you, holding two paper cups. He nudged the door open to hand you the coffee, which you took gratefully, feeling the crabbiness of caffeine deficiency creeping up already. You were almost jealous of how easy it must be for him to wake up and get ready. His hair was tucked tidily atop his forehead, but he was not dressed in uniform- all he wore was a pair of slacks and a blue button-down, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up. You knew he was smarter for it because the mugginess hit you smack in the face when you opened the door, but you got a whiff of the piney scent he wore and knew he probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago just looking alright to begin with. How nice would it be to look like that in just a few minutes, needing only a comb and some cologne to make you presentable? If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve seen him wearing something like this on a date, all laid-back, careless, dripping with charm as always…

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Yeah, no problem. They have a coffee maker in the office. It’s not great, but after last night, I don’t trust any of those shops in town claiming they’ve got the best coffee in Marysville,” Fox joked, “You, uh, you don’t look ready,” 

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

You made him stand outside as you shuffled into a pencil skirt, hoping it was wiser for the weather, and tugged a little cardigan over your creased blouse. You grabbed your makeup pouch and took it with you, hoping he wouldn’t pay much attention to your bare face. He may have seen you last night, but you’d already convinced yourself that it was dark enough to hide anything of notoriety. The agent chuckled when you opened the door again, seeing your arms full with a coat that it was far too hot out for, the coffee, a loose gun and badge, a glasses case, your hairbrush– you looked like you just looted a house of all its most unimportant belongings. 

“Let me take that for you,” he stole the coffee back and walked you to the truck parked outside your rooms, opening the door for you. You hopped inside and threw your crap in the backseat, and he slid into the driver’s side, setting your drinks down in the cupholders. He started the truck and gave the engine a minute to warm up, reaching for the Kansas map that you left on the dashboard, but he wasn’t really looking for directions to meet the coroner. He peeked at you in his peripheral, watching as you swiped some kind of sheer powder across your face, smoothing your complexion over. He never noticed the little beauty mark on the bridge of your nose, but now he watched you paint over it, and he wished you wouldn’t. You’ve gotten ready like this before, he could tell; you had the motions down, knowing exactly how not to poke your eyes out with the mascara and not to overdo the blush in the car. When he felt like he’d sufficiently given the engine enough time, he placed the map down between you two on the bench and shifted it into reverse. 

“You okay if I start driving?”

You turned to him, mid-lipstick swipe, and you nodded. “Sure. I don’t look like a mess, do I?” Fox admired how you pushed your glasses on, adding, “I forgot about my contacts. I feel like a librarian.”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

You’d never seen the Midwest in the morning. The sun wasn’t high yet, so everything had a soft, golden tone to it; the wheat fields swayed, lining the street into town, homes croaked on sprawling acres, and street signs were so faded you had to rely on the shapes to conclude the directions they gave. It was silent, only birds and wind. You liked this part of the middle of nowhere. Back in D.C., and even worse in New York, people are everywhere, clogging the streets until they burst, cutting you off and giving you the finger. You can’t get a seat at a restaurant. You have to get put on a list for bestsellers at the library. But out here, life is slow. There’s always room to breathe, and to look up and see actual stars, rather than cloudy, light-polluted skies. Something about that spoke to you. You found yourself thinking that maybe someday when your work was done with law enforcement, and you have some money put away, you could come back out here and buy a little bungalow and live out the rest of your days in a place where you don’t have to worry about running out of space and time. Fox seemed to enjoy the quaintness of it all, too, because he was quiet as a mouse beside you. 

Fox drove straight through town, and you finally got a glimpse of what the local life looked like as you passed. There weren’t many men around, but given that it was mainly an agricultural economy down here, they were probably out working on the farms. But there were pretty women in sundresses crawling up and down the streets with coffee cups and big purses, hair done up like it was a Sunday; little kids were scuttling down the sidewalks towards the school near the police station. You spotted Sheriff Hale’s car parked outside the bakery, but no one inside. 

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You rolled the window up a bit, knowing you were allowing your hair to poof up like yesterday. You settled against the bench seat and took up the map, flipping to the larger scale with the main country road running through. With your finger, you followed it to the county medical examiner's office, which was a whopping sixty miles from Marysville. You knew this place was a blip on the radar, but you had no idea just how far away you were from civilization. Fox’s screw-ups getting you both here had skewed your sense of direction.

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location. 

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign. 

You watched it fly by, announcing the stretch of road was a 35 miles per hour zone, and you smiled. Flopping the map onto the dashboard, you reached for your cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing in the room-temperature taste. It tasted good for about a second, and then it turned sour on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Your face scrunched up and you smacked your lips. Fox seemed to have his own lightbulb going off, and he kept one hand on the wheel while he reached across your lap to open up the glove compartment. You drew in a short breath as his arm brushed against your thigh, and when he uprighted himself, you huffed in frustration. 

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

“Jeez. We’re on the road, aren’t we, Piglet?” he mocked, gesturing for you to look inside. A mess of pink sugar packets and little cream containers littered the compartment, and he giggled, “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth. 

“You’re welcome.”

You grabbed two creams and two sugars, and as you stirred them into the chilling coffee with your finger, Fox made a note of how you took it and kept driving. You piped down and watched the scenery go by, all yellow fields and blue sky, and wondered what they might have found regarding Liane’s death. What you were aware of from the case files was the girls were all beaten and penetrated postmortem, but in the last murders, the object of violation wasn’t ever identified. There was no clear definition of the instrument used in the mutilation of their bodies, either. Everything was suspiciously contactless, like whoever was murdering these teenagers never had to lay a hand on them to do it; you weren’t sure how that was possible, and you weren’t convinced it was. Someone had to be committing these crimes. It was just in a way you’d never seen. 

You were engrossed in your thoughts when Fox began to slow the car to a stop in the center of the road. You saw his attention being drawn by a dilapidated building on the side of the route– a building that could barely fit twenty people was rotting all over, with an eaten-away roof and rusted windows. You would’ve assumed it to be an abandoned shack if it weren’t for the silver cross nailed to the front door. 

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

You watched the man slip out of the car and trot around the front, heading off the road. You sat for a second, watching him disappear into the overgrown weeds, and a pressure began to inflate in your chest. 

“Damn it.”

You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car, leaving your door wide open as you followed in his footsteps. You watched the church door close, his hands slipping out of view behind it, and you groaned. You patted your hip to find you forgot to grab your gun, so you prayed to God that these wouldn’t be your last moments alive, stranded in Kansas with Spooky Mulder. You walked up to the door, looking back to check no one was coming on the road, and you huffed, pulling it open. Stepping inside, you instantly felt disgusting. It was dark and windowless, trapping all the heat in a dead building where mold was absolutely growing within the walls. The only light inside poked through holes in the wood where bugs probably had eaten through, and everything was upturned or offset. It looked like people had left in a hurry- there was still a cloth atop the altar, and Bibles were discarded on the six slender pews filling the room. You looked around for Fox, walking further down the aisle when you heard a creaking from somewhere behind you. Turning quickly on your heels, you saw nobody by the door, and then a creak sounded again, this time too quick for you to locate its direction. You slowly turned back towards the alter, and when your eyes caught up with your body, the agent appeared but inches from your face, holding a flashlight and shining it on a creepy expression. You yelped and turned away from him, covering your face. 

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he would've insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs. 

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,” 

You walked to the back wall, in front of the chairs, where there was a little wooden trapdoor. You tugged it open, fighting with the swollen lumber, and inside was a silver bowl full of what looked like wine, and beside it, a torn-open package of Eucharist. 

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar. 

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

Curiously, you dipped your fingertip into the wine, and a violent chill ran down your back. The liquid was a familiar viscosity as it ran down into your palm, staining the creases. You drew the bowl out of the cupboard and carefully raised it to your nose, and a gag rose in your throat. 

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

You put the bowl back inside the cupboard and shut the door, feeling an anxiety swell in your chest. You stared at the brownish-red on your finger and thought of how it once belonged to somebody, and now it was sitting inside an abandoned church. You stumbled back like you were learning to walk, heading down the altar steps and to the pews.

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces. 

“You know, now that I think of it, the other girls in the file had a loss of blood reported in their autopsies. Each a few pints. I figured it was a result of the mutilation of their chest cavities, but it could be possible that some of the blood was for sacrifice…”

“You think this has to do with the case?”

Fox began to pace, spanning the church from wall to wall as he mused. “Think about it. Whoever’s killing these girls is doing it for some divine purpose, right? What if they’re making sacrifices to God with their blood, the blood of another who’s untainted and innocent as Jesus Christ?”

“Fox–”

“No, seriously, it makes sense! This guy is clearly working in the shadow of Iscariot, and if that guy had a connection to the real Judas, wouldn’t he need to atone for his sins passed down through history? By sacrificing pure blood to God he could be saving himself from damnation in his own twisted way. Maybe his God-fearing devotion drives him to kill, to make up for Judas’ betrayal.”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out. 

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

“You were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold and silver, but with the precious blood of Christ, as a lamb unspotted and defiled,” the man recited, “Peter 1:18. Maybe it’s not widley known as human sacrifice, but Christ and the lamb are thought of as one. Maybe this guy is recreating the sacrifice in the hopes that he will be forgiven. Offering up sacrificial lambs to win the favor of Heaven.”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

Fox shot you a look that said, You know it is. He wasn’t going to budge, and you knew it. You watched him open the cupboard and take the bowl out, carefully walking it to the table at the altar. Even if you wanted to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this shithole, you knew he was right. Churches don’t store human blood in silver bowls, and if that belonged to someone who could be in danger or already dead, it was your duty to find out. You let out a stressed groan and hurried out the front door, jogging back to the truck. The sudden sunshine strained your eyes, but even through a squint in both directions on the road, there was still not a soul to be seen out there. You leaned in through the open passenger side door, fished his empty coffee cup from the cupholder, and hurried back inside where the man waited with the bowl in his hands. 

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

Fox was careful to only pour a little of the blood into the cup, and even more careful not to spill it on you or the mildewed carpet. Once there was an espresso shot’s worth, he tipped the bowl back level and shoved it in the tabernacle, shutting the door tight on it. You fastened the lid onto the cup and held it between two fingers, freaking out just to have it in your grasp. You followed the man down the steps again, and he held the church doors open for you, which you walked through quickly, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to. 

“We can get this tested at the county morgue, they can test it alongside Liane’s blood to see if there’s a match,” Fox explained, taking the evidence from your hand as you hopped into the truck.

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

He shut your door for you, and then he clambered behind the wheel, placing the blood down beside your coffee cup, which you elected to have no more of. As he started up the engine and remind himself of how many more miles he had to go on the map, you tapped his shoulder. The two of you gazed through the windshield as a little truck with a tow attachment sped past, the first car you’d seen all day. Inside was a pale man, one you didn’t get a good look at, but you saw his dark hair and small eyes, and as he drove by you felt the presence of him like an omen. You remembered how it felt to look at Liane’s cold face, and recognized the feeling as the same. Maybe you were just on edge, but everything about this felt very, very wrong. 

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

Fox raised his palms in surrender and chuckled, shifting the car into gear and pedaling away down the road. You watched the run-down church grow small in the rearview mirror until it disappeared, and you wondered what happened inside. Maybe everyone did get up and leave. Maybe a Mass had gone horribly wrong. Maybe teenagers broke in and trashed the place. Maybe God had come down, or He had brought them up. But of all the theories you could draw, not one of them explained what that blood was doing inside the wall, and even if it was your job, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. Liane’s face flashed before your eyes as you closed them and slumped in your seat. Fox watched you out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the blood on your finger, and he hoped that you’d come away from this case with more than just resentment for his insane methods. He kept driving, and you kept breathing, and the both of you prayed that the medical examiner hadn’t called the Bureau about the agents who were an hour late for their meeting. 

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x Male!reader - this thing I keep inside

I was wondering if I could request criminal minds Aaron Hotchner x Male reader - the team go on a case where the the unsub is killing their victims the same way as you would the werewolf. Reader's been with the team for a few years he has secrets he wouldn't tell a soul, that what goes bump in the dark is real or the monster of dog that attacked him shouldn't exist and he should be dead! What would happen if the truth came out? - @xweirdo101x 💜

Sitting in the seat, staring out the window of the jet, you couldn’t focus on the rolling clouds, the noise of the turbulence or the fact people were talking.

You were lost inside of your very own head.

You turned your attention back to the file in front of you, you flicked it open and began to look through some of the crime scene photos.

“Someone’s deep in thought.” Derek chuckled.

You said nothing as you carried on looking at the file, certain words screaming out at you.

Single shot.

Bullet.

Close range.

Made of silver.

All of these things were screaming at you that you shouldn’t be in this case, that it wasn’t safe for the likes of you.

You were in grave danger.

But you said nothing.

“Is he alright?” JJ whispered.

Everyone looked towards one another then back at you as you went back to looking out of the window deep in thought.

“You know what he gets like when he’s thinking.” Rossi said.

“Yeah, he’s like Reid he goes quiet then blurts it all out.” Emily chuckled.

They all laughed at that and went back to what they were doing aside from Hotch, who walked over and sat opposite you.

“What’s on your mind (Y/N)?”

You turned your eyes towards Hotch and gave him a little smile.

“Nothing, just remember some things is all.”

He narrowed his eyes a little.

You were a man of many secrets, you had things even the team didn’t know about you and they all knew that.

It was near impossible for them to profile you, and they could never tell if you were telling the truth or not.

So Hotch studied you for a moment but he couldn’t decipher whether you were lying to him.

“You would tell us if it were anything?”

“Of course I would.”

All he could do was nod his head, and take the file from you, closing it to set it aside before he went looking at you.

Studying you.

He was trying to get a read on you but he couldn’t pick anything up.

So he got up, grabbing his things and came to sit with you again while he worked, neither of you saying anything.

As you landed, your first stop was the morgue, you wanted to speak to the M.E. who was conducting the autopsies on the victims.

So you dumped your stuff in your hotel room and made your way over there, giving everyone a brief idea of what you were doing before you left.

Pushing the door open, you immediately recognised the smell that hit your nose, and by the way the woman’s head shot up she did as well.

“I wasn’t aware the FBI hired the likes of us.” She said.

“They aren’t either, we don’t have much time. I’m Agent (L/N).”

“Luna, how long do we have?”

“Maybe half an hour before one of my time get here I need to know what you can tell me that they can’t know.”

Luna nodded her head and gestured for you to come over, and she turned the body over so you could see the man’s shoulder.

“All of them have a tattoo on their left shoulder blade, that was the first indication of what they were. Different ones though none the same as of yet. And they absolutely reek of mistletoe.”

“So they were poisoned?” You asked.

“No, just drenched in it. It burn but unless ingested it can’t kill us.”

You slowly nodded your head.

Then she turned the body back over and showed you the chest, which had a bullet wound in, and dark veins around it.

“It wasn’t close distance though, I’d say maybe a few feed away. The veins are just from where the silver entered the system but they die before it can travel.”

“Right. So it’s definitely a hunter then.”

“There’s no doubt about it, if I’m being honest I’d say given these styles of killings their looking for information.”

You two carried on talking quietly, and you both looked up when the door opened.

“Hotch.”

“What did you find?”

“I’ll let Luna tell you herself.”

He nodded and you walked over to join him, and he began asking some questions and Luna gave him different answers but still what he needed to know.

Every so often you would glance at the man next to you, making sure he was buying the slightly twisted truth which he was.

When he was done you both left and you walked over to the SUV, leaning against the drivers door.

“If there’s a new body every few days, I suppose it’s a safe bet to say another will turn up by tomorrow.” You said.

“We only less than 24 hours to find our missing man, and hardly any leads to go on.”

Hotch gestured for you to go around so you got into the passenger side and furrowed your brows.

You wanted to save this one, you didn’t want to lose anyone else if you could help it.

So you were connecting all the information you had inside your head as you walked into the police department and to the room you were using.

Sitting down, you grabbed the laptop and began searching for things.

“What you found?” Rossi asked.

Everyone looked over at you.

“Well the M.E. mentioned mistletoe. Unless you grow it on your own, it wouldn’t be found in the quantities that was found on the bodies.” You explained.

“I can have Garica help you narrow that list.” Derek said.

You nodded and pushed the laptop over to him and stood up to stare at the bored.

“It could narrow our search but it doesn’t help us with a profile, we still have no idea what kind of person we’re looking for.” Emily said.

You nodded your head and you looked over to Hotch as he began to leave.

“I’m going to speak to the Thomas’ family.”

“I’ll come with you.”

He nodded his head and you joined him.

You spoke about the case on the way over, and you carefully studied the area as you two walked up towards the door.

The family were hesitant on letting Hotch in, but as they looked at you they finally agreed to speak to you both.

Hotch asked the questions and you looked around the home.

“Im sorry sir, could you help me move this box please?” The woman asked.

“Of course I can ma’am.”

She said waited for you to follow her through to the other room and she gestured for you to pick up a box which was empty.

“You’re looking for the hunter?” She asked you.

“We are. Can you tell us anything to help?”

“I can tell you a new man moved into town just before all this started. My husband will tell your friend the same thing.”

“Have you met him?”

“Not formally. But I’ve seen him, he lurks around the nightclub, it’s in the old wear house district. It’s for our kind so we all noticed a strange human hanging around.”

“Is there any working cameras do you know? Would it be safe to ask my friend back at HQ to look at the footage without anything being shown?”

“Absolutely, we’re carefully jot to show ourselves until we get past that final camera. I want you to catch this bastard.” She snarled.

You looked at her and she turned her head towards the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m so angry.. we all are…”

“I understand, and I will do what I can. Even if I have to come back on my own.”

She snapped her head towards you.

“You’d do that?”

“If it means protecting my own, then yes.”

She nodded her head and studied you.

“You don’t want to be this do you?”

“I never asked for it, but I know the fear we all face because of people like this.”

You went quiet as Hotch walked in and you placed the box on the other end of the room.

“There’s a camera outside the club we all go to.” The woman said to him.

“Thank you for your time. (L/N).”

You followed him and he stopped you just outside the car.

“What were you talking about?”

“She was tell me about her son, he was a good person Hotch. They all were.”

“That’s why we need to stop this unsub as soon as possible.”

You nodded in agreement and turned around, but stopped and walked across the road to the lamppost.

Attached it it was a photo of you circled in red pen, then words monster scrawled all over it and you looked around with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard…” you spoke lowly.

You handed it over to Hotch and looked at him, your eyes locking with his.

“Get in the car, now.” He said sternly.

Hotch all but pushed you in the car and raced you back to the station where you were dragged to the middle of the room and everyone called over.

Hotch let them all know you were now a target and you weren’t to leave the building or be unattended at any given point.

And you weren’t, a few hours went by and while everyone else came and went you were stuck inside, Hotch glued to your side.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You have an unsub targeting you, that isn’t my definition of fine.” He said.

You sighed a little bit and took him to a quiet hallway and looked around before turning your attention towards him.

“Aaron, I will be fine. Okay? Just focus on catching this bastard.”

“The others have that covered, it’s my job to look after you.”

You sighed and placed your hand on the back of his head, pulling him down and gently pressing your lips to his forehead before you let go.

“I’m stronger than I look Aaron, I promise.”

“That won’t stop me from worrying (Y/N), not until we know you’re safe for good. So, I’m staying right here by your side.”

“Alright.”

You knew once he put his mind to something you couldn’t stop him from doing whatever it was he wanted to do.

So the pair of you walked back to the room just as an officer came through.

“There’s a phone call for the FBI agents.” She said.

“Put us through.” Hotch said.

You, Hotch, the chief of police, Rossi and Reid all crowded around the small phone to listen.

“You’re on with Agent Hotchner, who am I speaking to?” Hotch asked.

“I want the monster you are hiding in that station.”

They all looked confused and you sat down on the chair.

“Alright, you want me, I’m here. What do you want from me?” You asked.

“I have something you want.”

“You mean Jonas?”

There was a cruel laugh.

“No, although I do have Jonas. He isn’t looking too good though, but I suppose you lot don’t when you make them sit in mistletoe. But that’s not what I have that you want agent (L/N).”

“What is it that I want?”

“The person who created you.”

Your blood ran cold and you felt everybody turn their eyes towards you.

“You know you can break the curse. But you need the one who turned you. I know who did this.”

You clenched your jaw a little bit.

“What do you get in return?” You asked.

Hotch tapped your shoulder and you held your hand up towards him.

“I let Jonas go, I get you.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch said.

“Do we have a deal agent (L/N).”

You listened carefully to the phone call as it went silent.

“No.”

You hung up and you looked up at Hotch who nodded his head and gestured to the laptop where Garcia was working.

“We’re talking about whatever your hiding after this case.” Hotch snapped.

You knew it was a ploy, the man wouldn’t be there when the team got there, but it gave you time.

So you waited, and when it was safe you excused yourself to the bathroom and went through the back entrance to the station.

Jogging down the street, you followed the strong scent of mistletoe.

The unsub had been here, leaving this for you.

And it took you far out of the town, but you finally got there and kicked the door with your boot.

“Smart, you know it’s covered.”

The man opened the door and he aimed a gun at you, forcing you down into the basement and into the mistletoe that burned your skin.

“I wanted you.” He smirked.

He gestured to a camera that had a red flashing light, and you snarled a little as your skin burned.

He slammed the cell door shut and you stood there, breathing heavily.

“Jonas wasn’t a werewolf, he was just a fellow hunter helping me find you. And this is being broadcasted to all your little friends.” He mocked.

“Why do you want me?” You growled.

He smirked a little bit, and tossed something in there with you making you jump back as it rolled towards your feet.

Wolfsbane.

You looked back up, yellow eyes boring into his, completely ignoring the camera.

“Because with a werewolf as clever as you, I can lure all of them to me.”

“It won’t work.”

“Oh believe me it will, you just need a little extra push. How about I kill your friends too?”

You rushed forward, slamming your body against the bars, growling deeply, echoing of the walls.

The team watched in horror as they stared at what was once you, but now someone they didn’t recognise as the yellowish eyes shone through the camera.

“I swear to god if you hurt them I wear tear you limb from limb…” you whispered lowly.

“I’ll leave him for last. That one you’re so fond of, I wonder how he’s searching right now to seeing this monster he calls a boyfriend.”

You growled even louder, and slammed your hands on the bars, and you began to pace back and forth, ignoring the burning of the skin.

The man watched you for a moment.

“There is a cure you know. You kill the original werewolf who did this to you, and you’ll turn back to a normal human.” He mused.

You flicked your eyes to him.

“You help me, I’ll help you.”

“I’ll take that Damn heart out your chest…”

You crouched down and your bones cracked and broke, changing, and the team struggled to watch what was going on.

“Oh my god…” Garcia whispered.

You now stood tall, taller than you were, covered in black fur, yellow eyes beaming down as you snarled and growl, lunging for the bars only to stumble back when you were shot in the shoulder.

“Consider it a warning shot beast.” The unsub snarled.

You let out a roar that shook the camera and it fell down towards the ground and you back up into the corner on the room, scraping your claws into the ground.

Now they had two unsubs to find, and someone they thought they could trust who was now a large murderous monster waiting to attack.

Did they save you?

Did they leave you?

No one knew.

But they knew they needed to stop the unsubs before anyone else got hurt.

Hotch kept his eyes glued to you though, watching as the smoke rose from your burning skin as you touched the mistletoe.

The way you dug your claws into the ground again and again.

“We know where that is!” An officer shouted.

Everyone looked at him and they shared a look.

They were about to come face to face with something from their nightmares, and they didn’t know how to confront this sort of situation

[welcome-to-green-hills]

How would you introduce Rouge into scu?

Hi Hon!❤️✨

Ohh! Okay, I’ve thought a lot about this. I would introduce Rouge as either a gemologist or an antiquarian that collects mystical items. Much like Knuckles, her job is to look for the Master Emerald. She wouldn’t be a freelance agent of G.U.N. since they’re strictly an anti-alien agency in SCU, but they could hire her as a “double agent” to spy on Sonic and Co. while retrieving the M.E. for her collection of precious gems.

Rouge isn’t a villain. She never was a villain, she’s an anti-hero. But because she wants gems and is willing to take them for herself, I think that gets in the way of seeing her as someone who cares. That’s just my thought though! I’d definitely make her a gemologist.

[forever-ky]

ART DONE BY @douchemcbagger meet your local good samaritans, fighting the demons of forever, kentucky one day at a time! featuring as follows: Agent M.E. as the Professional (Top Secret Professional, Bad at Secrets) Kazuya Omori as the Mundane (Old Man Shakes Fist at Sky) Russell T. Wolfram as the Monstrous (Werewolf Powers as a Stepping Stool) Rye O'Malley as the Crooked (Ramblin' Man) Stefan Gamble, NPC (Gamblin' Man) Tobias Gaunte as the Spooky (Single Father of Evil Clown)

[ncisfranchise-source]

EXCLUSIVE: Patrick Fischler (American Fiction) & Julian Black Antelope (Prey) have been tapped for recurring roles in NCIS: Origins, CBS’ prequel to the venerable procedural, which has a straight-to-series order for the 2024-2025 broadcast season.

Austin Stowell, Mariel Molino, Kyle Schmid, Tyla Abercrumbie and Diany Rodriguez star in the CBS Studios-produced series executive produced and narrated by Mark Harmon.

Origins begins in 1991, years prior to the events of NCIS, and chronicles Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ younger years. In the prequel, Gibbs (Stowell) starts his career as a newly minted special agent at the fledgling NIS Camp Pendleton office where he forges his place on a gritty, ragtag team led by NCIS legend Mike Franks (Schmid).

Fischer will play NCIS Special Agent in Charge Cliff Walker, who oversees the fledgling NIS Pendleton Office. Constantly seeing his little-known agency pushed aside by bigger fish, Walker puts his career on the line to earn NIS Pendleton the respect it deserves.

Antelope will portray Chief Medical Examiner Kai Blackrock, who is at the top of his game, working out of the busy San Diego County M.E.’s Office. Though he appears unflappable, Blackrock’s complicated ties to NIS force him to face his own vulnerabilities.

Fischler was most recently seen opposite Jeffrey Wright in American Fiction, as well as Netflix’s Fair Play opposite Alden Ehrenreich. He also recurred on HBO’s Barry in last year’s final season. His other credits include series regular roles on Syfy’s Happy! and on Disney+’s The Right Stuff. 

Antelope was most recently seen as Chief Kehetu, leader of the band of Comanches, in the original film Prey on Hulu. Later this year he will be seen in a major recurring role on Hulu’s upcoming series Washington Black. His other previous credits include The Flash and Grendel.

[kwebtv]

Character Actress

Julie Adams (born Betty May Adams; October 17, 1926 – February 3, 2019) Film and television actress, billed as Julia Adams toward the beginning of her career, primarily known for her numerous television guest roles.  

On television, Adams appeared on The Andy Griffith Show portraying Mary Simpson, a county nurse and romantic interest of Sheriff Andy Taylor in a 1962 episode. She also made four guest appearances on Perry Mason, perhaps the most notable being the 1963 episode, "The Case of the Deadly Verdict," when she played Janice Barton, Mason's only convicted client during the show's nine-year run on CBS. In 1963, she starred in "The Case Of Lovers Leap." In 1964, she played Janice Blake in "The Case of the Missing Button." In 1965, she played the role of defendant Pat Kean in "The Case of the Fatal Fortune." Adams appeared on The Rifleman as a dubious vixen and romantic interest of lead character Chuck Connors. She guest-starred in five episodes of 77 Sunset Strip, three of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, and two of Maverick,  "The White Widow" and "The Brasada Spur", both with Jack Kelly as Bart Maverick.

More guest-star roles in popular television series followed, including One Step Beyond, Yancy Derringer, The Big Valley, in its classic episode "The Emperor of Rice", McMillan & Wife, Police Woman, The Streets of San Francisco, The Incredible Hulk, Cannon, Quincy, M.E., and Cagney & Lacey. Adams co-starred with James Stewart in all 24 episodes of The Jimmy Stewart Show on NBC in 1971–1972. Stewart played a professor, and Adams played his wife.  She was cast in the recurring role of real estate agent Eve Simpson for ten episodes of CBS's Murder, She Wrote.  (Wikipedia)

[batllethinker]

WIP list:

Sweather weather | K.L + A.P, protective Kim Little + angst + fluff

The Trip | LW2 + K.L + S.C, the doms take their subs on a trip for some fun

Tattooed heart | G.S, Georgia practices her tattoo skills on you

Making Me Crazy | A.HK + W.MF, Aggie is a brat and recieves an appropriate punishment

Oktober fun | P.H + M.E, they fuck at oktoberfest (possibly seperated from the submissions universe)

Pretty girls | A.R + Williamson!reader, they have a one night stand and catch feelings

Star spangled | L.W + tattoo artist!reader

Glass table girls | L.B, just a bunch of exhibitionism and toxicity

Love of mine | A.HK, toxic relationship and baby trapping

A brush with death | death!W.M + daredevil!K.B, literally what it sounds like

Red | W.M + N.R, dark wanda and a whole bunch of abuse

Love | J.B + agent!R, Jane is your boss

[jeffament]

Well maybe we could hop onto the gary numan board! what songs can you recommend? say a top 10 or something 📝

i thought you’d never ask >:) my current top 10 are

we take mystery (to bed)

i’m an agent

the machman

love hurt bleed

M.E.

intruder

i die: you die

i am dust

this wreckage

music for chameleons

his essentials r a good place to start too :)

cars

are ‘friends’ electric?

me, i disconnect from you

down in the park

metal

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The In-Betweens Season Two Sneak Peek

I know you guys have been waiting patiently and I"m sorry that my slump has taken so long! But I think I should get season two up and running (fingers crossed) before the end of the month (ish). I'll try my best, I promise.

But... since you guys have been so amazing and I love you all very dearly, I'm hoping a little scene from the season two premiere will help tide you over!

Again, thank you all so much and, hopefully, I will have episode one out soon!

And without further adieu...

From Season Two Episode One: Months of Moving On

The plane used to be one of his favorite places to think. The hum of the machinery, the anticipation of the case, the energy of determination from the rest of the team. Now, all he wanted to do was get back home. 

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan called. “You mind joining us?” 

Reid tore his gaze from the window and gave the team a tight lipped smile. “Sorry.” 

He tried to keep his mind focused as the team shared their possible theories about the case, but every thought kept leading back to you. He hated leaving like this, dropping you off at therapy and then disappearing for days at a time. Especially when you were still pretending like everything was fine. You used to open up to him, used to tell him everything, but now you kept everything caged up inside. 

And he was afraid of what it’ll do to you when it finally breaks out. 

Every minute he wasn’t with you, he worried it would be when you needed him most. 

“He’s tactical with every kill which means he’s probably choosing his victims away from his neighborhood,” Reid said. “We’re most likely looking for someone living in the middle to higher class districts of the city.” He seemed almost robotic, just taking in information and spitting it back out. 

“Reid, you work on the geographical profile, Morgan and Prentiss talk to the M.E, JJ see what you can learn about the victim’s families, and Dave, you and I will go to the latest crime scenes,” Hotch instructed. 

Everyone got to work looking into the case. Hotch took a seat across from Reid. 

“Haley called. She picked Y/N up and they’re back at her house,” he said. 

Spencer nodded, returning his eyes to the clouds. “That’s good.” 

Hotch sighed. “Reid, I know this hasn’t been easy for the two of you. Haley says that Y/N has been doing better. She hasn’t slept-walked in weeks, she’s acclimating to her new job, and she seems to like the therapist you recommended.” 

He turned to him, eyes burning with frustration. “What do you think?”

“Reid, I-” Hotch started, taken aback by the younger agent’s intensity. 

“Because no offense to Haley, but I think she is seeing what Y/N wants her to see. Y/N is trying to make herself as little of a problem as possible for everyone else’s convenience, even if it means neglecting her health when she is clearly showing signs of PTSD. She isn’t sleep-walking because she isn’t sleeping, she’s using her work to distract her from thinking about what happened, and I have to drive her to therapy to make sure she actually goes. She has yet to open up to her therapist because she doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Y/N could be getting worse, right now, while I’m on a plane to go help strangers when I can’t even help the person I love!” 

He inhaled sharply, having forgotten to breathe. Reid’s outburst caught the attention of everyone on the plane and he could feel their concerned eyes on him. He shrank back in his seat. 

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he gulped. After a round of worried, sympathetic looks, everyone went back to their work. He lowered his voice. “I just really wanted to be with her this week. Especially because tomorrow would have been Tabby Cunningham’s birthday. Her parents used it in one of the crime scenes and I know that she’ll be thinking about it.” 

Hotch leaned over to him. 

“I’m worried about her too, but I know what happened last time,” he said. Now it were his eyes that picked a spot in the rolling white expanse outside the plane. “If we push her now, she’ll retreat even further and-” He took a deep breath. “Well, you know what she’s struggled with in the past.” 

“But if I could just be there for her…” Spencer’s voice was laced with heartbreaking guilt and terror. “Maybe we’ll be okay.” 

Hotch noted his plural use, but decided not to press further. 

He wished he could tell Reid that everything would be okay, that you were strong and that you’d dealt with this all before, but truthfully, Aaron was just as scared as he was. His whole being ached to help you, but he knew that if they both left work that you would have one more thing you blamed yourself for. 

Still, not doing anything was killing him.

-

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings