#and the next time they met was at a crime scene

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 3: the last day of investigation

previous part here

epilogue here

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town.

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mentall illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 9 k....i'm insane, i'm aware

Your dad was the one who managed to explain everything to you.

Once, you hated the coldness he exuded. Everything he said seemed so devoid of emotion, as if he didn't have any at all. Probably, if he had ever tried to say "I love you," those words would have gotten stuck in his throat, causing choking and death.

At that moment, you appreciated it for the first time. He told you how your mom had found Jeremy in the bathtub, the water completely stained with blood. If an outsider had heard it, they would have thought he was talking about some stranger's child, not his own son, so composed he sounded. But you heard all the tiny breaks in his voice, the pauses to swallow saliva that slowly dripped down his throat.

You stood with your back against the door, the phone slipping from your numb hand.

For a moment, you felt simply empty. Without feelings or thoughts. What was this room you were in — the bathroom? A bathroom, what even is that? Syllables joined into a longer sound that should have some specific meaning. What meaning? You didn’t know. A loud ringing filled your ears, driving everything out of your mind.

The phone call had ended. The device was still pressed against your cheek, slipping further and further from your grip. After a while — you couldn’t tell how long — it simply fell to the floor, onto the simple black-and-white tiles. You didn’t even hear the sound it made.

You might have stayed frozen there for hours if not for the soft tapping on the other side of the door. You were only just returning to reality, so you couldn’t respond. Then someone spoke your name in a questioning tone. You ignored that too, though not intentionally. For a moment, you had simply forgotten your own name. This unsettled the person in the next room; after a few seconds, they grasped the handle and pushed the door. It met the barrier of your back, and that gentle jolt was what began to pull you out of your trance.

The first breath hurt; the first thought nearly brought you to your knees.

Jeremy. Your little brother.

Moving as if on autopilot, you turned toward the door and opened it. At first, Spencer seemed to exhale with relief, but then he saw the expression on your face, and his slightly hunched posture straightened, shifting to one of concern.

You’d taken over the bathroom as soon as you returned to the hotel, so he hadn’t had a chance to change. He’d only hung up his jacket by the door, taken off his vest, and remained in his shirt with a loosened tie and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“W-what happened? I thought I heard something fall…”

“It was...um...the phone,” you managed to choke out.

“I-I was talking to my dad, my dad, but first with my mom, and…and she was mad at me because of…because of…wait, what did you ask?” The words spilling from you were one big jumble. You pressed a cool hand to your forehead, burning as if with fever, your brain throbbing with effort, as if you were delivering a university lecture on nuclear physics.

Spencer was no longer just concerned — he was terrified. Seeing how you were barely standing on legs that refused to cooperate, he caught you just before you fell. You collapsed face-first onto his shoulder, surrendering entirely to gravity.

“Oh…okay, okay, it’s okay now,” he whispered, resting one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back, offering support.

You closed your eyes, only now realizing they were filled with tears. The shock was fading, the barrier that had held back every other emotion finally breaking down. They began to overwhelm you, resulting in a muffled sob against his body. 

“He tried to kill himself,” you finally managed to say, the meaning of the words slowly sinking in. You repeated it several times, each time quieter but with more awareness. “He tried…he tried…”

“No, you don’t have to... just... oh god, I’m so sorry...” He stammered. He realized that no words would be enough, none would help you. Instead of wasting energy on them, he poured it all into the embrace, holding you even tighter.

You simply stayed in that position, as time passed by.

"What's with him?" he asked when your breathing finally returned to a steady rhythm, and the pain wasn't as sharp. His voice was so soft, soothing like a lullaby. "Your brother?"

You realized that, because of your secrecy, you had never even casually mentioned Jeremy to him. This was the first time you were talking about him. Under these circumstances

"Dad said his condition is stable." You raised your head, and your eyes met by accident. You quickly looked back down at your hands. You felt exposed in a way you never had before with anyone else, and it was strange, unfamiliar. But you couldn’t say it was entirely negative. "He’s under observation now; he lost a lot of blood. If my mom hadn’t found him..."

You shook your head, trying to chase away the dark visions and scenarios.

"Spencer," you sighed, struggling to put into words what had been tormenting you from the very beginning. "I... I can’t stop thinking about how much of this is my fault."

"I left him with our parents. Fully aware of what they’re like. I told him he could rely on me but  I was in another city, only keeping in touch by phone. Irregulary. Since we started working on this case, I’ve spoken to him once…"

Until now, you hadn’t maintained strong eye contact; each time it happened, you pulled away. But in that moment, there was something in his gaze that wouldn’t let you look away. Reid was definitely not one to offer empty words of comfort or general platitudes. Seeing him remain silent, you were certain he was about to say something entirely his own.

“Blaming yourself is a very common, I’d even say natural, part of grief, and I’m afraid that nothing I say will make you stop feeling this way, but I’ll try anyway. You didn’t abandon Jeremy. Even if there was distance between you, you still tried to be there for him, you cared for him like no one else did. You know, even if you usually avoided talking about it, it was still very clear. Sometimes I’d see you from a distance talking to him on the phone. I couldn’t hear a word, but… I wondered a lot who that person was. The one who makes you so happy” He looked slightly flustered, blushing as he realized what he had mentioned, but continued nonetheless. “You seemed so happy and genuinely invested. I can tell that you didn’t stay in touch with him out of guilt or obligation alone. He truly meant the world to you. And… what I’m trying to say is that… sometimes, no matter how much we try, there are things we just can’t control. This is incredibly hard for you, and you blame yourself for all of it, but I hope that someday you’ll see that not everything depended on you, and none of this is your fault."

You stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say. His words… they touched you, pierced your skin, and lodged deeply within your body. They soothed you, like a lullaby sung to a child before sleep. You realized just how incredibly grateful you were that you both shared this room.

"I don't know what I would do if you weren't here," you answered softly, feeling the area around your eyes tighten, signaling the tears that were about to come.

Without hesitation, he simply embraced you.

With his chin resting on the top of your head and your forehead pressed against his collarbone.

"You would manage. You’re strong. But you deserve to have someone by your side in a moment like this."

You whispered that you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. He offered you one of the sleeping pills he had mentioned in the car, though it would take a little while for them to take effect. You lay on your side, with your knees curled up. It wasn’t until the morning that you realized you were on his bed, surprised to find yourself so far from the window. That was your first thought, still not fully sober.

The room was drowning in darkness, the only sources of light being the faint glow of the moon sneaking in like a thief through the imperfectly drawn curtain, and the alarm clock on the nightstand between your beds, showing the time as 4:47.

You stretched your sleepy eyelids open and rubbed them with your hand, not moving from your spot. You felt a little embarrassed that you had fallen asleep in Spencer’s bed, but then you noticed his silhouette in yours. It turned out you had simply swapped places. Since it was only your second night in this hotel, it hadn’t yet absorbed his scent. Not that you were looking for it. You were just curious, which is why you pressed your face so firmly into the pillow.

Spencer was lying with his face turned toward you. However, he didn’t seem completely relaxed, almost as if even the sound of dust floating in the air could wake him. This turned out to be a very accurate observation, as the moment you opened your eyes, he did the same.

"Hey, how do you feel?" he asked. His voice was quiet, hoarse.

"I'm too awake to go back to sleep for another week. Unfortunately," you muttered, turning onto your back. Of course, it was sarcasm. You couldn’t sleep for too long, you had to... you weren’t even sure what you had to do. You urgently needed to find out what had happened with Jeremy over the past few hours. Was his condition still stable, or had it improved significantly overnight, or…

The thought of another conversation with your father drained you. Or, worse yet, your mother. They were, however, your only source of information about your unconscious brother.

So yes, you needed to make a call, then get up, pull yourself together, maybe eat something… it all sounded more than overwhelming.

"I'll talk to Hotch, if you want. He’ll let you go back, even today."

The mention of the boss’s name hit you like an ice cube dropped under your shirt. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, you were still at work. In the middle of hunting down a seven-time murderer who had discarded his last two victims just yesterday. A murderer who, from the very beginning, had stirred your intuition, suggesting that the answer to this puzzle lay somewhere at the back of your mind.

On the other hand, you felt obligated to be by Jeremy’s side when he woke up. Who else would be there for him? A nurse? An emotionally absent father? An unstable, bipolar mother who had probably stopped taking her meds again?

As if against your own will, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, a certain thought suddenly entering your mind.

"I'll stay," you decided.

"Are you sure? If you don't want to talk about it with the others, I’ll do it for you," he offered, propping himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, eyes gleaming with worry. "You know Hotch, he may not seem like it, but he's very understanding..."

"Really, I can handle it," you reassured him, but he didn’t seem convinced. "Reid, I need to finish this case. I think I’ve realized something."

He sat on the bed, furrowing his brow. The sudden change in the tone of your voice must have intrigued him; you sounded almost determined.

"What is it?"

You opened your mouth, ready to rush out a chaotic response, but stopped yourself at the last moment. It was so early in the morning, and your mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders — how could it be, when you’d only just woken up? It made more sense to wait, to go over the latest findings with the team; maybe they would fit perfectly with your newest theory.

And that’s exactly what happened.

“The victims found on the pumpkin farm have been identified,” Hotch announced instead of a greeting when you met just an hour and a half later. Everyone looked slightly dazed; the coffee they were sipping hadn’t yet kicked in. Likely, only you and Reid had been up this early—physically, you seemed the most alert, yet it was plain to see that your thoughts were still rooted in the previous day, struggling to keep up with everything happening around you. You sat close together, shoulder to shoulder, entirely on instinct, as if an invisible thread connected you, tightening painfully around your wrists whenever you tried to drift too far apart.

From time to time, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you were okay. Twice, he gave a slight nod in Hotch’s direction, reminding you that you could still talk to him, ask for permission to go back home. You silently reassured him that you were feeling relatively fine and didn’t want to bring it up with the boss. Just as you broke eye contact, ending the wordless conversation, you noticed Morgan and Prentiss watching the two of you, their heads tilted at the same angle in an almost eerily synchronized way.

You took a breath, feeling slightly embarrassed. Your sudden closeness with Reid must have seemed at the very least… suspicious to them.

“Their names were Denise Grant and Alexa Miller, and listen to this,” Garcia began, her voice quickening as her face appeared on the laptop screen. “Both of them worked at the same orphanage. And what's more — it's the very same orphanage where one of the earlier victims worked.”

The atmosphere thickened as everyone absorbed the significance of the information.

"What are the chances this could be a coincidence?" JJ asked rhetorically.

"Well..." Reid began. His friend raised an eyebrow. "I get it, no large numbers. But small ones. Smaller than the chance that the asteroid..."

"Were the remaining body parts of these women found?" Rossi asked matter-of-factly.

Hotch shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no. The forest is so heavily guarded by the police that it's unlikely the unsub managed to dump them there."

"But he has to be doing something with them," Prentiss said, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Doesn't it make you wonder where he's committing all these crimes? He gets rid of the bodies quickly, and there were no signs on the victims suggesting they were held captive. Do you think he could be killing them in his own house?"

"That's possible," Morgan replied. "He wouldn't be the first. And unfortunately, he won't be the last."

"If that's the case, they're going to start smelling awful soon. He'll have to get rid of them, and with so much police presence around, it won't be that easy."

"Let's hope he makes a mistake in the process," Hotch summarized, scanning your faces carefully. Finally, his gaze landed on yours. "You’ll go to the orphanage with..." He swept his eyes over everyone around you, finally settling on Derek. Reid, sitting next to you, shifted uncomfortably.

"I'll go with her," he offered a bit too abruptly.

This shifted the focus of everyone’s attention onto you. You tried to act as if it didn’t matter who would go with you, but deep down, you were hoping it would be him.

You stared at your boss, waiting for his decision. Finally, he nodded and began assigning other tasks to the rest of the team. You couldn't help but smile, barely perceptibly, feeling grateful to Spencer.

It wasn’t that you minded the company of the others; it was simply that none of them had any idea what had happened the day before. They might ask questions about your more withdrawn-than-usual behavior or your subdued mood, and you didn’t want to talk about what had happened with your brother. You knew that with Reid, you would feel the most comfortable.

For a while, you continued discussing the farm workers, who turned out to be employed without contracts, and of course the owner who was hiring them off the books. But with each new statement from your colleagues, you became more and more detached. Your thoughts kept drifting to Jeremy and his behavior over the past few weeks. He had seemed down during your conversations, but you had chalked it up to just the usual busy period at school. On top of that, there was the family situation. Living alone, you'd almost forgotten what a typical day with your mother used to look like. You started to berate yourself, feeling guilty for not being more concerned about his state.

Eventually, everyone dispersed, ready to get back to their tasks.

You went to the car alone, as Reid had been stopped by Derek, who had asked him something with an unreadable expression. His eyebrow had raised suggestively, and you could have sworn you saw it even from several meters away. You stared at the two of them, leaning against the open passenger-side door, intrigued about what the conversation might be about. Normally, you weren’t the curious type; you didn’t like it when people asked you too many questions, and you avoided prying into others’ affairs. But this time, you couldn’t take your eyes off Spencer’s face, clearly embarrassed—maybe even… blushing?

Derek laughed at his reaction and gave him a pat on the back before walking away. Your companion sat in the driver's seat without a word, avoiding your gaze.

"Where is the orphanage?" he asked.

You turned toward him, brow furrowed.

"You remembered the whole map," you reminded him.

"Oh, right..."

You fell silent for several minutes, but your curiosity grew so much that you thought you might not be able to hold it in any longer.

"What were you two talking about? With Morgan?"

"Oh... just some stuff," he replied evasively, overly focused on the road. As if you were in the middle of a busy city during rush hour, rather than on a nearly empty road in the morning.

"You know Morgan and his... sense of humor."

"Yes, I know. Did he tell some great joke?"

"Not really."

"Go ahead. I'm curious."

"I’m telling you, nothing worth repeating... Besides, I've already forgotten it myself..."

"Reid, for God's sake, you literally have a photographic memory...!"

"Okay, fine!" he finally blurted out, removing one hand from the steering wheel and raising it in a defensive gesture. His voice went up a quarter of an octave. He then took a deep breath and put on a seemingly calm expression. "Morgan wanted to know if our... well, unusual... peculiar... definitely different from the previous days... behavior means that..."

"That what?" you asked encouragingly.

"That we slept with each other”

You blinked in slow motion, too shocked to respond. Spencer couldn't resist glancing at you, trying to gauge your reaction. For a moment, you sat frozen, then you burst into laughter.

"And what did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him?" he repeated in disbelief. "The truth, what else was I supposed to say?"

You realized how stupid your question was.

"Anyway, even if it were true... you know, that we... slept together... I wouldn't have mentioned it to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong” He quickly added the last part.“It's not that I’d be ashamed to admit it or... anything like that, I just would’ve preferred to sort it out with you first..."

You watched his growing embarrassment and... simply smiled.

"Sorry," you explained your reaction, letting out a slight chuckle. "I just thought... Well nevermind. Or…Fine, I was thinking about how strangely Emily was looking at me and how Derek probably wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion. Look, we share a room with each other for the very first time and then suddenly we become so close... and then there's the fact that you asked to come with me..."

"That's because I wanted... I wanted to keep an eye on you after what happened yesterday."

"I understand that, and... I’m incredibly grateful to you for it. Really, Spence. But to others, it might look really suspicious."

He paused for a moment, thinking about your words. Ahead of you, the orphanage building came into view. Made of a mix of red and cream bricks, it resembled a small private school. Behind the fence, there was a small playground with a pink slide, its surface now covered in brown leaves.

"Wait," Reid asked with a slightly hoarse voice as you were about to get out of the car. "Does this mean that... you’d prefer we saw each other less?"

You were momentarily speechless.

"What? Of course not. Let them think what they want. Especially those two…lacherours, Morgan and Prentiss. It doesn’t change anything between us."

The air hit your face in waves, occasionally accompanied by a stray raindrop, but overall, the weather that day wasn’t terrible.

You made your way to the orphanage doors, trying to adopt serious, professional expressions fitting for your line of work. However, you couldn’t help but let those fleeting, secret smiles slip through. You felt a tight knot in your stomach loosen.

But back to business, no staff member at the orphanage wants to see two FBI agents on their doorstep at eight in the morning. Well, no one wants to see FBI agents on their doorstep. Regardless of the time. The woman who opened the door greeted you with a slight look of confusion. She was shorter than both of you, with thick blonde hair, wearing a fluffy lavender sweater. At first glance, she seemed friendly, but… incredibly downhearted.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, clearly forcing a smile.

You looked at Reid and took a small breath, holding back a sigh. It dawned on both of you that… she probably didn’t know yet that the heads found on the farm belonged to her two coworkers.

Everyone in the town knew about the discovery, that was beyond doubt. The fact that these two women hadn’t shown up for work in several days should have made her realize it. But sometimes, as people, we prefer to deceive ourselves right until the very end.

You hated informing people that their loved ones had died, especially in such a horrific way. However, you knew you had to do what was required of you, reaching into your pocket for your badge.

"We're from the FBI," you said after introducing yourselves, trying to keep a gentle expression to spare some nerves for the already frightened woman. "Do you work here? We’d like to have a word with all the staff and the director."

The woman took a deep, nervous breath.

“Yes, I work here. Florence Terry. I’m… I’m a psychologist.”

She opened the door wider, letting you both inside. You quickly glanced around, immediately noticing how well-kept the place was. In your line of work, you’d surprisingly often found yourself visiting orphanages, and many — even in larger cities — were in far worse condition. In the spacious hallway stood a staircase made of light wood, leading to the upper floors. On one of the steps, someone had placed a teddy bear so that it looked like it was gazing down.

“Do you think it’s afraid of heights?” you whispered to Reid, careful that the psychologist couldn’t hear.

“I think it’s an inanimate object and therefore incapable of having fears,” he whispered back, leaning slightly toward you.

“I think you’re —”

“We’re just having breakfast,” Florence interrupted, leading you into the dining room, where a long table stood at the center. At the sight of you both, the adults seated there — likely other caregivers — put their utensils aside. There weren’t that many kids here; they could almost pass for an unusually large family, if not for the fact that nearly all of them were around the same age. There were no little ones — you noticed mostly teenagers. One boy spilled his tea on the table and wiped it up with his sleeve, his black bangs brushing against the glasses perched on his narrow nose. You weren’t sure if it was his appearance or his mannerisms, but he immediately reminded you of Jeremy.

Reid immediately noticed you staring. Of course he did. You gave a slight smile, reassuring him that everything was fine.

Your arrival didn’t cause much of a stir; most of the children didn’t even look up. It probably would have been different if they knew you were from the FBI. The expression on the psychologist's face, however, alarmed the adults. They exchanged tense glances, but tried to maintain appearances in front of the children.

 The woman with the tight black ponytail stood up, introducing herself as the director.

“We can talk in my office,” she offered, shaking your hand.

“We’d like to speak with all the staff,” Reid informed her.

“Oh, of course. Then please, follow me…”

She led you to a small room on the ground floor, with the word "DIRECTOR" written on the door in colorful crayons. Three more people followed you, including the psychologist.

"Not everyone is here today," the director noted. "Some employees simply work different hours, while others..."

"That’s something we wanted to discuss," you said slowly.

The women and one man exchanged glances. They knew.

"Is… is this about Denise and Alexa?" Florence dared to ask.

To their horror, you had to confirm it. It was incredibly difficult to watch someone take in the news of not only the death of colleagues, but likely close friends as well. You lowered your gaze, staring at your shoes, giving them a moment before they were ready to continue with the questioning. Together with Reid, you had to ask them countless questions, probing to understand why these particular orphanage employees had become the killer’s victims. Or perhaps, whether they remembered any former resident who had long since left but whose behavior had raised suspicions. There was a strong likelihood that the unsub had come from there.

But before you began the questioning, the doorbell rang.

"That’s probably the volunteer. A teenager from town who comes by to help from time to time, sometimes she brings friends along," the director explained, her trembling hands pressed against her chest. "Their help has been especially valuable these past few days since… since Denise and Alexa… disappeared."

"I’ll let them in," you offered, glancing at Reid. It would be worth asking these teenagers a few questions as well.

He nodded, and you headed toward the entrance of the building. One girl pulled back quickly into the dining hall at the sight of you; she must have been eavesdropping. At first, you felt like smiling, but then sadness took over. These kids didn’t know yet about the death of their caretakers. How would the staff tell them? How would they react?

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted you, equally surprised. She wore the same white jacket you’d seen her in yesterday, with a colorful scarf covering half her face, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold. You glanced toward the parking lot, where the sheriff's car was just pulling away beside yours. He must have dropped off his daughter before heading straight back to his duties. The town needed him more than ever. “Dad told me who those women were… the ones I found yesterday. Is that why you’re here?”

You confirmed, lips pressed tightly together. She stepped inside, unzipping her jacket.

"My partner is talking with the staff right now," you said, stopping with her by the stairs, not wanting the children in the dining hall to overhear. "I had no idea you volunteered here. That’s really, really kind of you. How long have you been doing this?"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Just a few months," she replied, but there was something incomplete in her tone. As if she wanted to say more but held back. You replayed your conversation from the day before in your mind, analyzing it moment by moment, trying to deduce what might be behind her behavior.

"My dad, surprisingly, isn’t too thrilled about it. I live on the other side of town, so he has to drive me here, and he also says I should be studying instead…” She lowered her voice to an embarrassed whisper. “…wandering around with the poor."

You were taken aback, even outraged, by the sheriff’s behavior. As a parent, he should be proud that his daughter took the initiative to get involved in charity work! Yet, as you looked at the girl, who was avoiding your gaze, you felt there was something she wasn’t telling you.

“I’m glad that despite his… forgive me for saying it, but rudeness, you’re still determined to help here,” you said, choosing your words carefully. Charlotte gave a shy smile at the compliment. “Out of curiosity, was it your idea? Or maybe your friends’, and you just got… drawn into it?”

The girl hesitated before finally sighing in surrender.

"My boyfriend grew up here," she admitted. "He told me a bit about this place, and… hearing his stories, I felt a need to help these kids. I started coming here, tutoring them, playing with them, teaching them to draw. You know, typical volunteer stuff."

Her answer didn’t surprise you much. Since she’d mentioned her boyfriend yesterday—describing him as someone who opposed rules and was the complete opposite of her father—you’d subconsciously known this topic would come up again. You didn’t hide the fact that the way she described him had raised concerns, making you question whether he was truly a good match for such a sensitive young girl.

"Does he know about this? Does he come help with you?"

"N-no. He doesn't have the best memories of this place... but he's really happy that I decided to do this."

You didn’t want to turn the conversation into an interrogation, but you felt you needed to ask these questions to get the full picture.

“How long ago did he leave the orphanage?”

Charlotte seemed increasingly tense during the conversation, glancing around as if expecting someone to come and rescue her. You couldn’t help but cross your arms over your chest, a gesture that may have seemed threatening or stern. Quickly realizing that you’d frightened her, you softened your posture, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

You were almost certain that this was a similar case. Charlotte was only sixteen, struggling with the death of her mother, a sensitive soul with an incredibly strict father—who also happened to be a cop. An older boyfriend might have given her a sense of escape from the heavy hand of her father’s authority, a feeling of freedom.

"Sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive. Just a professional habit," you joked. She smiled faintly, still clearly on edge.

The way she spoke about him—the hint of fear, her earlier request for you not to mention him to her father, and her avoidance of answering how long ago he left the orphanage—made you start to seriously suspect that he was older than her. It wasn’t unusual for teenage girls to seek out older partners, and in most cases, it wasn’t a bad thing... but sometimes, those older partners turned out to be much older men. Manipulators.

Before you could say anything more, Reid appeared in the doorway of the office, casting a curious glance between you and the girl, whom he surely remembered from yesterday.

"Uh...Can I have a word with you?" he called you. Charlotte greeted him so quietly that he probably didn’t even hear it. "I think I’ve found something interesting."

"Oh, sure," you replied, remembering you shouldn’t leave him alone with the work for too long. Before leaving, you smiled at the sheriff’s daughter. The topic of her and her boyfriend was still nagging at you. "I’d like to talk to you later, okay? Either after we finish talking to the staff, or... you have my number, right?"

The girl nodded, murmuring a quick goodbye before disappearing into the dining hall, where a child squealed with delight at the sight of her.

"Did you find anything out?" you asked Reid. He had been watching the girl with obvious interest, which was piqued by your almost agitated stance. However, you didn’t have time to explain everything to him yet; you needed to get back to the main investigation.

You both returned to the office. The staff were standing in the same spots, looking as if they hadn’t moved an inch since you left.

"I asked a few questions that might help us figure out why the unsub chose three people who worked at this particular orphanage," he began. You noticed he was starting to speak faster, which meant a breakthrough had occurred, at least in his reasoning. You watched him, holding your breath. "And I found out that none of the people here have worked here for more than eight years. Just like the victims."

You furrowed your brow, not sure what that meant. The director quickly offered an explanation.

"Eight years ago, there was a huge scandal involving this orphanage," she explained, swallowing hard. "It came to light that the caretakers and the director at the time were abusing the children. Seriously abusing them. What’s worse, the case was reported multiple times, but no one in the town’s leadership did anything about it. The mayor stayed silent... They say he was afraid to do anything, so as not to lose the funding the orphanage was receiving. It wasn’t until eight years ago that the truth finally came out, the staff was convicted, and they were replaced by us."

"The town’s leadership didn’t react," you repeated her words, your mind working at full speed. "The earlier victims were part of the town’s leadership. This is the connection we’ve been looking for, Reid. The unsub must have been a victim of abuse right here in this orphanage."

"We need to tell the others," Reid decided. You both headed toward the exit, and then you remembered that you hadn’t even said goodbye to the orphanage staff.

"Thank you for your help, these are really useful pieces of information..." you said quickly as you passed them.

In the car, everything felt like it was spinning.

"Look, the unsub isn’t directly killing the people who abused him. If that were the case, the old staff would be the ones dying, not the current one. Remember, one of his victims was a teacher, completely unrelated to the orphanage. I think it’s not about punishing those people, but more about a symbolic revenge, one that doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to make sense to us, but it seems logical to him," Reid shared his thoughts as you drove toward the police station, where you expected to find the rest of your team. "He’s struggling with trauma. He’s been managing it somehow over the years, but now he’s unable to control the rage building up inside him. Decapitation is another symbol. It strips these people of the power they once had over him when he was a child or a teenager, and no one listened to his cries for help."

You straightened up in your seat, all the information starting to fall into place.

"Do you remember this morning when I mentioned that something came to my mind? That’s why I didn’t want to leave?" you asked. "At first, we were puzzled that some of the victims were treated with a different level of cruelty, specifically the women. Others, the ones from the city council, only had their heads cut off, with no other injuries. The unsub believes these innocent people are directly responsible for hurting him, he’s delusional. Sometimes he blames the city authorities for not reacting. The anger he feels toward them isn’t as intense as for the orphanage staff, which is why he harms them to a lesser extent. I think... he’s experiencing manic episodes, where all his feelings and paranoia are stronger. That’s when he kills with much greater cruelty."

“Mania?” Reid repeated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You mean borderline?” You nodded. For a moment, he thought over your words, then his eyes lit up. “That... that’s very possible. There have been cases where borderline murderers nearly changed their modus operandi. During a manic episode, when someone with borderline personality disorder experiences heightened energy, a sense of grandeur, and excessive impulsivity, they may act more aggressively, brutally, and ruthlessly. In a depressive episode, on the other hand, the person may act more coldly, with calculated precision, focusing on their goal without emotional outbursts, but carrying a heavy load of negative emotions. It all fits.”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar rush that came whenever you were close to solving a case. Your heart raced, and warmth crept over your neck, like a fever. You and Reid burst into the station, practically supporting each other like two converging whirlwinds, nearly colliding with Hotch in the process. He was initially startled, then his eyes narrowed as he took in both your faces, his expression becoming more focused as you explained everything.

For a moment, he was silent.

“Let’s call Garcia,” he finally said. “Have her find all the men who lived in that orphanage eight years ago.”

You took a deep breath. This was really happening. You were so close to catching the killer...

After filling Garcia in on everything you knew, she immediately set to work compiling a list of men who might fit the profile. Meanwhile, you and Reid headed to the coffee and snack machine. You bought yourself a drink and a chocolate bar, feeling the rush of adrenaline start to subside.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of calm, you checked your phone for any missed calls.

“Neither my mother nor my father called,” you said, slipping the phone back into your pocket. Sharing personal details with anyone on the team still felt strange—especially when it came to your family. You wondered if it would ever feel normal. You noticed Spencer giving you a concerned look. “It’s a good thing,” you added quickly. “It means Jeremy’s condition is stable. Or maybe even improving. If it were bad, I’d have twenty missed calls from my mom—and one from my dad.”

You tried to turn that last line into a joke, but it came out sounding more bleak than funny.

“I hope everything will be okay with him,” Reid said, as his cup filled with coffee from the machine. He reached for it, his gaze fixed on you. “You remember that you can come to me if things get tough, right?”

“I try not to forget,” you admitted, hugging your arms around yourself. “But it’s not something I’m used to.”

For a moment, he looked at you silently, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes seemed so gentle and understanding that it was hard for you to look away.

"Hey, lovers!"

Spencer jumped and cursed as coffee spilled onto his hand. Startled, you both turned to see Morgan grinning at you with a playful smile.

"Come over here for a sec."

You felt the urge to cover your face at the sight of the entire team, who had all heard what he'd called you.

Some unknown force held you back from nudging Emily when she shot you an amused sidelong glance. But soon, your focus shifted to Garcia's face on the laptop screen, ready to share her findings.

"Tell us what you found, babygirl."

"So, I managed to pull up quite a long list of former orphanage residents. Surprisingly long, for such a small town. Hotch helped narrow it down a bit… I found twelve men who would now be between twenty and forty years old. Five of them still live in town, but one of them caught my eye. Well, actually, his story did. He was placed in the orphanage at ten years old after his mother, struggling with bipolar disorder, attempted suicide."

You already knew it was him.

"His name is Logan Osborne, currently twenty-four years old. He has one minor offense on record for selling weed, oddly enough, in another town. Here’s where it gets interesting—though not in a good way. His mother actually survived but passed away less than two years ago, and he inherited her house and apparently moved back into it."

"Returning to the town where he was abused must have been the trigger that pushed him to murder," said Reid. 

"That would fit with my theory about bipolar personality disorder," you summarized. "Genetics alone doesn’t determine the disorder, but the fact is that in families with cases of this disorder, the likelihood of it appearing in other individuals is higher."

At one point, you had read a lot about it due to your own mother. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reid looked at you intently, surely noticing the sudden shift in the tone of your voice. God, he must have been that observant?

"What's the address of his house?" Hotch asked.

You waited in readiness as Garcia provided the information. Once she did, you all gathered and headed out.

*

If you had found him there, everything would have been so simple. Almost too simple.

But there was no sign of Logan Osborne at the house, nor any indication that it was inhabited by a serial killer who decapitated his victims. Instead of immediately securing the building, Hotch ordered a stakeout. Inside, several agents, including Morgan and Prentiss, waited for the moment he might show up.

The rest of the team had no tasks assigned. You waited at the precinct, hoping something would happen. Meanwhile, Garcia sifted through thousands of bits of information about the man. Some were more important than others, but unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel a growing sense of dread among you all.

Since inheriting his mother’s house, he hadn’t paid taxes or most of his bills. He didn’t have a steady job, though he picked up odd jobs here and there. You checked with the local police, but most didn’t recognize his name. One officer who did recall him said he didn’t have the best relations with the authorities. With anyone, really.

"A little anarchist, huh?" Rossi muttered.

You felt the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Reaching for it, you saw a message from an unknown number.

hey it’s charlotte. you said we could meet and talk when i needed to please can we meet? i can’t handle what i saw on the farm yesterday and my dad isn’t helping with his behavior either

A few hours had already passed since the ambush was set, and still nothing had happened, though the darkness outside was settling in.

“Would it be alright if I disappear for a quarter?” you asked. “I promised something to the sheriff’s daughter, and it looks like I’ll need to meet with her.”

You didn’t receive any opposition. If anything happened, you would be immediately informed by phone. Reid offered to go with you, but Hotch needed him for something. You wouldn’t have minded his company—on the contrary, you would have been glad for it—but on the other hand, Charlotte might not feel too comfortable with it. After all, she had arranged to meet only with you.

As you drove toward her house, you spent a lot of time reflecting on your earlier conversation. It was the first time you really had the chance to think about it seriously. Her mysterious boyfriend, whom she had been so reluctant to talk about and with whom there was probably an age gap. And who also grew up in that orphanage...

You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you earlier. Maybe because of how well-behaved Charlotte seemed? Her big, bright eyes full of kindness. She herself seemed like the perfect teenager—sensitive and eager to help. Plus, she was the sheriff's daughter. For God's sake, you were about to go to the house of another cop.

You only realized how foolish you had been when, as soon as you stepped out of the car, something hit you in the back of the head.

*

You were woken up by nothing but the pain in the back of your head.

You opened your eyes, struggling to hold back a groan. Everything around you was blurry, as if you had a terrible vision problem and were forced to go somewhere without your glasses. The image, however, began to sharpen with each passing second, causing your heart to beat faster.

You were in…

It was hard to say what kind of place this was. Incredibly dark, the only weak light source was somewhere behind your back. It was possible it was a battery-powered lamp. You couldn’t confirm your suspicions, however… because you couldn’t move. You realized this with horror.

You were tied to the chair with rope. It wrapped tightly around your body, making it hard to breathe and pressing painfully on your ribs. Some of them might even be broken.

Wherever you were, the whole situation looked far from promising. Fragments of memories swirled around your head, randomly flying into your mind and helping you recall what had actually happened.

Of course, working for the FBI, you knew how to behave in the event of a kidnapping. The most important rule was: don’t panic. The problem was, it was damn hard to follow that. 

Inhale, exhale, something jabbed at your ribs. You couldn’t stop another soft groan from escaping.

As if drawn by the sound, a young man appeared in your line of sight.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning over you as if you were an infant. After a second, he straightened up, the smile completely replaced by a serious expression. “I don’t like killing people when they’re asleep.”

Garcia had sent you his pictures, and even with the poor lighting, you were able to recognize your unsub in them.

"Logan Osborne?"

"I see you've done your homework."

"Where’s Charlotte?" you asked, a sudden rush of panic flooding through you. Maybe she was behind you, somewhere you couldn’t see? Was she involved in your abduction? After all, it was her who sent the message...

"You think I know where she is every moment of every day?" he sneered, suddenly angry. The room was small, but to your left, there was a rotting bench with metal objects arranged on it. You had to turn your head sharply to confirm your worst suspicion. Knives.

It was getting harder and harder not to panic.

"Knowing her, she's probably painting. My work on the farm really inspired her."

There was a sound. Like a drop falling from the ceiling.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"None of your business."

"Is this a bunker?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What difference does it make if I find out? I'm tied up," you shrugged meaningfully, emphasizing your position. This caused a wave of pain to course through your chest.

For a moment, there was silence. The man was wandering around the surroundings, and all you could do was watch as he wiped each blade on his flannel shirt. The bile began to rise in your throat with every move he made. Pessimistic thoughts started flooding your mind, so tragic that you barely managed to hold back the tears.

First, everyone on your team thought you went to meet Charlotte. Meaning, it would likely be your prolonged absence that would eventually seem suspicious.

Second, you were in such a mysterious place that everything pointed to the fact that no one would find you, even by accident. Well, alive. 

You knew you couldn’t give up, even though there was little you could do in such a situation. The only real solution in such a hopeless scenario was… convincing him to let you go. A scenario that was damn unlikely, but since death was already threatening you, why not give it a try?

"Logan," you said, your voice trembling. In your mind, you replayed his profile, reminding yourself of facts that could give you an edge in your conversation with him. "Killing me won't help you. It's not me you want to hurt, it's those who hurt you in the orphanage. And those who didn’t react."

"Fine, it’s a bunker," he replied, as if he hadn’t even heard most of what you said. "Back in the Cold War, people built them by the dozen. They didn’t even inform the authorities. We found this one once with the kids from the orphanage, and we didn’t tell anyone, you know what that means, agent?"

You were painfully aware of it.

"Logan," you tried again. "My people know you killed those people. They'll find you the moment you step out into the open. Killing me won’t change anything..."

"Not killing me won’t either."

"They’ll look at you more favorably..."

"Favorably?" he exploded in a manic laugh, suddenly right in front of you. You flinched at the sight of his crazed face so close to yours. "They’ll look favorably on a seven-time murderer? Are you joking? Since I’m already screwed, I might as well cut off your head too..."

Fuck the fake calm, you were terrified.

You trembled, the pain in your ribs intensified, and the first tears began to fall from your eyes. You thought about how you’d never see Jeremy again. How he’d wake up and your death would probably be one of the first things he’d find out. What would he do then? God, your team would think you were an idiot. Of course, no one would say it out loud, but that’s what you were. You got yourself into this situation. Under these circumstances, they shouldn’t even particularly mourn, though they probably would, just a little.

Spencer would probably grieve a little more than the others. Those two nights in one room had brought you closer, you couldn’t deny that. Before, you had thought of him as just a regular coworker, the genius boy, sometimes amusing in his awkwardness. The way he supported you at the worst possible moment made you realize just how valuable he was.

Wherever you end up after death, you’ll miss him.

You didn’t know what motivated you to speak up again. Was it the thought of Jeremy and Spencer, or perhaps the sound of Logan sharpening some kind of weapon, probably an ax?

“Please," you pleaded simply, no longer knowing what else might reach him.

"Don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry. Charlotte does it all the time."

"Charlotte," you repeated. "Did she... know?"

You wanted to know if the girl you had tried so hard to help had played an active role in your murder.

"Of course not," he sneered. "She didn’t help me with anything, if that’s what you’re asking. But she told me about you, the nice FBI agent who snoops around a lot. She thought I was just some rebellious guy, attractive to a teenager like her. You know, with a tough cop dad. I won't lie, it turned me on, sleeping with the sheriff's daughter, knowing I was being hunted by him. And not just by him. Even by the damn FBI."

He seemed proud of himself. Maybe that’s what you should do? Appeal to his ego?

"You were really a tough case," you said, pretending to be impressed. "Seriously. Hours spent analyzing, we sat in silence, none of my colleagues knew what to say..."

“Spare me, I see what you're doing. You're trying to manipulate me... because... you feel superior." After saying those words, a sudden fury ignited in him. He knocked over the rotting table, the knives on it scattering to the floor. You took a breath, clenching your fists tightly in pure panic. "Just like they did. They thought they could hurt little kids, abuse them... because their position allowed it. After all, they were older, their word against a child's word. They say children have too vivid an imagination, have you ever heard that?!”

You closed your eyes, he was screaming it right in your face.

"No, Logan, that's not true... they were monsters, but I would have helped you if I... if I could."

"Then why didn't you?!"

"I... I... I..." Tears tore through you, and you got lost in your own words.

Logan opened his mouth again, but suddenly fell silent. His earlier screams were completely drowned out by a sound from above. You stiffened, recognizing it. Footsteps.

"They're here," you whispered, like a prayer. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

The man, jaw clenched, stared at the entrance to the bunker. He suppressed a scream of rage, turned around, and grabbed his head, not knowing what to do. But suddenly, he bent down to pick something up from the floor, one of the knives he had knocked over when he flipped the table.

"W-what are you doing?" you asked. Something urged you to struggle, even though you knew it was pointless, the ropes were too tight. "What are you doing?!"

The footsteps mixed with voices, even a shout, and the room was soon flooded with a tsunami of daylight.

"Since they’ve got me anyway, I might as well slit your throat..."

You couldn’t stop the scream as he approached you with the knife. A firm grip on your shoulder, keeping you from squirming. The cold metal on your neck, grazing the thin skin.

And then a shot.

NOTE:

I HATE THE ENDING THE READER IS SO STUPID....!

but in my defence i got kind of lost in my plans and i had to change many things in the last moment

but i want to say that im very grateful for reading 2 previos parts and all the notes under<3 i didn't expect so many likes and comments

epilogue for this story will be posted tomorrow!

taglist: @nightfullofparadox @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[cynicalmusings]

the pairing of heizou x forensic linguist!reader is rotating around my brain like it’s in a microwave.

i can totally imagine them both hyper-analysing mundane conversations between people (and each other!)—and it’s an added bonus if there’s a hint of a skulder dynamic going on where heizou’s always going on about his wacky dreams and intuition and the reader’s more down-to-earth and sticking to the hard facts.

actually, hold that thought for a moment—a linguist who likes sticking to the hard facts is interesting. it’s not necessarily a contradiction, per se, but linguistics as a science/field of study is much less materialistic than, well, the sciences, despite the research being conducted in a scientific manner. so having an brain-in-the-clouds detective, who “should” be concerned with purely the physical evidence, and a very down-to-earth linguist who “should” be more comfortable with the abstract, work together, makes a very interesting dynamic…

[greenglowinspooks]

To be honest. DCxDP where the reason Danny meets the bats is Ace the Bat-hound

Like, just think about it for a second. Danny is in Gotham for college, or maybe he just moved out to find a city where having mad scientist parents isn’t actually that unusual.

He can see ghosts.

The ghosts know this.

Now he’s getting harassed left and right by spirits trying to get closure. Fine, whatever, most of them are a one-and-done type deal, and the amount of ghosts trying to get his help steadily decreases.

Except for this one very stubborn dog.

It just keeps showing up and leading him to crime scenes! He doesn’t know how many “anonymous tips” he can call in to the cops before they trace his phone! And this dog, this incredibly good boy, will not stop trying to help the city. He’s never met anyone with such a strong sense of justice, let alone a dog. Can dogs even have a moral compass?

And so Danny just accepts the fact that Ace isn’t going anywhere and becomes his reluctant sidekick/dedicated medium. He leans into the whole thing, dressing up in a mix of traditional magic-user attire and accessories that pay homage to the ghost dog.

He becomes somewhat well known. The psychopomp detective following around the shadowy figure of a German Shepard? That’s unusual! That’s weird! I mean, it’s not the weirdest thing in Gotham, sure, but he’s a new vigilante and he’s got a ghost dog that people can only see when it’s around him. Someone’s gonna notice.

Damian, as Robin, is the first to reach out to him.

Ace doesn’t know Damian but he does know a Robin, and while this isn’t his Robin, he’s still friendlier than usual. Danny’s panicking because oh god the bats are here and also is this kid gonna steal my ghost dog, Damian is absolutely delighted by Ace, and Ace is just happy to see a Robin again.

Damian decides that the psychopomp isn’t a danger to anyone, and there’s no reason to put this encounter into his reports, really, and perhaps Danny can help with some of his cases in the future.

Danny is sweating bullets because Damian basically tells him that he’ll keep him secret as long as he gets to play with Ace. Ace is happy that he’s finally getting some bat affiliated crime-fighting assistance.

And so, Danny is now both Ace AND Damian’s reluctant assistant. At least whenever he’s in trouble, he can always call a middle schooler to help him.

(Is Robin even in school? He’s out patrolling damn near every night, and he stays out late as hell. Does he have a bedtime? He should.)

Eventually it gets to the point where Damian is going over to Danny’s house. When he first sees it, he has a damn bitch you live like this moment, to which Danny responds that not everyone has the money to afford a nice place. Damian counters that he could at least take the time to clean up, and Danny replies that he’s working, going to school, and being a vigilante assistant to a ghost dog, something’s got to give.

Danny nearly has a heart attack when he checks his bank account the next day and sees that someone transferred him 10,000 dollars.

And so they get into a routine. Danny and Damian fight crime with Ace at night, and occasionally Damian stops by during the day to play with Ace and have Danny help with his homework.

(Damian is smart enough to do it on his own, but some of the instructions are written incredibly confusingly, and he would never admit to needing help to his family. Danny is just glad that the kid is in school and cares about his education, blissfully unaware that he’s basically emotionally adopted him.)

Damian is used to being in Danny’s company.

Eventually, when going over a case with the family, Damian absentmindedly remarks that he’ll have to ask Danny about some of the clues that they might be missing. Nightwing asks who he means and Damian makes a face like he just swallowed a lemon.

Cue shitstorm.

Who is “Danny?” Why is Damian willing to ask for help from anyone, much less someone outside of the family? Does he know who Damian is? Has Damian been compromised? What the hell is going on?

Damian now has to explain that Danny is the psychopomp with the ghost dog who he might have met hunted down while on patrol and conveniently not mentioned, but he’s not a bad person, really, and he lets him play with Ace, and he’s been quite helpful on certain cases due to his ability to talk to ghosts.

Bruce insists that the family meet Danny. Damian, hoping that he won’t just skip town the second he hears the news, relents.

Danny is surprisingly eager to meet the bats, considering his earlier fears.

Damian, blissfully unaware of what’s coming, sets a time and place to meet.

Once everyone is there, he gives Bruce the earful of a lifetime.

Robin is in middle school! Danny knows that there’s no way to stop the boy from going on patrol, but you could at least shift his schedule so he gets enough sleep on school nights! Does the Bat even know where he is half the time?! (No) And why isn’t he comfortable asking his family for help with both cases and homework? Did they ever even notice how much time he was spending at Danny’s house? If Danny was a bad person, he could have seriously hurt the poor boy! Shame on you!

Nightwing is mortified that Damian didn’t trust him enough to tell him about any of this. Red Hood is laughing his ass off, because yeah Danny is making good points but he’s also chewing out the literal Batman. Tim is recording the whole thing. Steph is delighted by the absolute gall of this Danger Twink™️, and already planning to add him to several groupchats. Damian is more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his entire life.

You, he points to Nightwing, did your academic life feel supported when you were a Robin? Nightwing is too stunned to speak. Red Hood, eternal shit-stirrer, says that oh, we all prioritized patrol over our education, that’s just how it is. Red Robin actually dropped out of high school to avoid distractions, did you know that?

Danny honest-to-god shrieks at this.

He finishes his angry rant and leaves, everyone too stunned to stop him.

And as it turns out, Tim wasn’t the only person recording the whole thing.

The entire internet is blowing up with Psychopomp The Danger Twink™️’s rant. People are taking sides. Things are getting messy. Red Hood literally admitting on-camera to previously being a Robin is somehow not the main focus here.

Eventually someone connects some dots from the video, as well as stories circling the internet about the psychopomp. A ghost dog named Ace, who is the literal only reason that the psychopomp is fighting crime at all, which seems incredibly fond of Nightwing and Robin.

A crime-fighting dog who wants constant attention from both the current and original Robin.

Oh my god, Ace the Bat-hound died and became a crime-fighting ghost.

And, somehow, that’s still not the strangest thing going on in Gotham.

[xneens]

leaked nudes

pt. 2

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while looking at crime scene pictures on your phone, aaron swipes too far left and discovers some … sexy photos.

word count: 1.4k (short one)

warnings: nudes, masturbation, aaron jizzing in his pants like a teen, pervy aaron

This particular case had the whole team restless. Other than one lead that turned out to be useless as the suspect had an airtight alibi, there was nothing else that pointed where the unsub was. Thankfully, it seemed like his time in between kills was increasing, though that did very little to ease the team.

The precinct was almost empty, save for the few officers working the night shift and the team spread out around the conference room. Rossi was nursing a coffee, wishing it was whiskey. Emily sprawled out on the floor, the case file resting on her stomach. JJ sat sleeping in her chair, a blanket laid over her. Spencer was going over the details of the case while Derek stared at his file, unmoving.

You were positive he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Aaron sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand while he reviewed the case. You had given up trying to focus, taking a break as you played Tetris on your phone. Every few minutes, Aaron would glance at you before smiling and focusing back on his file.

After losing another game, you placed your phone on the table, leaning back in exhaustion. Looking around you, you were certain everyone except Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron were clocked out for the night. Derek was about ten minutes away from smacking his head on the table when his head slips from his hands.

Aaron flips through his file, brows furrowing. He looks around the messy table, searching for something in particular as you watched him with curiosity. “Where are the crime scene pictures from this morning’s victim?”

“Sheriff said their printer broke so they couldn’t print them out. I took a few pictures on my phone if you want to see them.” You motioned to your phone, yawning. Looking over at JJ, you resisted the urge to snatch the blanket from her.

He picks up your phone, swiping. “What’s your password?”

“Twelve thirty-four.”

Aaron paused, his lips twitching as he turned to look at you. “One, two, three, four?”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” you grumbled, ignoring his soft chuckle.

He put in the passcode, bringing him to the unclosed game of Tetris you were previously playing. Aaron couldn’t help but be amused at the high score before closing out and opening your photos. In your recents were the crime scene pictures he was looking for.

Aaron had swiped through the photos, trying to find a deviation from the killer’s MO but it looked the same as his previous victims. Maybe you had taken too many pictures of the body because he kept swiping left, looking at all the angles you had taken. The crime scene pictures had to end eventually but he was too sleep deprived to realize he’d eventually come across one of your other photos.

So he wasn’t prepared when he swiped to the left and instead of being met with another photo of the victim, it was one of you in skimpy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking his coffee as he saw it since he still managed to choke on his own saliva. Aaron’s eyes widened at the risque picture, sitting up, suddenly alert.

During him looking at the crime scene pictures, you had gotten up and walked to the vending machines. From where he sat, he could see you kick the machine in hopes of free food. The only one to witness his change of behavior was Rossi as Spencer was too engrossed in his reading, who had raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

In the photo, you were in a lacy black bra with a matching thong, bent over your bed. You had taken the picture facing the mirror, your back arched and ass up–on your knees and your clothing barely covering your essentials. Aaron swore he could see your nipples through the laced bra.

Curious, and driven by his hardening cock, Aaron swiped more. His breath hitched at the site of you topless, with just a pair of boxers on. A pair of his boxers. He remembered you shamelessly asking him for some shorts out of his go bag as you had forgotten to repack your sleep clothes and he had given you his boxers, blushing all the while.

As he stared at your breasts, he grew hard. He knew he should stop and close out, respecting your privacy and all, but he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look away let alone put the phone down.

He swiped again, this time you covered your bare breasts with one hand. You lay on your bed, naked yet what Aaron desperately wanted to see was covered by a discarded shirt that laid between your legs. The sun hit your body right, sunbeams illuminating your hair and despite the sensual position, he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you are.

Looking up, he saw you were still bullying the vending machine and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He didn’t want you to see him being … perverted was the only word that came to him that described the situation perfectly.

Aaron couldn’t meet Rossi’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, careful to swallow it right. He pushed the chair into the table, concealing his rock-hard cock. His polyester suit pants rubbed against his cock, and he hissed quietly at the friction, wanting to head to the bathroom with your phone in hand to fix his situation.

He remained seated, pulling up your phone again in the hopes that he looked like he was going through the crime scene pictures, the reason you granted him permission to look through your phone.

He’s thinking about stopping, his finger shaking, urging him to swipe one more time while a small part of him screams to stop. Aaron swipes anyways.

His exhale is ragged as he sees your pussy for the first time. The video plays on mute and he almost combusts right then and there as you slowly finger yourself. You’re in a hotel room, your shirt bunched around your tits, a hand playing with a nipple. Aaron watches your index finger enter your dripping cunt, the wetness visible on camera. He has to bite his fist as you slowly slid it in and out, biting your lip at the feeling.

As you take your finger out, he watches your hand pinched your nipples, eyes narrowing at the shirt you had on. As you inserted a second finger into your sopping pussy, Aaron realized it was his shirt. A small, barely audible groan escaped his lips at the revelation. Video you had arched your back, mouth opening as you fucked yourself with two fingers. He could barely keep it together at the thought of you wearing his shirt as you fingered yourself.

He can’t take his eyes off your show, unknowingly palming himself with his free hand. Aaron watches in awe as you pump your fingers faster, unable to decide whether to watch the ecstasy on your face or your pussy swallowing your fingers in greed. The video is a minute from ending and he’s mesmerized at the screen.

So mesmerized he hadn’t noticed you come back into the room with a bunch of snacks in your arms. He jumped slightly as you dropped the snacks onto the table, quickly closing out your photos and placing your phone on the table.

You smiled at him, noticing the redness in his cheeks and ears. “I come back from battle with a feast.”

He nods, subtly fixing his pants under the table. Aaron doesn’t dare speak a word, knowing well enough that his mouth was dry.

Picking up a bag of goldfish, you threw it at Spencer’s face, breaking him out of his own world before getting a bag of Chex Mix and handing it out to your boss. “Here, Hotch.”

Your hand touches his as you give him the snack. From the video, a small touch and you saying his name, he cums in his pants. His hands wrap tightly around the bag, Chex Mix flying to the floor as the bag pops. His climax hits him hard, spurts of his cum wetting his pants and euphoria washing through him in powerful waves.

When he comes down from his high, he sees the whole team wake up, staring at the snack littering the floor and table. You glanced at him, confused, grimacing at the mess.

Aaron cleared his throat, slowly putting the bag on the table. “I don’t like Chex Mix.”

[pathologicalreid]

the archer | S.R.

in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angst

content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.

word count: 5.96k

a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.

can you see right through me?

Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.

Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”

You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.

The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.

It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.

Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.

���And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.

You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”

He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.

“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.

Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”

A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.

'cause all of my enemies started out friends

Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.

You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.

“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.

Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.

Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”

“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”

Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”

You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”

“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.

You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”

Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”

Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.

When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.

He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”

You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”

The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.

Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.

You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.

You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.

Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.

Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.

“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.

Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.

“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.

“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”

“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.

Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”

“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.

You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”

Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”

“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”

Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.

help me hold on to you

Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.

Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”

That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.

“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.

You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.

He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey

The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.

“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.

You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.

“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.

Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.

“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”

Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.

“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.

Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”

You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”

He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”

Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.

You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”

Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.

Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.

It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.

They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working. 

all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again

The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.

You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.

Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”

You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.

For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?

Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.

“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.

“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.

Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.

The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.

“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.

Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”

Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.

“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.

The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”

Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”

You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”

“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.

Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”

“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.

Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”

Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”

You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”

She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”

You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”

Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”

You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”

“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”

Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”

Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.

You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”

“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.

You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”

“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”

The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.

i see right through me

Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.

He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.

He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”

You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”

He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.

“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.

Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.

Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”

You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”

“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.

Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.

He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”

“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”

After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”

“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”

You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”

“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”

Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”

Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”

Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”

“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.

Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”

who could stay?

You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.

You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.

Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.

“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”

Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.

Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.

“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.

He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”

“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.

Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.

But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.

So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”

He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”

After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”

“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.

You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.

Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.

When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.

It made your chest ache.

Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”

He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”

“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”

Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.

On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.

you could stay

please remember to like, reblog, and comment

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble no1. new neighbor

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. you visit your new next-door-neighbor's house to welcome him to the neighborhood only to find issue with the fact that's he's insanely hot (note to any potential new readers: you can read this before starting the main storyline if you'd like!)

ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ words. 2.4k

a/n. hiiiiii welcome to this first ihm drabble!! i just had an idea of writing a small scene of when ihm gojo & reader first met so :0 cracked this out in an hour. hope you enjoyy!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

There were a great deal of possibilities you had expected to see when you rang the doorbell to your new next-door-neighbors house, but none of them were quite what you had ended up seeing at the front door when it had swung open.

Perhaps it could’ve been a newlywed couple, looking stressed beyond belief with thin lines under their eyes over the agony that comes with moving into a new home with a partner. It could’ve been a teenager, possibly a broody one, because your parents moving the family out to some random town right in the middle of your high school years would’ve made any kid emo. Or it could’ve been an old wrinkly man, grumpy and a little sore to the eyes and entirely too irritated by someone ringing his doorbell because it fucked up the frequency transmitter on his hearing aids.

Instead, when the door flew open, your neck craned up to meet the eye contact of the most stupidly hot and handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Well, at least certainly in all of this smalltown in Dayton county. They don’t build men like that here. With stunning blue eyes that stare deep into yours, hair that’s boyishly shaggy yet looks so soft at the same time, tall, muscular, broad shoulders. And the soft cotton of his pajama long-sleeve shirt with the matching plaid pants clinging to the curves of strong biceps and thighs has you full-fledged staring at this—…dare-you-say, incredibly husband-material of a man.

You almost forget you have a boyfriend for a second. And, for the record, your boyfriend is a sexy piece of ass too (Choso if you’re reading this please know that I love you very much and Gojo would have to fight a feral bear to steal me away from you). But, god, was it a crime to find another man attractive occasionally?

He blinks at you, eyes wide like he was equally as shocked to take in the appearance of you. You’re also sure the last thing he expected was a visitor right now at 2:33pm on a Tuesday, but you had finally seen all the UHAUL trucks pulled up in his driveway and the men moving furniture into his house leave the neighborhood, so you felt now would be a good time to introduce yourself.

“Hi,” he finally says to you, rubbing the back of his neck like it’s sore, “uhh…can I help you?”

You’re momentarily speechless. “Oh! I’m—” you take a pause to breathe because words are suddenly unspeakable without at least a gallon of air in your lungs, “I’m y/n, I live next door.” You point to your house. “I just saw you moving in and so I…wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!” You hold out the paper plate wrapped in tin foil that you were holding. “I made some pumpkin bread for you.”

The corner of his mouth curls up slightly, eyebrows raising pleasantly. “Oh, that’s really sweet, thanks,” he says with a tone that suggests he’s surprised by the hospitality and you briefly wonder where he’s moved here from. He takes the plate from you and balances it on his palm.

An awkward silence.

“Uh, did you wanna—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind himself, “did you wanna come inside?”

You blink at him.

“I mean, the place is kind of a mess right now, but—”

“Yes,” you cut him off.

He smiles at you, relaxed now compared to that hesitance from before, and he uses his back to push the door open more while stepping aside for you to walk inside, and walk inside is exactly what you do.

The house is a little cold, with no heater running, and incredibly empty. It’s pretty much the exact copy layout of your house, as all houses in the neighborhood are, except the color tones within this one are much brighter. The foyer is crowded with stacked cardboard boxes, some open and some not, with styrofoam sprawled all across carpet and hardwood, and you take a moment to admire the seafoam green loveseat pressed flush up against one of the walls.

“Got it on Facebook Marketplace,” he tells you, and you glance over at him to see him watching you assess his furniture, “lots of surprisingly good finds on there.”

You smile at him and stand up straight.

“I’m Satoru, by the way,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the door now before crossing his arms, “sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“Ohh, no worries. You’re probably tired from moving in?” you ask, trying not to feel awkward in this essentially-a-stranger’s house.

“Very,” he laughs.

“What made you move here?”

“Oh, just, uh, my job. My family’s out here too, so figured it’d be nice being a little closer to them. But I was in a bit of a rush to close on something out here, so I just bought the first place I could find.” He peers in towards the house, eyes darting across his empty dining room. You notice slabs of deconstructed wood are leaned up against the wall. “But it’s nice. Neighborhood’s nice too.”

“Oh yesss we have wonderful people maintaining it!” you tell him.

He flashes you one of those smiles again. “You’ve lived here a while?”

“Yes! I was born and raised here, actually,” you say and then point a finger in the direction of your house, “that’s actually the only house I’ve ever lived in.”

His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s rare.”

“Yuppp. Just my mom and I now.”

“Oh, is your mom the one that was out gardening yesterday?” he asks. “Pulling out weeds on the edges of the driveway?”

You sigh. “Yes. That’s her. Er, at least I’m pretty sure it is, because I always tell her not to garden anymore, but she never listens to me.”

He lets out a well-meaning scoff, and you wonder if he’ll ask you more questions about it, but he lets the conversation settle into a silence instead. You discretely steal a glance at his left hand when he untucks it from his crossed arms to scratch at his jaw, and you notice there’s no wedding ring on his finger.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks.

You blink at him. “Oh, I—…sure.”

He leads you into the kitchen, which you notice is mostly set up with all the appliances out on the counters and glass cabinets filled with ceramic sets of mugs and plates. He has an espresso machine set up in the corner of the stover counter, and you follow him right up to it.

“Woooow an espresso machine, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

He flits his gaze to you with a smile on his face before he grabs the handle of the portafilter, twisting it to release it from the machine, and then he presses some button that pushes steam out of it. “It’s worth it if you’re a daily coffee drinker.”

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him. “Oh, I survive off of coffee, please. I work as a night shift nurse at the ED over on Main Street, so I need all the caffeine I can get.”

“You’re a nurse? That’s good to know,” he says, measuring out beans on a small digital scale. You turn to face him a little more, entirely intrigued by the process now. “If I’m ever in a life or death situation, can I give you a call?”

“If you’re still able to give me a call, then you’re not in a life or death situation.”

He gives you another one of those smiles, a little cheekily lopsided this time, like he’s really enjoying this conversation with you. It’s probably something that’s pleasantly mentally stimulating to his exhausted mind as he’s likely spent the last three days or so talking to no one except the UHAUL truck people and the melancholic memorabilia within his boxes of stuff. It was as easy as any small talk could be, this conversation, and it’s coming a little too naturally for your own liking as well.

He puts the beans in the grinder, and you hear a whirring sound as they are ground into fine particles that release a rich aroma of bitter into the air.

“This seems awfully tedious. I take back my desire of wanting an espresso machine,” you comment, pushing your knuckles into your cheek now as you perch yourself up by an elbow on the counter.

He laughs as he sifts the grounds into the portafilter, breaking up any clumps, and then he twists it onto the espresso machine before placing a mug underneath it. “Yeah, there’s a steep learning curve with it, but once you perfect it, it’s pretty easy. A lot can go wrong that can affect the quality of the shot though, for sure.”

“Like what?” you ask, a little too interested.

“Uhh, you can over extract, which leaves kind of a bitter taste, or under extract, which makes it taste sour. Usually depends on the ground size or the tamping. Plus, when you switch beans, you’ve gotta experiment on the settings all over again.”

You hear the whirring of the machine plus the delicate steady drip of the espresso into the mug. “I have a headache just listening to that. Why bother at all?”

He nods his head slowly, glancing at the watch on his wrist, and after a set amount of seconds has passed, he turns the machine off then peers into the mug. “Well, taste it and see if it’s worth it,” he says, handing the mug to you.

You take it from him, the fragrance of coffee immediately making your mouth water. And you take a delicate sip of the coffee, a slight bitterness hitting your tongue followed immediately by sweetness from the crema that has your eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh wow. Incredibly worth it,” you say.

He laughs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Gosh no, I’ll just have it like this, please.”

You both chat a little bit more as he makes himself a cup too. You notice that he has his coffee black, as essentially an Americano, which he pours over ice in a shiny glass even in the cool of autumn. 

Apparently he’s a real estate agent, selling properties a little out further than the county line, in more posh areas than here. Like all those cliff-side homes you see when you’re driving further out of town and always sigh to yourself wondering if you’ll ever get to live in a pretty house like that someday. 

His parents live nearby as well as his younger sister’s family and he has a niece who’s four years old. And you want to ask so badly if he has a family of his own as well, but if he did, wouldn’t they be here with him? 

“Holy shit this is amazing,” he says through a muffled mouthful of the pumpkin bread you brought for him, “you made this from scratch?”

No. You used a pre-made mix. “Oh gosh, yes, I’m something of a little baker, if you will.”

He nods, letting out an indulgent sigh as he chews, eyes shutting close tightly in satisfaction of the taste and you find it amusing. He has a physical build that you could only assume requires an immense amount of discipline, but it’s kind of cute to see he’s somewhat weak for sweets.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Ah, I have to get going. I need to take my mom somewhere, but um, it was really nice meeting you! Hopefully I’ll see you around in the neighborhood?”

He nods his head, “oh, yeah, definitely.”

Your cheeks warm a little.

He walks you to the front entrance, and you briefly glance out the window into his driveway. “Oh. There’s a boat.”

He walks up right next to you, his arm pressed against your shoulder as he stands close, and you note that he smells so nice, like shampoo and clean laundry. The softness of his pajamas brushes against your skin and it makes you borderline dizzy.

Choso would be pissed off to the nines if he knew you were feeling things for your next-door-neighbor. Cut it out already, you think to yourself.

“Oh they finally brought my boat in,” he comments, “sweet.”

“That’s yours?” you ask, turning to face him in surprise, “it’s huge!”

“Yup, just bought it,” he says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets as he walks up to the window to peer out the blinds. “A beauty, she is.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a she, it’s an it.”

“To you, maybe. But to me?…she’s so much more than that,” he says, but there’s some self-regarding hint of satire in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping your shoes back on at the door. “It’s kind of…lengthy though. Where are you going to park it?”

He shrugs. “Probably right out there. Where it is right now.”

Where it is right now?!?! The hull is dangerously close to the entry of your driveway. There’s no way that would be agreeable with you. How are you supposed to pull your car in?

“Um. I’m pretty sure I’d have difficulties pulling my car in if you parked it there,” you tell him politely as he opens the door for you and you step out onto the concrete step of his front entrance.

You turn around to face him and see him squinting his eyes at his boat with inspection of your concern. Sorry for sounding repetitive, but it's seriously shocking. The way he looks. The way that small little expression—his eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, bottom lip slightly jutting out, all paired with the haphazard way his hair falls over his eyes—makes you stare at him like he’s some Grecian sculpture. It was a little concerning.

But, at the end of the day, attraction is merely cognitive, is it not? A social construct, if you will. Something that can go away just as easily as it comes, and then arrive once more as easily as it went away.

A pattern you’ll eventually realize a lot with your new next-door-neighbor, Gojo Satoru.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of drabble]

a/n. alternate universe where they fuck on the marble countertop of his kitchen island on first encounter pls

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

@anniegojo @rirk-ke @chiyokoemilia @higurumapet @pickuptruck01

@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

@ricaliscious @satxoru @oyaoya-bungeegum @satowooo @samistars

@ifartmangos @andeverden @13-09-01 @lindyloomoo @tvdumarvelhpsimp

taglist is closed

[jasmines-library]

May I ask for platonic batboys x paramedic reader? The reader works the night shift, so they meet each other pretty often when dealing with criminals as she and her colleagues are doing damage control. They share gossip and find the best all night diners. Sometimes, if they're in trouble and too far from home, they can usually find her in her house.

In short can I just have some fluff of batfam with a civilian friend?

This is my first time requesting anything, plase forgive me if it's a little vague as English isn't really my first language.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: hi hi hi. Before I start anon I just want to say thank you so much for waiting patiently. You requested this like two months ago and i've been so busy that i've only just got around to writing it. Thanks so much for being awesome. This idea is so cute. I also hope that HCs are okay, I really wanted to write this for you quickly (although im not really sure i can call it quick after how long it took me to get round to it) p.s your English is perfect!

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The first time you met the boys, it was almost like fate. You instantly clicked.

Like usual you were working the night shift; a shift usually expected to be long and gruelling. But never in city like Gotham.

You had received the call from GCPD, but that wasn't uncommon.

They were dealing with some criminals in the city centre and some bystanders had got caught in the crossfire and needed medical attention.

Again, not unusual. You were a paramedic after all.

What was unusual was the gaggle of masked vigilantes milling around the scene. Not one, but four.

Usually they would have fled by now; moved on to solving crime in another part of the city, but the night was slow and so they were there to help.

Though, I would use the term 'help' loosely. They spent more time getting in the way as they tried to help.

Especially the small one, who you later learned was Damian.

You saw them more often after that.

Weather it was fate working her strange magic or weather it was the fact that you found yourself actively seeking out a swish of their capes.

They were a good laugh; witty and unafraid to tell you what they think.

If nights were slow, you would wander round the streets together, trying out all of the different diners that claimed to have the best pie in the city, but were really just as shit as the next ones.

As your relationships between the vigilantes grew and you came to know them more personally, they would often come to you for help.

Gunshot wound to the shoulder? Jason would be tapping on your window as he pleaded that you would let him in before dripping blood all over your carpet.

Feeling nauseous? Dick would be at your door with a list of his symptoms.

They grew to trust you to help them, and you were glad to do so.

(Although, you would be less than pleased when they show up on your doorstep at two in the morning on your day off)

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[shojizbae]

Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Glasses | Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: Spencer shows up in new glasses and it awakens some new feelings for your fellow BAU agent. 

A/N: I wrote this a month ago procrastinating studying for my exam 4 on Tuesday after I saw this GIF and finally finished it tonight. so here it is - hope you enjoy! this is NOT proofread. Sorry for any mistakes.  

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

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********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

**Aye Warning: this is PG 13 - little raunchy at the end * 

You and your fellow agents sat around the round table in the conference room. A new case had come to light, JJ gathering you all before you even had time to sit down at your desk. Fresh coffee sat in front of you and just the smell brought comfort. You glanced around the table, missing one of your agents. Spencer. Usually he beat you to work every morning, reprimanding and teasing you about it. 

“If you’d drink the coffee here instead of stopping every morning on your way to work, you’d actually be on time and beat me here.” Spencer teases following you through the glass double doors. He was in his usual work attire - slacks and a button up. His hair a curly mess. His messenger bag hung over his shoulder. 

You turned around to face him, walking backwards a few steps and made a face, mocking him, “I’m not drinking that tap water you all call coffee.” You saluted your coffee cup toward him, “I will always be late for a nice, fresh cup of coffee.” 

“Where’s Spencer?” You asked, sipping on your coffee and flipping open the case file JJ tossed in front of you. 

She took a moment to glance around the room, perplexed Spencer wasn’t here yet. “I actually don’t know.” She peeked out the window overlooking the rest of the office, “Usually he beats you here.”

JJ went on with the meeting, turning on the TV screen to show pictures of the crime scene and now the next missing and possible victim. 

“Sorry I’m late-” Spencer says, out of breath as he enters the room in a rush. “I had an appointment and it ran later than expected -” He tosses his bag on the ground with a thud, sitting down and oblivious to the surprised looks from his fellow agents. 

Glasses. Spencer was wearing glasses. Your jaw dropped at this new sight, the pen you were chewing on, hanging against your lips. You wouldn’t disagree, Spencer Reid was a very attractive man. I mean you’d admitted that multiple times, but he was also your coworker. A relationship with a coworker could create a rocky atmosphere for the BAU.

He always been an eye candy to look at, however, this new look tossed you over the edge, changing something inside you. You needed him. His touch, his lips against yours. You were overwhelmed with such affection and adoration. Where was this coming from? Immediately your mind went dirty, your face flushed with embarrassment at having those thoughts, scared someone else could hear them. 

Spencer met your eyes from across the table, a new twinkle in his eye, “What did I miss?” He’d noticed the effect he had on you, he could read you like a book. 

You couldn’t even look him the eye. God what was this man doing to you. A wave of warmth was felt through your body; spreading to your core as new fantasies come to light. A dark mahogany desk... Spencer in a button up, loosening the tie around his neck. Oh god. You sat up quickly as if you were just touched by a hot poker and composed yourself, “JJ was just telling us about the last victims who were found-” Your eyes pleadingly glanced at JJ and the screen behind her. 

“Right anyways-” 

~ 

Everyone had settled into their seats on the jet and you stood, slipping behind the curtain to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge. When you stood back up, you were met with Spencer’s chest, “Shit--Spencer.” 

“Did I scare you?” He smiles in triumph, “You’re so jumpy.” He tilted his head as he observed the change in you. 

You stepped out of the way as Spencer reached for mini fridge, fumbling for an excuse. “Watched a scary movie last night.” 

He hums in response turning to face you, the small countertop digging into your back as you tried to put enough space between you and Spencer. “Which movie?” He glances back over his shoulder, checking the curtain is closed. 

You glanced around him as well, wondering what he was looking for, but finally meeting his eyes, “oh you know.. I think it was scream?” 

He closes the space between the two of you, slipping his hands behind you and  placing them firmly on the countertop behind you. 

“Spencer!” A quiet gasp escaped your lips as his body pressed against yours. 

“Shhh...” He places his index against your lips as he leans in close, the smell of his aftershave and minty breath hitting you in a wave. His breath is hot against your neck as his lips dance along your neck. 

Your entire body submits to his touch. oh god. 

“Wouldn’t want them to know what we’ve been up to these last couple months, now would we?” 

Comments, likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! x 

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Criminal Minds tag list: @thelovelydreamer17​ , @la-vie-en-amour1 , @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 , @astra-inclinant-sed-non-obligant (possibly: @astra-x-inclinant)  , @bluerose512 , @lolychu​ , @varsityalthete

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[thetealsky]

Moving a little too fast || Spencer Reid X fem!Reader

This was it. The moment he'd been fixating on since he bought the ring three weeks ago. They were both sat at the round table going through a case, everyone else having cleared out an hour before. She'd insisted she was close to a breakthrough and he'd indulged.

This was it. He took one last glance at her, totally engrossed in crime scene photos, absently flicking a pen between her fingers.

He stood, smoothed out the wrinkles in his trousers, cleared his throat, and got down on one knee. This was it.

"Sweetheart I-"

"Spence?"

His head swiveled up as he held up the ring between his fingers. There was a beautiful little crinkle in her brow, her eyes flicking between him and the ring.

He'd rehursed his speech thousands of times at this point, the words burned into his iodetic memory.

"I- ever since your first day at the BAU I felt this unexplainable connection. Even when I could barely string a sentence together around you I could just feel-" Hands cupping his brought him out of his monologue.

"Spencer, baby," her smile was soft but the crinkle remained, "god forbid I interrupt being told how loved I am, but what is this really about?" One hand came up to cup his jaw.

"I- what? I'm, I'm proposing." This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His fingers pushed down on the ring. He couldn't feel the scratch of his cardigan, suddenly stiflingly hot.

"And in another circumstance I'd say your doing an amazing job but, baby, why are you proposing? We've been together less that a year." She let out a soft chuckle, thumb absently stroking his cheek.

He looked down, fiddling with the ring in his hand.

"I just - I just thought -" He just wanted to have a future with her. He just wanted to know she'd be there when he woke up.

She could see his big brain whirring behind his eyes. She slipped out of her chair and met him on the floor. Pulling his body into a relaxed hug, she gave relief to his previously bent knee and his hands were able to drop into her lap, ring trapped between his palms.

"Take your time baby." She said, kissing his temple and then simply holding him.

They stayed there a few moments, breathing slowly syncing up.

"I -" Spencers voice cracked slightly, "I thought if we got married, if we were serious, then you wouldn't leave." He couldn't look at her, head down in shame.

"Oh Spence, look at me baby." Softly tilting his chin up to eye level, "I'm not going anywhere. I would love to marry you some day, but I want that to be because we're both ready"

"I'm sorry, your right. It- It was stupid." He mumbled.

"Hey. It wasn't stupid. And it's important for me to know that you need reassurance. What if we meet in the middle. I was gonna tell you next month but my lease is nearly up. Think you could make room for me among your books?"

"Really?" There was the Spencer she knew, shoulders high, hands naturally finding her waist, hauling her closer in excitement, "I'd get to see you every morning when we wake up." He was almost vibrating now.

"Sounds perfect to me." She sat up and straightened herself, "think it's time to head home, why don't you hide that very pretty ring you got me, save it for when we're ready?"

Home. He looked up at her grinning form. He was already home.

[bobbeshwar]

sorry i just wanted to hear you s(cream)!

☆ summary: ghostface is in town and it’s either fuck or flee… we all know what you chose…

★ warnings: ghostface!sukuna, fem-reader, reader is a serial killer fanatic, sort of same setting as scream 1(so early 2000s), smutt, dark themes, mask kink, chase play, weapon usage(knife), ghostface hates to see reader coming, a little bit of cuting, dirty talking, degradation, a little bit of voyeurism, sukuna is super mean(but like duh), oral, rough sex, dumbification, choking, spanking, suffocation, hair pulling, squirting. come eating/swallowing, etc.

☆ word count: 3.4k~

★ a/n: boomshakalaka yes gawwwwddd

also thank you to the loml @alainatranquility for the idea☺️

The grainy image of the masked killer flickering on your tiny television set should have frightened you. Should have had you double-locking your doors and crawling under your covers, praying to wake up safely. 

“We advise everyone to stay indoors...” The reporter's voice droned on, your gaze locked on that blurry photo. A ghastly white mask open in a scream, blood spattered on the knife clutched in the killer’s hand. You could feel your thighs clenching, breath hitching as you shuffled on your living room couch. 

This was a real life serial killer in your town. A murderer who killed people for sport. Not a person in a documentary or character in a scary movie. If he’d ever met you he would probably gut you like a fish and have no mercy doing it. 

You held your breath at the thought: those gloved hands, one roughly grasping your throat and the other driving his knife repeatedly into your side. Fuck, you were wet. 

You’d been following the masked killer for weeks. Waiting with bated breath for another news report to air out about his latest victim. Lamenting with your friends about the serial killer invading your town knowing you clutched your sheets and came nightly to the thought of him invading you.

You tried to find him multiple times, rushed to crime scenes in the wake of his murders hoping to catch a glimpse, get a glance at the man absolutely ruining the equilibrium of your small suburban town. 

But he was always gone without a trace. Nowhere to be found. The news gave updates on each new kill added to his list, but couldn’t figure out where he was, who he was. This ghost face—what the news began calling him—was like something out of a movie, a fantasy. 

And so you planned to do the next best thing: use yourself as bait. 

Ghostface killed mostly at night, so it was 1am when you found yourself trekking through the woods, awaiting your could-be killer. 

A distant howl had you gasping as you whipped your head towards the sound, the only source of light the full moon hanging distantly in the sky. Twigs snapped beneath your boot-covered feet as you shuffled through the seemingly endless forest, feeling a little stupid for standing in the woods, waiting for a serial killer to come find you. At this point, you’d instead be dead from an animal attack. 

But this is what attracted the killer, you thought. 

You tried to seem open, inviting, like you were some dumb girl, walking foolishly in the woods at night. Maybe you should have brought your ex, they’d put up a good front, and lord knows they were itching to see you again. You wouldn’t mind if Ghostface took them out. 

But no, this was better. There’d be no witnesses to your shame. No eyes as you lived out your darkest desire. 

You hear a twig snap behind you and you turn quickly towards the sound, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes roam across the patchy forest, silent despite the noises. You move ahead, your thighs slick and face hot as you hold your coat a little tighter, fear coursing through your body and setting it practically aflame. 

A rustle sounds and you jump, turning once again towards the source of the sound, just a bunny in the bushes. You heave a sigh of relief turning forwards to continue walking—

Your breath is stolen by the killer standing before you. How could he even be that quiet?? He was so…

Big. Enormous is the only way to describe him. Huge broad shoulders covered by black robes, so tall he could probably grab the highest branch of the nearest tree with ease. Towering over you, he seemed more monster than man. Or maybe that was the signature ghost mask covering his face and the gleaming knife in his big gloved hand. 

He was everything and more than what you imagined him to be. You crumpled to the ground as your legs give way and you try to look scared, to will away the smile threatening to consume your face and your eyes already clouding with lust. 

Ghostface approaches you, each step making your body tremble with need as he towers over you. You somehow twist your face into a terrified expression, taking in those big thighs straining the confines of his robes and the shadow cast over your face as he stares down at you and tilts his head. 

Fuck, you think you came. “P-Please don’t kill me.” You whisper, and Ghostface says nothing. Not surprising. 

But what is surprising is his gloved hand grabbing a tight hold of your hair and yanking you towards him. 

Pain flares in your scalp and you hold back a moan, but a whimper still escapes from your lips. Maybe you sounded pained(you probably didn’t). 

He leans down, masked covered face inches away from yours and you can’t even hear him breathing. His left hand clutching you like a rag doll by your hair and his right holding his knife. Which he brings to your neck, the sharp end nearly pressing into the skin just below your chin. 

You were practically trickling into the grass at this point. “Please, please…” you softly beg, and he pushes the blade into your skin, you let out a squeak from the contact, pain and pleasure dueling within you as you feel the blood dripping from your neck. But no, he couldn’t kill you just yet. 

You break free of his hold. Somehow. Darting off quickly away from him on your trembling legs. The cut he made in your skin wasn’t deep, you wouldn’t bleed out or anything. But if you hadn’t run the fun would have been over, he would have driven that knife into your neck and watched you choke to death on your own blood. 

And why did that thought make you more horny?? 

You stop to take a breath, propping yourself up against a nearby tree, chest heaving and skin sticky with sweat. You chuck off your jacket, goosebumps immediately rising on your flesh as you stand in nothing but a practically see through tank top and a pair of leggings. Perhaps he’d get a load of your tits transparent against the cheap fabric of your shirt, and want to brutally fuck you. 

The thought almost has you slipping your hand beneath your leggings and finishing against that tree. But you needed to keep running. You jog for a few more minutes, then break into a full blown run when you catch a glimpse of a shadow in the distance. 

You’re no athlete, so it only takes a few more minutes before you’re toppling to the ground, heaving in breaths. He’d find you for sure. 

Crunch, crunch, the sound of footsteps, walking calmly in your direction. You tried to stand, propping yourself up against the nearest tree but you were spent. It’d only been what, fifteen minutes and your legs weren’t fucking working. Shit. 

Still you manage to crawl, hoping to keep up the fun as long as you could. His footsteps are getting louder and louder, till your vision is obscured by the shadow of his massive body and he leans down to grab you and throw you into the nearest tree. 

You let out a groan from the pain blooming in your back, but the sensation is driving you mad with need. He was so rough with you, no regards for your life. Treating you like a mere object. 

His hand comes up to your throat before you can even think another sinful thought, and your thighs feel damp. You barely manage a whimper, his hand pinning you against the wall by your neck. 

He’s trying to kill you, you remind yourself. Maybe don’t think about how close his big body is to yours and how you can hear the sound of his breathing. You wondered what he looked like under the mask, if he was as elated as you were right now. 

You’re struggling to breathe, remember? Oh right, your eyes roll back as your breath is stolen from you and your face almost purples. If you weren’t currently suffering from asphyxiation, you’d realize your feet were well off the ground and you were being dangled against the tree. 

“Pl…ease,” you gasp, grabbing at his hand. But his hold was like fucking steel, “don’t…kill me..u..se me.” His grip loosens for the slightest second and you take advantage of it, breaking free and tumbling to the ground. You inhale mouthfuls of air as you grab at your bruised throat. 

The jig was up it seemed, so you did not hesitate as you latched onto him, pressing your face into his crotch and glancing up at him with as innocent of an expression as you could muster, “Please? I can be really good.” 

He immediately shoves you off, your back smacking once again into the tree. You groan again, guess he was immune to your charm.

“Fucking freak.” You almost miss it as you rub at your stinging lower back. But it’s unmissable, the sound of his voice. Deep, possibly made deeper by the confines of the mask and so fucking perfect. 

And he used it to call you a freak. 

You can’t take it anymore, you prop yourself up against the tree, slipping a hand into your leggings and rubbing yourself through your already soaked panties. Moaning loudly as you looked up at him. 

You stuffed three fingers into your sopping pussy, and he watched. Body language slightly open, as if considering if you were even worth the fuck. 

“Please, please fuck me. U-Use me.” You moaned, absolutely ruining your leggings. “You can kill me after, fuck—I need you.” Your body arched into your own touch, head falling back against the hard bark as you practically rode your fingers, thumbing at your clit and whining as your orgasm practically took you—

But you didn’t get the chance, because he was grabbing you by your hair once again, roughly bringing your face into the huge visible bulge hiding beneath his robes. You looked up at him and he down at you, before he gestured with the knife in his right hand for you to get to work.

You quickly pawed at his robes and excitedly undid his pants. Hands trembling as you set that monster free. Fuck, he was huge, bigger than anything you’d ever seen. Would this even fit in you?? Long, thick and covered in veins, there was a black tattooed band around the base that somehow made him hotter. You wondered where else he had tattoos.

Your eyes were practically heart shaped as you gave a few shallow licks to his flushed tip, shuddering at the addicting taste of his precome on your tongue. Each stripe of your tongue along his cock had you moaning, slipping your hand between your legs to rub at your clit as you took him into your mouth. 

His hand was still dusted in your hair and he was still looking down at you, watching you drool all over his cock. He applied pressure to his hold, forcefully shoving his length down your throat. You didn’t even have a moment to protest as your eyes rolled back and you struggled to breathe. He was fucking his cock into your drooling mouth like you were some sort of sex doll. Sliding in and out of your mouth like you were just another fleshlight.

You could feel your mouth swelling from the friction, hear the sounds of your gagging on his fat cock, feel the tears rolling down your cheek as you nearly suffocated, your hands digging into him as you simultaneously wished for the torture to end and wanted it to last forever. 

It did end, both thankfully and unthanfully as he emptied into your mouth, fucking a few more shallow thrusts into your face before he indelicately let you go. 

You coughed immediately, struggling to breath as his cum trickled from your lips. His hand didn’t leave you as he brought it down to your chin, keeping it closed. He was silent of course, but you could feel the threat radiating off of him as he looked down at you: he wanted you to swallow all of it, despite the fact that you were struggling to breathe. 

You gleefully obliged, feeling his warm his come sliding down your throat. He propped your mouth open with his gloved thumb and you stuck your tongue out, showing him you’d done as told. 

“Have I been good?” You pondered, with the ghost of a smirk, you brought your hand to your mouth swiping your finger across your bottom lip before sucking it into your mouth. 

And to your surprise he had a response, “You fucking slut.” Your pussy clenched almost immediately, a moan making its way past your lips. Once again, he grabbed you by your throat, dragging you off the ground and pinning you to the tree. 

He brought his knife to the front of your lose tank top, dragging it through the fabric till it tore and your chest was exposed. You could feel the cool of the blade against your inner thigh as he pushed your legs apart, tearing apart your leggings. 

With no warning—of course no warning—he stuffed his cock into you. You could barely choke out the words, “you’re too big!” around his hand on your throat, before he’d pushed himself all the way in with a slight grunt. 

The stretch was unbearable, even stuffing three fingers into your pussy prior was practically useless. Still, the pain of his fat cock digging in you set pleasure shooting through your body, had you tightening around him as you ground into him and he bottomed out inside you. 

“There’s always freaks like you.” You heard him grunt as he pulled you down on his cock, “fucking whores that want to be filled.” You managed a strangled moan as he thrusted into you. “Is that right?”  

You didn’t respond, not like you could when he was strangling you and giving you the best cock you’ve had at the same time.

 “I asked a fucking question.” You heard him say and felt his grip loosen. You could moan freely now as his cock bullied into that spot that had you gasping. 

“Yes! Yes, I’m a f-fucking whore!” You slurred, dizzy with the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. 

“Oh shut up, slut.” He pulled his cock out of you, letting you fall to the ground like you were no more than an object. 

You couldn’t even be surprised, too cock drunk to do anything more than paw at him on your knees, “Please, I’ll be a good whore for you, I’ll let you fill me up—”

He chuckled, a low perfect sound. This time you couldn’t hide the whimper that resounded at the back of your throat in response. “Let me?” His gloved hands fisted his cock in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable, but he still spurted ropes of come that landed directly onto your face and chest. He pulled you towards him, shoving his fingers into your mouth so hard you nearly gag, “I’m gonna do whatever I fucking want to you, because you’re my kill. Mine to use before I end your useless life.” 

“Yes, yes, ’m sorry—” you gargled around his lips.

“Did I say you can fucking talk?” You quickly and frantically shook your head. “Get up and turn around.” 

You obliged quickly, standing on your shaky feet, nude as you could really feel the cold night air against your naked skin, goosebumps pebbled your trembling flesh, your chest heaving and nipples hard. You turned around, facing bark, shivering through the cold of the night as you awaited his orders. 

His hands grasped your ass and you gasped, “This is what you wanted, huh?” His fingers made their way through the holes in your leggings before effortlessly ripping them and your panties off. “Some sick fantasy that your whorish mind conjured up.” His hand was around your neck again, pushing your face into the tree until you couldn’t speak, then prying your legs apart to stuff his cock into you again. 

The different angle forced a moan from your throat, fuck, you could feel him practically in your stomach. If you pressed your lower stomach you felt there would be a bulge there, an imprint of his cock buried into you with no care for how deep it could actually go.  

 “Fuck, I hate freaks like you.” He grunted into your ear, hand tightening around your neck, as you weakly whimpered, “Everywhere I turn I run into worthless sluts like you.” 

If you weren’t struggling to breath and getting fucked like an animal you would have gave a snide response. Of course he had women trailing after him, you weren’t the only freak out there with a mask kink. It was a little annoying that your pussy wasn’t the only one he used and abused. 

But fuck, you couldn’t think about that now, his fingers found its way back into your mouth again as he fucked you, your eyes rolling back and lips sucking sloppily at them. There was this delicious sound of skin clashing as his hips roughly met yours each time he pushed his dick inside you and you wondered if there was anyone watching, if someone found themselves in the woods and could see you getting used like a slut by the town killer. 

“So fucking tight.” He ground out, “It’s a shame. I should keep you as my fucktoy, just come in all your holes whenever I need it.” You moaned louder at the suggestion, pressing back against his thrusts, “but killing you will be so much more pleasant.” 

“Mmn-ffuck, y-yes, yes, please use me.” You couldn’t help the words leaving your lips as your skin scraped against the bark, sensitive nipples stimulated with each thrust and his fingers still in your mouth, pulling you apart. 

“Oh shut it.” He punctuates his words with a slap on your ass and you nearly bite his fingers. 

“Sorry, s-sorry, ‘m sorry.” You fight a smile around his fingers as he lays another slap at your ass. “So good, so goodd.” You slur and another follows it, your ass stinging. “‘M sorry—I c-can’t.” You absolutely can. 

“You’re doing it on purpose aren’t you?” He grabs your stinging cheek and squeezes, “There’s nothing you’re not into is there, you fucking slut?” 

You can’t answer because you’re about to come, your thighs quiver, pussy clenching around his cock as you fuck yourself back on it, rutting into it again and again until you come on him with a barely there whine. He follows you soon after, emptying his balls into you until the warm cum spills out of you and drips down your thighs. 

He slips his hand between them, gloved fingers pushing the come back inside as you whine from the overstimulation. “Keep it inside, you wanted it, right? Now it’s gonna be the last thing you fucking feel.” 

He’s left you once again, and you’re on the ground, naked and spent. Stuffed full of come and trembling. 

You never heard him drop the knife, nor did you hear him pick it up. But it was in his grasp as he loomed over you, mask still on his face, still setting your pussy aflame. 

 “P-Please, not yet!” You begged, latching yourself to his thigh as you rutted yourself against him. He scoffed as he watched you, your plump lips wobbly, eyes wet and pleading up at him cloudy with lust. “I can do it again, stuff me full, please.” You begged, grinding your soaked pussy against his leg until you came, squirting your juices all over him and the ground below.  

“What a fucking animal.” He scoffed, kneeling down to you, “It almost makes me feel bad for wanting to kill you.” He murmured, fingers almost delicately clutching your sweat and come soaked face, thumbing at your numb lips. At this point you were practically seeing two. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you.”, he cocked his head, before reaching for his face and pulling off his mask. You’re so delirious you can barely acknowledge it, can barely take it the handsome edges of his face, the tattoos perfectly scrawled across his skin and his red eyes staring almost endearingly down at you. There’s a slight smirk on his pink lips and you’re blinking into unconsciousness before hearing his last words. 

“You’re my kill after all.”

[moowmoon]

UNCONDITIONAL

— aaron hotchner x fem!reader

— summary: aaron just wanted one thing coming home: peace and his girlfriend.

— c/w: i think none?

— w/c: 891

— a/n: hi, again! posting two in one night because i was really inspired today! this one is inspired by the music "unconditional" by jaehyun! i hope you guys like it! english is not my first language, so forgive me if there's any mistake!

moowmoon playlist

“buy a billion roses

and i’d still get her more”

— unconditional, jaehyun

The sound of the key unlocking the door made Aaron mentally curse himself, he was afraid that his arrival would disturb the peace of the place. The weight of the day seemed to be piled on top of his body - the tense shoulders, the deep circles under his eyes, and the aching body. Every movement was immersed in a fatigue that only those who knew the fine line between chaos and order could understand.

Memories of the last case still lingered in his mind: the details of the crime scenes, the flashes of the interviews, and the endless hours of analysis and strategizing. With every step he took, it seemed that the tiredness managed to creep further up his legs and into his chest as if it were something he was breathing in, hard to shake off.

He left his suitcase by the door and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the weight of the memories and the pressure that had accompanied him since the moment the BAU had traveled to solve this case. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply, letting the quiet, stable air of the house envelop him completely. This was the only real break he had - the only place in the universe where he could perhaps let the world dissolve.

The warm hue of the light in the living room gave his arrival an unexpectedly warm welcome. And his eyes quickly focused on the sofa. There she was, absorbed in the book she was reading, her eyes following the lines, her calm expression contrasting with the chaos of Aaron's day. It only took one glance in his direction for her to lift her head and notice the tiredness on his face. Without saying a word, she closed the book and made a simple but inviting gesture: an outstretched hand, a free space at her side.

“Come here,” she murmured, in a calm voice that sounded more like an invitation to let go of the weight of the world, if only for a moment.

Aaron hesitated for a second as if he was still caught up in the remnants of the last few days, but the warmth of her gaze was enough to break down his resistance. He approached her slowly, lying down on the sofa next to her and feeling his body relax for the first time in days.

She wrapped an arm around him, offering a discreet and comfortable hug. “Breathe,” she whispered. “Just relax.”

As Aaron settled next to her, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, her fingers sliding slowly through the strands, as if to erase the tiredness trapped there. Aaron closed his eyes at the touch, allowing each delicate movement to take him a little further away from the turbulent memories that haunted him.

The fingers trailed down to the nape of his neck, gently tracing small circles, and Aaron felt a growing peace, something he rarely experienced outside there. Every now and then, a caress on his cheek, a finger tracing his jaw with affection and tenderness, made him open his eyes for a second, only to find her welcoming gaze, always attentive and patient.

There, with the gentle and constant touch, the outside world seemed to dissolve, leaving only that moment - made up of silent, tender, careful, and infinitely loving gestures.

The touches on Aaron's hair and back soon became longer, and the distance between them gradually diminished. He opened his eyes slowly, and her complicit gaze met his. Without haste, a subtle smile appeared, reflecting the affection and understanding they both shared without the need for words.

Aaron felt her hand slide down his arm until it reached his hand, entwining their fingers. The warmth of this simple gesture, combined with the closeness between them, brought a feeling of comfort that warmed them from the inside. Without letting go of her hand, he tilted his face, feeling the light brush of a kiss on the corner of his lips, a touch that carried more than desire - it carried familiarity, security, and a deep tenderness.

They continued like this, exchanging smiles, and soft touches, as if the world around them didn't exist. And in that instant, all that mattered was each other's presence, an intimate and silent moment, full of affection and understanding.

The intimacy between them grew in gestures and glances, each touch filling the space gently and carefully. Aaron felt the tension drain from his body as she held him gently, her fingers drawing slow paths on his skin, each caress full of intention and affection.

The world seemed to dissolve completely, leaving only each other's presence. In a silent moment, Aaron allowed himself to rest his head against his partner's shoulder, feeling the beat of his heart, the steady, soothing rhythm that made him forget the weight of the day.

Finally, he closed his eyes, enveloped in the peace of that company. In the comforting silence of the room, they remained together, connected in a way that was as simple as it was essential. There, in the arms of someone who knew every part of his body and soul, Aaron felt his tiredness disappear, replaced by a tranquility he could only find next to someone he loved.

[harknessxo]

HIIIII LIIIIIIZ!!! just popping in to send some love and hugs and a request (bc I watched Agatha series) Agatha x reader where Agatha is the most trusted person in reader’s life but -without Reader’s knowing- is also reader’s crazy stalker

I hope you’re doing well sweetie!!!!

Paring: Serial-killer!Stalker!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Unbeknownst to you, you had the pleasure of being Agatha’s next victim but she takes a liking to you.

Warnings; bit of angst, death (not the reader), kidnapping, stalking.

Word Count: 3.3k

Part 2, Part 3

A/n: I know the request was for stalker!Agatha BUT it’s spooky season so I made her a serial killer too. Also, three key factors inspired this number one being the fanfic Way Down We Go by @p-taryn-dactyl , number two being the series Killing Eve, and lastly the song The Diner.

Agatha had been on a killing spree for the past three months. She would go after the women that looked like someone from her past that did her wrong. Why you may ask? Because she was still seething in her own self hatred for allowing herself to trust and needed someone, or someones, to take it out on. Of course the police had been trying to catch her but she never left enough clues or evidence behind for them to tie anything to.

All the crime scenes looked the same. The person was murder by a slit throat left with a purple Agatha Christie stuffed in their mouth and the scene was cleaned out, leaving no trace of any DNA. They called her the Angel of Death. All they knew was that all the victims seemed to have the same features and that Agatha would stalk them before she killed them.

Unbeknownst to you, you had the pleasure of being Agatha’s next victim. You fit the description of the person that did her wrong and like all her other ​​casualties, she started stalking you. Details from where you worked to what type of coffee you drank. She did all of this to find the perfect moment to strike but this time it was different. For some odd reason she felt drawn to you.

She had been watching you from afar for weeks now. She knew your work schedule, your favorite coffee shop, and even what type of movies you liked to watch. It was strange to her, she had never felt this way before about any of her other victims. She was drawn to you in a way that she couldn’t explain. She wanted to get closer to you, but she knew that she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

It was recently that you started to feel watched, like there was always someone looming over you but when you turned around there was no one there. You thought you were just paranoid, that your anxiety was getting the best of you but things in your house started to disappear.

Agatha would sneak into your house at night, taking small things here and there. She wanted to learn more about you, but she didn’t want to risk being seen. She was being careful not to leave any trace of herself behind. She knew that the more she took, the more likely you would notice, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about you that she just couldn’t resist.

You truly started to get scared when your underwear started going missing as well. You told your best friend Wanda about it and she comforted you. She told you to talk to the police and you did but they told you you didn’t have enough evidence and that maybe you had simply misplaced your things. You felt terrified and then came the day you actually met Agatha.

She applied for a job at the same place you worked, hoping to get closer to you. She said her name was Agnes to avoid raising any suspicion. She was excited to be working in the same place as you, but she had to keep her cool and act like she didn’t know anything about you. She kept her distance, wanting you to be the one who approached her and it finally happened when you accidentally bumped into her in the lounge room.

Agatha had been in the lounge, pretending to be on her phone purposely getting in your way so you bumped into her. She stumbled a bit, pretending to be surprised by the collision.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see where I was going!” You started to apologize immediately.

“It’s alright, dear, no harm done.” She said, looking you up and down. You were even more interesting up close.

“I have never seen you before, are you new?” You asked curiously after taking a look at her. Agatha nodded, maintaining her friendly demeanor.

“I started a few days ago, yes.” She replied with a smile. “My name’s Agnes. What’s yours?”

“I’m Y/n.” You shook her hand. She smiled as you shook her hand, her grip a little tighter than necessary. She had finally gotten to meet you, and she was trying to hide her excitement.

“Y/n, what a lovely name,” she said, still holding your hand, “I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends.”

“I- thank you,” you blushed at the compliment, “well I have to get back to work, I’ll see you around!” She nodded, watching you walk away. She knew she had to be careful not to let her true intentions show, but it was getting harder and harder to resist, she knew you were meant to be.

“See you around.” She said quietly. She couldn’t help but watch you walk away, admiring your figure. She wanted to reach out and grab you, to pull you back and keep you close to her. But she knew she had to be patient. She had a plan, and she was determined to see it through. She made a mental note to keep a closer eye on you, and to continue her little “games” with your belongings.

Over the passing weeks Agatha’s obsession over you only grew. She stalked you almost constantly and when she wasn’t doing that, she was out killing. As Agatha began getting closer to you, gaining your trust, there was someone getting in her way, Wanda.

Agatha had been so focused on you that she hadn’t noticed Wanda’s presence. Wanda had been watching Agatha from afar, sensing something was off about her. She knew that Agatha was up to something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Wanda had tried to approach you, to warn you about her, but Agatha had always managed to intercept her.

You didn’t understand why Wanda was so against Agnes. Agnes was always sweet to you and helped you out with everything. At some point you started telling her everything about the things that had been happening to you, that of course being her. She would listen intently as you told her about the things that had been happening to you. She would nod and act sympathetic, even though she was the one behind it all. She would offer advice and try to comfort you, all while secretly enjoying your trust in her.

She was a master manipulator. She knew exactly what to say and do to keep you under her spell. She would listen to your worries and fears, offering you comfort and support. She would pretend to be concerned about the things that were happening to you, all the while secretly relishing in your fear and vulnerability. She knew that she had you wrapped around her finger, and she was loving every minute of it.

“That’s really strange. I really hope it’s not a stalker or anything.” She said with fake sympathy.

“I’m starting to get scared, Agnes. What if I’m being stalked by that serial killer that’s been all over the news?” Agatha tried to suppress a smirk, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the fact that you were scared of her.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re perfectly safe.” She said, placing a hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

“I hope you’re right. I was actually thinking of staying with Wanda tonight. She’s been worried about me.” Agatha’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Wanda’s name. She didn’t like the idea of you staying with her. She wanted you to rely on her, not Wanda. She forced a smile onto her face, trying to hide her jealousy.

“Wanda, huh? You sure that’s a good idea? You don’t want to be a burden to her.”

“Oh no she wouldn’t mind. I’ve stayed with her countless times plus it was her idea.” Her grip on your hand tightened even more. She was getting annoyed now. She didn’t like the idea of you staying with someone else, especially Wanda. She forced herself to relax, not wanting to raise any suspicion.

“Just for one night?”

“Yeah, I just need a quick break from all this craziness.” Agatha nodded, her expression unreadable. She didn’t want to push the issue any further, but she couldn’t help but feel anger and frustration. She didn’t like the idea of you being away from her, even if it was just for a night.

“Are you alright, Agnes?” You asked, sensing the sudden change in mood. She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at you with a forced smile.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.” She said, trying to sound casual. She let go of your hand and straightened up, “I must get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow!”

She gave you one last look before walking away. She couldn’t believe you were going to stay with Wanda. She clenched her fists in anger, trying to control her emotions. She knew she had to find a way to keep you close to her, and she would do whatever it takes even if it meant hurting you slightly.

After much thinking, a plan was made in her mind. She was going to follow you to Wanda’s house so she would know where she lived and after that all she had to do was wait for you to leave the next day so she could kill Wanda.

She waited until you left work before following you to Wanda’s house. She made sure to keep a safe distance, not wanting to be seen. She watched as you entered the house, making a mental note of the address before driving back to her house to get her things ready. She made sure to pick the freshest purple Agatha Christie from her garden.

You hung out with Wanda the whole day the next day. Watching movies or just simply talking. You dreaded having to go back home. It was around 11:24 when you finished the last movie of the night. You and Wanda talked for a little longer before you started to gather your things and bid her goodbye.

Agatha watched from a distance as you said goodbye to Wanda. She was growing impatient, waiting for you to leave. She was tempted to just barge in and take you away, but she knew she had to wait. She watched as you left the house, making sure you were out of sight before making her move. She sneaked inside Wanda’s house through the front door that was dumbly left unlocked. She stepped inside slowly but the door creaked as she was closing it.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Wanda called out from her couch. Agatha froze at the sound of Wanda’s voice. She had hoped that she would be able to sneak in without being noticed but it was just a little bump in the road. She decided to simply walk into view.

“No, it’s not Y/n…” Wanda quickly jumped off of the couch as soon as she saw it wasn’t you.

“Agnes? What the hell are you doing here!?” Agatha smirked as she saw the look of fear on Wanda’s face. She stepped further into the room, her eyes fixed on the redhead.

“Oh, you know, just paying a little visit,” Agatha said casually while playing with the knife in her hands.

“Get out of my house you psycho!” Wanda shouted, backing away slowly. Agatha chuckled, taking a step closer to her.

“Now now, no need to be rude. I just want to have a little chat with you. You see, I have a little score to settle,” she said, her voice dripping with malice.

“Score? What the hell are you talking about?” Agatha took another step closer, her eyes glinting with madness.

“You’ve been getting in my way, Wanda. You’ve been trying to keep Y/n away from me. I can’t have that, you see. I need her, I know we are meant to be and I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”

“You…you’re her stalker aren’t you?” Wanda’s voice trembled. The brunette smirked, her grip on the knife tightening.

“Guilty as charged…well not really,” she said with a twisted smile. “And I’m here to make sure you don’t get in my way anymore.”

Wanda tried to make a run for her back door but Agatha caught up to her, yanking Wanda back by her hair making her yelp in pain. Agatha pinned her body against her own, the knife pressed against Wanda’s throat.

“Naughty girl. Trying to run away from me,” Agatha hissed, “Any last words?” Agatha whispered into her ear tauntingly but before she could actually say anything she slit her throat. Wanda’s body dropped on the floor with a thud. Agatha stood over her, watching as she choked on her own blood when suddenly she heard the front door open.

“Wanda? I accidentally forgot my phone on the coffee table-” You froze in your tracks at the sight before you, Wanda’s agonizing body on the floor with a purple Agatha Christie in her mouth. You ran to her body, laying her head in your lap.

“Wanda! Wanda, stay with me! Please!” You sobbed holding her now cold body closer. Eventually you got a hold of your phone and with your bloody hands dilated 911. They arrived at the scene quite fast and it was determined that this was yet another killing from the Angel of Death. They took you into questioning and you told them what had happened.

You told them you had stayed with Wanda and left at around 11:43. Half way through the way home you realized you had left your phone at her house. You just let yourself in knowing Wanda wouldn’t have minded and that’s when you found her dead body. By the looks of your interrogation and the way the crime scene was left a mess they came to the conclusion that you had interrupted the killer's kill.

They send you back home after giving you a change of clothes. A police officer escorted you home and made sure no one was inside before leaving. You made sure all your doors and windows were locked before you decided to take a shower. It was hard for you to fall asleep after what you had witnessed. It wasn't until about 3 am that you finally fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up feeling very groggy. You went into your kitchen to make coffee and that's when your phone started ringing. You were quick to answer it when you saw it was your coworker Monica.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, are you home?”

“Yes I am, why?”

“I need you to turn on your tv like right now.”

“Um okay,” you speed walked to your living room and turned your tv on to the news channel.

“What did you want me to-” you paused when you saw it. It was a picture of Agnes on your screen with the headline being ‘The serial killer known as The Angel of Death has been identified as Agatha Harkness’.

“Y/n? Are you still there?”

“…she was right there…the whole time- she lied about her name- she fucking killed Wanda!”

“I know. I’m so sorry Y/n. Do you have some family you can stay with? I think it might be best if you called the police.”

“I…I don’t have anyone else. Wanda was all I had.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss. Why don’t you stay with me? Just until they catch that psycho.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Can you pick me up in an hour? I’m gonna call the police and pack a few things.”

“Yeah that’s fine, just send me your address. I’ll see you then.”

“See you.” you hung up finally let your tears fall. You hid your face in your hands when you heard your doorbell ring. You quickly wiped your tears and walked towards the door. You checked the peephole and saw nothing. You were about to walk back to the kitchen but curiosity got the best of you and you decided to open it. At first you saw nothing until you looked down. A purple Agatha Christie with a tag attached to it. You shakily picked it up and read it. ‘Sorry, baby.’ It read. You immediately closed the door and locked it. You walked back to the living room where you had left your phone to call the police but froze when you saw someone sitting on your couch.

“Ag- Agnes-”

“Now you know that’s not my actual name,” she turned to look at you.

“Agatha…”

“Good Girl, Now I need you to behave and not run.” Of course you didn’t listen and made a run for the door but Agatha tackled you to the floor. You started to scream for help, trying to get away from her hold but she covered your mouth.

“Shh, sweet girl, I can’t have you getting me in trouble. I did this for us, okay?” She said, her voice soft but deadly. You only looked at her with absolute fear in your eyes, realizing who this woman was. She held you down, her grip tight on your body. She looked down at you with a mix of possessiveness and obsession. She knew that you were terrified of her, but she didn’t care. In fact, she found it endearing.

“Don’t be afraid of me, sweetheart. I couldn’t have you spending time with that…Wanda, when you belong to me,” she said, spitting out Wanda’s name with disgust, “Now I am going to move my hand and you’re going to stay as quiet as a mouse, understood?”

You hesitantly nodded your head in response. The second she moved her hand away you started to scream at the top of your lungs. Her expression turned cold as you started to scream. She quickly covered your mouth again, her eyes flashing with anger.

“I told you to be quiet,” she hissed, “I don’t want anyone else to hear you. You’re mine, and I’m not going to let anyone take you away from me. Don’t make me hurt you.” She pulled you closer to her, her body pressing against yours as she held you in a vice-like grip. You didn’t listen and kept squirming against her, your screams muffled by her hand. She sighed defeated before taking a syringe out of her pocket and injecting it into your neck.

The effects of the syringe were quick. Within seconds, you felt your body growing heavy and your mind becoming fuzzy. You tried to fight it, but it was no use. Your screams slowly faded away as your body went limp in her arms.

“If only you would have listened.” She gently picked you up and carried you over to the couch, laying you down on it, “You’re so much more beautiful when you’re quiet,” she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and adoration before she went to pack a couple of your things.

After she was done, she picked up again and took you to her car, placing you down on the passenger seat. She got into the driver’s seat and started the car, driving off. She glanced over at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of possessiveness and affection. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

Taglist; @polaris-likethestar @wandasreallover @oh-no-bummer @phixiesworld @eliscannotdance @venomhimbo @aka-patsy @Melonlord14 @scoliobean

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit in silence next to the large, brooding man. You’ve heard of Steve Rogers before. Who hasn’t around these parts. You’re not a local, you moved here for the work. The job description didn’t exactly mention the state of the neighbourhood. 

You see the men in their tailored-suits, puffing on cigars, laughing, even cat-calling you as you pass. That’s just the city, you assumed. That was until you really started to notice the men. When you saw the tinted windows tailing the erratically driven beater cars or the shadows creeping around in the early hours outside your building. 

You keep to yourself. You’re just a visitor to this world. You have no plans to stay in it. 

He doesn’t say a word as he drives. You stare out the window. It’s like that awkward first date you went on as a teen with your stepfather’s co-op volunteer. Except worse. You have no idea what exactly this is. You try not to think about it or you might hyperventilate. 

He slows at a sign and you keep your gaze out the window. The city streets are clear and sunny despite the gloom in the car. You think back on the brief conversation between him and Brenner. He seemed irked by more than your upstart boss. ‘Engagement’... something happened there but you learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t ask. 

As Rogers taps the gas, a man in a hoodie dodges out in front of the car. The brakes lock and the man in the driver seat mutters. The jaywalker looks over and laughs, stopping to make a show as he taunts the driver. He sucks in and horks a wad of phlegm onto the windshield. 

Oh shit. 

You stare in shock. What the heck? You’ve met your fair share of wildcards in this city but you simply keep your head down and keep going. Not Rogers. 

He shifts into park. He’s still silent. He calmly undoes his seat belt and checks the traffic behind him. He gets out as the walk-by spitter continues across the street. The man doesn’t make it as he’s caught from behind and thrown onto the tarmac. 

Without hesitation, Rogers kicks the man’s side, then his stomach as the force of the first rolls him over. He continues his assault with a stony look on his face. His eyes are determined and his chin is set, but no furrow and scowl breaks his veneer. 

You watch as a swirling sensation stirs in your stomach and quickly invades your head. You don’t like violence and this is such an overreaction, you can hardly believe it’s real. It very much is. 

You can’t help the squeak that escapes you as Rogers bends over the man and grabs his skull between his hands. He smashes his face down into the street and you close your eyes. Oh god. This can’t be real. 

Your open your eyes to the ripple of reality. Others watch in a similar awe from the pavement. Drivers idle nearby. A police officer walks by and simply ignore the scene as Rogers stomps the man one last time. 

Fear courses through you. What did Brenner get you into? Why did you just go along with this? Your passivity was always bound to get you in trouble. 

You feel your body slacken as he stands straight and smooths his jacket. You slump in the seat and your eyes roll back as a wave of black specks invades your vision. Your chest feels ready to burst, your head too as you sink into oblivion. 

When you come to, the car is moving again. You lurch forward as the motion flips your stomach. You grunt and try to shake of the disorientation. You put your hand on the dash and gulp in air. 

“You fainted,” Rogers says dully. 

You blink and turn to look at him. You slowly sit back, “yeah, I did. Sorry.” 

He doesn’t offer any other comment. You don’t know what to say or do. You’re embarrassed at how you just passed out but you didn’t really have a choice. You’ve never seen anything like that. And now this man, who can light up like a match, 

“What kinda person...” you begin and flinch at your own voice, “just spits on someone’s car like that?” 

You swallow dryly at your redirection. Sometimes, your thoughts bubble through too quickly but you caught yourself. You think. 

He glances over at you then back to the road. 

“Yeah, like,” you ramble, your nerves bouncing off each other, “if I had a nice car, or a car at all, I’d be mad too. That’s not... cool.” 

You cross your arms as if you’re holding yourself together. You lean back and stare at the road. You’re too afraid to look at Rogers. He can probably hear your fear in your voice. 

“Right, that guy deserved it.” He says. “Got no idea what I’m dealing with. Don’t need that.” 

You nod and meter out a breath, “totally.” 

He grunts. You think he bought it. At least, he knows you’re too scared to tell him your real thoughts if he doesn’t. 

He drives on wordlessly. He’s tense, you’re tense. Everything is tense. 

You glance over at his knuckles as he grips the wheel tight. They’re bruised and there’s a bit of blood on the middle one. Your mind is racing. You see his fists flashing. This man is a maniac. 

“That must hurt,” you say. 

“Huh?” He utters. 

“Your hands.” You don’t know why you’re talking but if you sit there in silence any longer, you’re going to lose your mind.  

He shrugs, “don’t feel it right away.” 

“Right, right, of course, makes sense,” you accept, “I wouldn’t know. I never... whatever. Sorry, I’m going to be quiet.” 

You look out the window and focus on the buildings instead. Just don’t look at him. If you don’t, he can’t hurt you. Like the boogeyman. 

“I’m fine,” he says after a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

You nod and keep your eyes aimed out at the sidewalk. You’re not really worried about him. You’re worried about you. Well, you’ll just be sure to stay on his good side. 

[amandacanwrite]

More Headcanons for the Gale Babes: Pining Edition

Tagging At Their Request: @eclecticqueennerd @jeneralmischief @thewizardhole

Tagging Because I Thought You May Want To Know I posted It: @lewdisescariot @ollypopwrites @rissi-chan @foreskinfinder87

Here are some headcanons about Gale behind the scenes as he pines for you/Tav (Goodnatured, Gender Neutral) Bear with some things that are just regular ole canon for a moment and then I will get into the headcanony stuff near the middle.

Upon Your First Meeting

"I'm Usually better at this." "At Introductions?" "Hah...At magic."

Safe to say that he was well aware of just HOW much trouble he was in very shortly after beginning to travel with you.

The words "Do NOT do this to yourself, you ridiculous, touch-starved man," may or may not have been said to the mirror...or to a mirror double of himself.

But godsdamnit, you just had to continue being...kind and courageous and well spoken and your eyes...and your lips and Focus--FOCUS GALE DEKARIOS

And hells, what a world it would be if he could stop putting his foot so squarely into his mouth.

"Gods, Gale. Really did a number with that thing you said, didn't you? They probably thing you're pompous--which you are--perhaps rightfully so, you are a very gifted wizard..."

He uh...talks to himself a lot. Old habit from the tower, you see. You only catch him doing it a couple of times though, and rarely hear what he said.

"Oh, just thinking out loud, you know!"

Once He's Gotten To Know You A Bit

"Go on, Gale. You're among Friends." "I may just be about to remedy that."

It's hard to pin point the exact moment he fell in love with you. But the realization was nothing short of devastating for him.

As a younger man, he may have been brought to tears reading a tragedy like his. Abandoned by a former lover, forsaken in a plight brought on by wishing to do her a grand gesture, falling for a simpler love...one he may never have because of the orb threatening to level a city in his chest.

Sometimes at night, he watches you asleep in your bedroll, wondering if he had met you as a young man...if he'd perchance seen you on the streets of Waterdeep or sitting at the bar in The Yawning Portal perhaps he'd never wound up in this position in the first place.

Perhaps he would have simply been chosen by Mystra, and not have fallen in love with her.

It feels wrong...even to think it. He wonders if Mystra can sense the betrayal in those thoughts--in the wish that he'd never fallen in love with her.

But it's hard not to feel that way when he has to spend every waking moment next to you.

And when he watches everyone else in camp seemingly falling over themselves to get to you as well.

He makes his peace with the fact that there is simply no way that he can compete with the pale elf who is constantly making eyes at you...calling you darling.

He remembers meeting people like that in school. He remembers burying himself in his studies to distract himself from the fact that he'd never felt particularly charming or even efficacious in matters of the heart.

Of course that all changed when Mystra chose him. Before he'd wooed her, he'd managed to have a few dalliances as a teen, even going into his early adulthood.

But you're the first he's ever wanted to have something with since Mystra had forsaken him.

He still carries the charm he'd cultivated. It's hard not to get at least a little full of yourself when the goddess of magic herself chooses you. Harder still to drop the habit after he'd committed to it, even while sequestered to his tower.

He'd been deep in thought on these matters when you checked in on him one night.

"Nothing to worry about. Just a wizard stewing on matters of the arcane and curious, I assure you."

When he finally has to reveal the truth of his affliction to you and the others in the party, he's devastated all over again. He's ready to once again be banished for his crimes, to be newly punished for his folly, however well intentioned he was in acquiring it.

But...you simply don't... It seems you never do what he expects because you hardly bat an eye. Even when Astarion tells you to kick him to the proverbial curb, you let him stay.

It's that night he conjures the image of Mystra in his hand, turning it this way and that to see if it still hurts to look upon her as it used to.

When you wander over to inquire about her visage, he is relieved to find it doesn't bother him to speak of her, and daunted by the ache in his chest that you seem to inspire in him.

He keeps trying to find a way to tell you how he feels, but he simply can't form the words without choking on them.

Until that night with the teiflings...and well...let's just be honest, the generously flowing alcohol.

He just wants to share a moment with you--a foolish idea to help you experience the weave using him as a conduit. A bit cheeky he realizes--knowing perhaps better than you might the sort of sensual, intimate nature that being connected through the weave can be. But he can't help it, it is the only relief he can find for this torturous pining. To be allowed to be of one mind with you for just a fleeting second is too tempting to refuse.

When You Imagine Sharing A Kiss With Him

"I'm sorry...I wasn't expecting...but it is a pleasant image to be sure. Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome."

How can he convince himself that he won't immediately ruin this? Does he even remember how to kiss? God's it's been so long.

He lies in his tent, banging the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"You should have just kissed them, you damned fool. How long have you wanted this? And apparently they want it, too. And you were linked with the weave! What could have been more perfect? Why didn't you just kiss them, you blithering idiot."

When he doesn't kiss you for a while, you worry you may have made him uncomfortable with the thought. Really, he simply can't find the perfect time between all of the bloodshed and bandages.

He gets sloppy in battle, too worried that someone will take you way before he has a chance to make good on that dream you shared with him. Not the best course of action for a man who can literally implode in the event that he dies.

And then he had to go and say that stupid thing about danger and...other forms of stimulation.

"Perhaps," he tells himself one night. "Perhaps, Gale of Waterdeep, you will actually make a gesture more than a silly joke and a stammering admission of liking to kiss. Your actions so far have not hinted that you will, but perhaps there is hope for you yet."

In the end it's a night where you're near out of provisions that gives him the opportunity to close this blasted distance betwixt you.

He's having a melt down of sorts. About the lack of decent food in camp. How is he to feed all of you with nothing but a few half-eaten apples and a fish head?

You suggest a walk, not far from camp. You're sure you can scrounge up some berries, or some tubers--maybe even a squirrel or a rabbit. In truth, you're not sure you'll find anything, but you can sense that Gale needs time away. Needs privacy. Needs space to simply feel things without an audience.

After walking in silence for a while you ask him if he's alright.

"No. No I am categorically not alright. Not at all. I am filthy. I am covered in goblin blood. The orb refuses to be sated. I cannot find a way to properly feed you so that you'll have the strength to fight another day. And on top of it all--rounding out the depths of my misery--you so bravely showed me the intimacy you wanted to share, yet I cannot for the life of me figure out how to adequately stage that moment so that it is worthy of the splendor that you are."

It's hard not to be touched by his admission, but you don't want him to be miserable. So you make it easy for him. You simply stride up to him and plant a kiss on his lips.

"Is that better?" you ask him. "Now you needn't fret about the last thing."

His simply...gawks at you. Stares in utter befuddlement, his mouth slightly agape. For a moment, you're certain you've broken the poor wizard. You almost have the urge to wave your hand in front of his face to see if his soul has left his body. Then he smears his hand down his face and groans

"NO," he says. "No it is not better. That is not a proper first kiss worthy of how I feel about you. I can do much better than a first kiss like that."

You remind him that that was technically your first kiss with him. He is welcome to show you how it is properly done.

You expect the slow burn with him--expect him to have to ponder that for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, before he makes good on it.

But he has had enough of waiting. He drops his bag off to the side and unstraps his bow from his back in a quick flurry of movement. He reaches for you, gently grasping the soft curves of your face and pulling you toward him, claiming your mouth with his own.

It is a frantic, desperate thing, this kiss. Simultaneously overwhelming and buoyant. You find yourself lifting up onto your toes and leaning against him as he tilts his head, seeking some opening to taste you, to feel you on his lips.

Your knees buckle, and his hands move from your face to catch you, crushing you against him as if he wishes to match every curve of you to every corresponding curve of his own body.

His lips are soft, though they are posessive. When you finally allow him across the threshold of your lips, he tastes like that fragment of weave you shared with him. He tastes of pure connection.

And then, just like that moment, it is over. You're left panting and weak as he holds you against his chest, his face flush, his brow gently curved with worry.

You blink dreamily up at him. "Oh." you say.

"'Oh?'" he asks incredulously. "Please tell me you have more to say than 'Oh.' Or at least specify the quality of that 'Oh.' Hells, if I'm to get any sleep at all--"

You simply lift your fingers to his lips, pressing the tips to quiet him. "Consider me properly schooled in how it's meant to be done," you say. "You're an excellent teacher."

He heaves a sigh. "Oh," he says. "I know."

I hope you enjoyed this! I'm sorry if it's not as satisfying since it's a lot of like...subtext for canon things. I have more Ideas but this is already quite long. Do let me know if you would still like to see more or if you have anything you'd like to see or expand on with an actual small fic. I have been having so much fun with these.

[reiderwriter]

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You🃏

Chapter 1 of That's What You Get

Next Chapter

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: After three weeks on a case in Vegas and a particularly draining phone call from your mother, you decide to take Reid up on his offer to show you the sights of Las Vegas. When you wake up the next morning, you realise one of those sights was a 24hour Wedding Parlor, and that you're now Mrs. Reid.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, loss of memory, marriage (yeah that needs a warning), mommy issues, mentions of emotional abuse, implied sex scene, use of handcuffs in a sexual way, they theorize a possible creampie but I will neither confirm nor deny at this point, talk of contraception, no actual smut though, you guys are gonna have to wait for that. 18+ Minors DNI

A/N: The first chapter is here! Sorry for drawing you in with a silly little premise and then giving you mommy issues, I swear that after this chapter it's not bought up all that much. If you enjoy this chapter, you can sign up to the series taglist here, check out my masterlist and if you want leave a request! :D have fun reading!! ✨

Las Vegas, city of sin and entertainment capital of the world. Population approximately 600,000, home to the most famous casinos in the world, and unluckily for you, your latest unsub.

You’d been in Vegas for three weeks trying to hunt down this specific murderer, but now the case was all wrapped up and you could finally breathe, the weight of the stress you’d been carrying for almost a month now dissolving as you finally finished up the paperwork in the local precinct.

“Thank god that’s over. I cannot wait to be in bed with a good book and an empty head,” you groaned as you met the eyes of Penelope Garcia, your favorite tech analyst in the entire world and absolutely the only one you knew. She’d ended up having to join you on this case because some of the crime scenes just happened to be casinos that weren’t so happy sharing their data, but also didn’t want to be lumped with the warrant from the FBI. She’d been working between their offices and the precinct, and looked just as haggard as you felt.

“Oh, I feel you sister, this free travel experience thing is nice, but I would like to be back at my own perfect little desk hovel ASAP, thank you very much.” The two of you shared a small laugh, and then began collecting your stuff.

“Come on now, baby girl, you’re telling me that you don’t want to hit up the strip while we’re here? See the sights a little?”

“Sweet cheeks, I have been working from the most harrowing of surveillance units all week on that very strip. I have already seen the sights and they were not pretty, and definitely not worth using up my precious vacation time for.”

“Unfortunately Garcia, I don’t think you’ll be needing to use any of that vacation time to stay here,” Hotch announced as he walked in, and every member of your team snapped to attention to hear what he had to say. “I just got off the phone with Quantico, there’s a storm cloud moving in directly in our flight path and we haven’t been cleared for take off. They’re extending our stay by another day.”

“Shit,” you let out a silent curse, and noticed that your other team members didn’t seem all that happy about it either. JJ quickly excused herself from the room to call Will, Garcia let out a faux sob and fell back into her chair, and Rossi had the look of abject Italian disappointment on his face that he usually only got when you talked about your love of pineapple on pizza.

“How’s about that drink now, baby girl?” Derek Morgan teased, but it was half-hearted and you knew it. You were all desperate for bed, and you could only imagine the mistakes you would make if you went drinking now after the month you’d all just survived.

The only member of the team who didn’t seem put out quite yet was Reid, but you chalked that up to the fact that this place was his hometown.

“If you guys do change your mind, I know a bar downtown where you’re 34% less likely to be propositioned, robbed or over-charged.” He smiled over at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle knowing the man was 100% serious.

“Dare I ask how you found that statistic, Reid?” Emily inquired from the other corner.

“One part actually reading the annual crime report, one part personal experience?” Reid replied, and you laughed again, unable to hold it back.

“Count me out, thank you,” you replied, and you could have sworn for a second you saw a flash of disappointment flash over his features, but you didn’t get the chance to question it, because a call was lighting up your phone screen.

You quickly excused yourself and moved to pick up the call from your mother.

“Mom, hey, what’s up?”

“What, I can’t check in on my daughter now for no reason?” you sighed and rubbed your temples, knowing exactly how this phone call was going to go, because it was how the last ten calls home had.

“Yes, mom, of course you can. How are you?”

“Terrible. Cindy’s daughter is getting married, and it’s all she’s talking about now. Can you believe it? The girl was absolutely wild when you were friends with her in high school and now she’s settling down with a lawyer of all people. Someone should warn that young man before he realises what he’s got himself into,” she scoffed on the other end of the line and you did your best to not get worked up. If you got angry it only made her more self-richeous.

“I know, Mom, Jessica sent me an invite, and I’m sure Trevor knows exactly what he’s getting into since they’ve been dating since high school.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that? You never tell me anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m in the middle of a case right now, can I call you back later?” You did your best to escape the conversation before it devolved into something you really didn’t want to talk about, like yourself, and more specifically your love life. But the gorgon had you frozen through the line and you weren’t about to make the mistake of hanging up on her.

“I’m sure your boss could spare you for five minutes, over-working you like he does. You haven’t had the time off to come and visit me since you got that fancy little job of yours, so you can do me this favor at least.”

“Sure, mom.” At times like this, you knew it was best to just let her talk and ride out the wave.

“And I’m sure you don’t even have time to date. Are you taking care of yourself, at least? Making sure you’re at least presentable, I hope? Its like I always say, you could meet your future husband in one of those precincts, you know. Get a big, strong man to take care of you.”

You had to resist the urge to throw your phone. You’d explained to your mother time and time again that you were perfectly content being the big, strong man for yourself, but there was absolutely no getting through to her. You received one of these phone calls everytime one of her friends or coworkers kids announced an engagement, got pregnant or bought a house, three things that she was desperate for you to do, as well. As soon as you saw the instagram post from Jessica you’d been counting down the days, almost thankful for your mothers lack of online presence.

“A crime scene isn’t exactly the most charming of meet cutes, Mom.”

“Well, then what about Virginia? There are some fine men working at the FBI surely. What about that one coworker of yours, what was his name?” Your heart-race increased for a moment, praying she wasn’t about to put a thought in your head that you wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Derek Morgan, was it? Now, that’s a fine young man.” This time you couldn’t stop the startled cry that came from your mouth. Sure, Morgan was an incredibly attractive man, but he’d joked around with you like a brother ever since you’d taken down your first unsub with the team. Your team was your family and your support system on the road, and they had your back on the case, so really, had your mother said anything, you’d have responded with incredulous guffawing. Hotch was like your dad, Rossi a fun Great-Uncle or something. You saw the sister’s you’d never had in JJ and Emily and of course Garcia was your best friend and you shared so many likes and dislikes that you regularly joked about being long-lost twins separated at birth. And Reid was Reid.

“Just give dating some thought, would you at least? The clock is ticking for you, you know.”

“Mom, I’m not even thirty yet. I’m in no rush.”

“That's what your Aunt Linda said, and look at her.” Your Aunt Linda was a perfectly content single woman in her late forties who had a high paying executive job, in NYC of all places, so yeah, you were in no rush at all.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, Hotch is calling me into the office to talk about some case files. I’ll speak to you later?”

“God, it’s like you don’t even want to talk to your mother for even five minutes. Go on, then, go do your big fancy job. Call me soon.”

“Yeah, Mom, I will.” And with that you finally hung up. Running a hand through your hair you paused for a breath for a second, closing your eyes and letting your hand just grip your hair for a second before releasing your breath for a second.

In the grand scheme of things, you knew that your mom wasn’t all that much to complain about. You and Emily had bonded over your respective mommy issues early in your time on the team, and you knew a lot of the other team members were either lacking some family member or the other, so you were just thankful that she was still around to annoy you, but god did she make it difficult sometimes.

Realising that any second, you’d have one profiler or the other come find you and ask you (with the best of intentions) what was wrong, you plastered a smile on your face and walked back into the office. You didn’t exactly want to relive that call anytime soon.

“Back so soon, Y/N? I thought that was your mom,” Morgan questioned you when you stepped back in.

“Yeah it was. One of my friends from highschool is getting married and you know how she loves to gossip.” You’d learnt early in the profession that you were in that the best way to hide something was to tell the truth about it for as long as you could, and then change the subject.

“Hey, Reid, you still up for a drink at that bar?” You looked hopefully at the man in the corner, and prayed noone would bring up your absolute change in attitude. “I was thinking a glass of wine or two after a successfully closed case couldn’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah, sure. You wanna head back to the hotel first and change, or do you want to go from here? Hotch said we’re free now until 2pm tomorrow.” You could see a questioning look from Morgan to your left, but you kept your vision focused on Reid, quietly thankful for the rest of the teams disinterest.

“Give me five to drop off my badge and gun in my room and freshen up a bit and we can be on our way. If this bar is bad though, Reid, you know I’m never letting you hear the end of it, right?”

“I ran the statistics, there’s only a 14% chance you’ll dislike it.”

“You know what’s scary is, I can’t even tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

–x–

Sarcasm or no, you had to admit, the bar he’d taken you to was pretty nice. It was a low-lit bar only a twenty minute taxi ride from your hotel and whilst it wasn’t exactly on the strip, it wasn’t so far out to be inconvenient. The best part about it was that it was lined with bookshelves, and each booth was blocked off by another, making it feel more like a library than a watering hole. You almost forgot you were in Vegas when you stepped in.

“Yeah, this is definitely a Spencer Reid place,” you said as you took the final swig of your wine, the glass you’d ordered on arrival having gone down easier than you’d expected.

“How so?” Spencer said as he returned to your table, carrying the replacement drinks he’d gone to order with him.

“Come on, Spencer. I’ve never seen the inside of your apartment but I’m sure it’s just this place with less furniture and more books.”

“Y/L/N, are you profiling me right now? Because that sounds pretty close to profiling?” Spencer teased and you rolled your eyes at him, grabbing your next drink from him and giving it a stir - the wine was good but at the price per glass you’d decided maybe cocktails were the thing for tonight.

“Besides, you did mention wanting to curl up with a book tonight, so I thought this bar was probably a good fit for you too.”

“Whose profiling who now, Doctor?” It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he took a sip of his drink. You knew he didn’t drink that often, but he seemed pretty open to the idea tonight, and you were absolutely glad for the company.

“Okay, I won’t profile if you don’t, but do you mind me asking you a question, Y/N?”

“Fire away,” you were playing with the stirrer in your cocktail, waiting for him to ask the question but he’d hesitated for a moment before speaking again, causing you to look up directly into his eyes.

“What’s going on with you and your mom? I don’t mean to pry and I didn’t overhear any of your call earlier or anything, but when you came in again you were all tense and you had that strained smile on your face. Then you suddenly changed your mind and decided we should get drinks so, I’m just guessing here, but you could probably do with talking about it, right?”

You let out a groan and let your head hang a bit. Yeah, you were starting to regret taking that role in the team of profilers. But at least Reid was sincere, and you knew his intentions were good. Of all the members of the team, you’d probably have described him as the safest. It was strange to think, considering all the comfort you found in your other friends, but there was just something so reassuring about Reid’s presence, the way most people overlooked him at first, how he could easily fall into his work and how you could see the cogs moving in his head as he made one genius leap to another that just made you think that everything was going to be okay if he was there.

So because it was him, you decided to talk.

“She’s just…She’s just a little much sometimes, you know?” He smiled back a knowing smile, but didn’t try to add anything and encouraged you to keep going.

“She’s been really persistent recently in bothering me about hitting some of lifes big milestones - marriage, kids, you know? And it always leaves me in a panic because though I’m pretty sure I want those things just yet, I don’t want the pressure of having them yet.” You swallowed the bile in your thoat and continued

“Everytime she says something, I feel bad that I don’t have them. And the way she talks about them its like they’re some kind of… of personal failure, that I’m not trying hard enough to catch a man or something, and I just wonder what if she’s right?” You start slow but you feel yourself gaining pace as you begin rambling, by the end you’re left wondering if Reid even caught any of that.

“I’m perfectly content living alone, but what if I’m secretly not, and I end up forty and alone and can’t even get a guy to look at me.”

“I can pretty confidently say that that’s not going to happen, Y/N.” Reid replied when you finally grabbed your drink ready to take another sip.

“How come?”

“You won’t have to put any effort into catching a man, Y/N.” Reid replied.

“You’re saying that because you’re my friend and you care about me Reid, of course you think that.”

“No, I’m saying that as an FBI Profiler that’s noticed the barman, the man on a date in the corner and the group of guys smoking outside the door eye you up since we’ve been here. And considering we’ve been doing paperwork all day, and the only change in your appearance since 8am this morning was the fresh coat of chapstick you put on while we were in the taxi, I’d think you hadn’t really put that much thought into what you look like right now.”

“You’re exaggerating,” and you really believe that, until you turn to look at the guy on the date and see him avert his gaze from you quickly, and you realise there might be something in what he’s saying.

“Okay, but that still doesn’t mean that I need or want to hear those things from my mother.”

“Y/N, take it from me, mother’s can be complicated.”

“God, I feel so stupid talking to you about something so trivial with my mom, I shouldn’t be doing that, we’re here to have fun.”

“Y/N, its okay. I can do the mommy issues talks, I’m perfectly qualified, but…” he trails off and grabs his drink for another sip and you find yourself hanging off his words begging for him to bring you more comfort and spoken caresses.

“But what, Reid?” you finally ask, as you realise he’s dragging this out on purpose to tease you a little.

“But how about a distraction instead? Have you ever been in a Las Vegas casino with a man that is banned from gambling in most of them?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little as he asked that and you giggled again, grateful for the reprieve from the serious talk.

“That doesn’t sound all that fun, Spencer.”

“Oh yeah, it’s not, but we could always use those vouchers we got as a token of appreciation earlier in the bars and drink some pretty fancy alcohol?”

“Spencer Reid, you are finally speaking my language.”

“I’m still speaking English Y/N, but if you wanted me to switch to russian or some other language, I could accommodate that depending on your linguistic preference.”

“It was a joke, Spence, now let’s get out of here.”

With that, he stood and dramatically offered you his hand like a gentleman, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow when you took it and guiding you swiftly out of the sweet bar. You were with Spencer, your safe friend, close work colleague and probably the least likely member of the BAU Team to get into trouble in a bar in Vegas. What’s the worst that could happen? You thought, as you took a final step out into the humid night air of Las Vegas.

–X–

The first thing you noticed in the morning was the pounding in your head, and it was pretty much the only thing you noticed for quite some time. When you managed to finally unglue your eyes, the second thing you noticed that this definitely wasn’t your room. The third thing you noticed was the gaping hole in your memories that explained how you possibly could’ve ended up wherever it was that you were. Or really any memories from the night before at all.

Letting out a quick groan you sit up in bed and take stock of your surroundings. Although the layout is different, you quickly recognise the interior matches the hotel you’ve been staying at, so you’re thankful that you’re at least somewhere relatively safe, and most likely in familiar company. The room looks to be neat on the whole, but there’s obvious signs of a drunken escapade strewn everwhere - two champagne flutes and a drained bottle, the contents of your purse spilt onto the chair in the corner, some random balloons in the corner you must have picked up somewhere in a drunken stupor, your clothes discarded in a trail to the bed.

That last one wakes you up a little bit more, and almost embarrassingly, you look down at yourself and see your lack of clothing, pulling the covers of the quilt closer to you as you feel yourself flush.

Fuck.

There’s a shifting in the bed next to you, and you look down in horror to see exactly which member of your team got you so plastered last night. You try to move to see who it is, but theres a tightness around your wrist and you’re pulled right back down into bed. You look down at your arm, and that’s when you realise you’re really screwed.

There, around your wrist and restraining you against the bed, is a set of handcuffs. FBI standard. The insinuation flames your face as you whip around to see which close friend and coworker you maybe - possibly - hooked up with last night, too embarrassed to look at your hand any more.

Luckily, your mystery man shifts again, and you catch sight of the nest of brown curls right before he turns over to see you, so when you finally meet the eye of Doctor Spencer Reid, you don’t scream in surprise.

“Y/N? What are you doi-” he cuts himself off as he lets his eyes trail down your body, quickly noticing your state of undress and pulling himself up into a seated position. He is similarly disrobed and it takes all of your strength to pull your gaze away from his bare chest to look literally anywhere else, your face practically flaming now.

“Spencer, would you mind helping me out over here?” you manage to squeak out quickly, as he does his best to avoid your eyes. “I seem to be a little stuck?”

That draws his attention back to you, and he finally notices the strange position of your arms and the handcuffs keeping you pinned to that spot in the bed.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry, fuck,” he quickly pulls on the pants he discarded by his side of the bed and scrambles over to you, tripping over once in his haste.

“Do you know where the key is?” you ask as he arrives at your side again, your free hand clutching the sheets over your breasts like your life depended on it.

“If that’s my pair they should be in the safe in the nightstand with my creds, give me a second to look.” After a second, he reaches the aforementioned safe box, pulling it open. He roots around inside it for a few seconds and then he spots something ad you watch the blood drain from his face.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you spit out quickly, tongue still heavy, and lips probably still swollen, from the night before, so you trip over the words a little. He pulls out the keys from the draw, and you let out a sigh of relief, but you’re still tense as he reaches back inside the draw and pulls out something else.

“Y/N, there wouldn’t happen to be a ring on that hand would there?” Spencer still isn’t looking at you, still staring intently at whatever else is in his hands. You try to angle your head to look, but between the restraints and the fact that Reid had turned his back to you couldn’t quite see what it was.

“What? No, I don’t wear a ring on this hand-” you cut yourself off abruptly as you look down and see it. There on the fourth finger of your left hand, the one that is still chained to the bed by your partners handcuffs, is a ring. There’s a ring on your ring finger. You just woke up in Las Vegas with no memory, in your coworkers room, naked, with a ring on your ring finger.

Your heart drops to your ass as you snap your head back around to Spencer, who finally works up the courage to look you in the eye.

“I think you should look at this” he stutters out and finally presents you with the other item he pulled out of the draw. Your jaw drops open and the pounding in your head turns into a continuous buzzing as you see yourself presented with a marriage liscence. Pinned to the corner with a paperclip is a polaroid picture, and you recognise yourself and your clothes from the night before, with the addition of a veil and bouquet, your arms slung around Reid’s neck as he pulls you in for what you can assume was a pretty passionate kiss.

“Y/N I think we got married last night.”

For a second you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. This was not happening, not to you, not right now. How stupidly drunk could you have gotten to have actually gone and married someone you weren’t even dating. And considering your current lack of clothing, it was dawning on you that you had probably done a little bit more than what was in that photo.

“Spencer unlock these handcuffs right now, so help me God,” you breathed deep and screwed your eyes shut, hoping that wihtout the distraction of the glaring lights you’d be able to remember some of what you’d done last night, but nothing came to you.

Reid, for what it was worth, got you unlocked quickly. You winced slightly as you pulled your arm away from the position it’d been in for however many hours.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have undone those last night, I don’t know why I didn’t, I’m usually pretty good at remembering stuff like that.” Reid rambled, running a hand through his hair and pacing slightly at your side of the bed. You pushed yourself up and watched him for a minute, just looking at this man who was now, probably, your husband.

Your husband.

You shook the thought from your head and cut his rambling off quickly.

“You put me in these?” you asked, just desperate for any clarification on any of the events of the last 24 hours, not fully grasping the implications of what you were asking until Reid was looking down at you with a flushed face and a mouth gaping like a fish, struggling to find the words to say.

“This is my hotel room. Those are my handcuffs… I kind of just assumed…” he trailed off the thought and you were right with him, the embarrassment heating your face just as much as it had his. You found it hard to meet his eyes the, and dropped yours to your lap.

“So you don’t remember, either?” You almost sighed in relief at that. If even a genius with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory was in this state after a night of drinking, then you really couldn’t be blamed for getting so drunk you married your coworker and most likely had some pretty kinky sex with him, remembering absolutely nothing on top of that at all.

“Do you need me to grab you something to wear?” he asked as he looked down at you, letting his gaze trail probably a little bit too low for a little bit too long. You grew heated under his stare, as your body reacted, and you realised how easy it must have been to fall underneath him last night if this was how you were feeling from just one look.

But you pulled yourself out of those thoughts quickly, and it seemed that so did he, as he began grabbing clothes from the floor and handing them to you, turning away as you started getting yourself into a semi-decent state.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you heard Reid mumble to himself as he made his way around the side of the bed, and in your concern for him, you called out.

“Anything specific those curses were for, Spence? Because I know this isn’t exactly the most ideal situation, but four Spencer Reid swears in a row is a cause for concern.” You tried to joke, hoping to relieve some of the anxiety of your predicament.

“I can’t find…” he started and then dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. “Y/N, I think we didn’t use protection.” You could see him panicking now, and for a second you thought of joining him too, but you crossed the room and grabbed his arms.

“Spencer, look at me, it’s fine. If we did end up… doing that, I’m on birth control, and we probably have time to grab something extra just to make sure, right?” he looked down at you then and after a moments hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so stupid for suggesting we go to that casino bar last night, I don’t know what I was thinking. You even said last night that this wasn’t what you wanted for yourself, right now, god I’m an idiot, you don’t deserve this.” He buried his face in your neck and held you tight, and you pulled yours up to his back, rubbing circles into his skin slowly.

“Spencer, listen to me. I can think of noone I would have rather had a shotgun Vegas marriage with, okay? This isn’t your fault, we were both drunk, and I’m sure a Reid who was thinking straight could give me some kind of statistic about inhibitions dropping with a certain amount of alcohol.”

“A study in the United Kingdom found that there was an increase of risky sexual behavior in young people who had participated in binge drinking, including unprotected sex with a new partner and the use of emergency contraceptives and I’m not sure why I’m still talking when that was probably rhetorical, right?” You smiled at his panic, finding him just as endearing as ever, even in this predicament.

“What I’m saying, Spencer, is that we’re going to be okay. This isn’t the first time someone has gotten married in Vegas on a whim. Hell, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened to someone on our team. In a sense, this was a very traditional wedding.”

He groaned into your neck again and you laughed up at him. Sure, you were panicked still, but just having him in your arms there sharing his honest feelings with you instead of bottling it up and leaving you to deal with it on your own in your head too was doing you a world of good, and you found the words you used to reassure him soothing you, too, in turn.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. One, find the nearest pharmacy. Two, find whatever Elvis-inspired love shack wrote that marriage license and figure out if it’s actually legally binding. Three, avoid all of our coworkers until 2pm. How does that sound?”

Reid pulled himself out of your neck then, and you were almost sad at the loss of that warmth near you.

“It sounds like I made the smartest choice of a wife I was ever going to make,” he smiled down at you.

“Oh you got jokes now, Doc? I see.”

“Thought I should let you know all my deep dark secrets now we’re married.” You shared a laugh, and standing there amongst the debris of the night before, despite all the mistakes, you knew you were safe, and that the two of you would always be safe together.

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