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1-800-local-slut · 1 month ago

Note

So I love your Spencer Reid x Black!Bombshell!Reader fic and I was wondering if you have any headcanons for the platonic friendship between Spencer's black bombshell reader and Derek Morgan?

I'm super sorry, I'm 100% south asian so the only things I know about black culture come from the web but I can see Spencer asking Derek questions so that he can understand his girlfriend better (since Derek grew up with his mother and older sisters) like about wash day and black hair care (I'm remembering that one Black Jeopardy SNL skit with Chadwick Boseman and I can see Derek just telling Spencer to never ever even think about making a potato salad for her).

Like I totally see black bombshell reader and Morgan having a cool big brother x cool younger sister type relationship with Spencer being the puppy eyed golden retriever in the middle.

Leave It At The Door

Spencer needs some advice, and Derek has allll the answers

Spencer Reid x Black! Bombshell! Reader

Warnings: none, cute fluff, potato salad, Derek is lowkey a cornball but tells reader the hard truth like true homeboys do, Derek and reader are besties in the way that he calls her ugly and she beats him up lol, I based this character on me

Thank you for this request pookie! I truly appreciate it and I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. Please consider sending more request in the future! Comments, reblogs, and likes are really appreciated <3

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❥ Derek's had a few close female friends in his life. He has the ever so lovely Penelope, his rock

❥ He has the amazing you, as well. It started in college when you were both starving students and you'd spend nights studying together while missing some of the parties you were constantly invited too

❥ The dating rumors were impossible to dodge, but you two stayed good friends through college and even through the FBI. Through breakups, arguments, drunken nights together laughing about nothing in particular and the morning hangovers you'd nursed each other through

❥ So when you two were successful adults in the CIA in your early 30s, thriving through single life and work life and you called him one day crying, Derek was more than concerned. The second you two got off work, he was at your apartment ordering the greasy food you two rarely put into your bodies

❥ Your boyfriend cheated on you. After six months together you really liked him too.

"I need a break D." You moaned in sadness as you ate a pork dumpling and brushed a stray curl up under your hoodie.

"What do you mean?" He responded, ever so nonchalant. He watched you roll over onto your side and look at him. You were in your pajamas with a hoodie on, the TV illuminating your eyes

"Am I ugly D? I mean, why do I keep getting cheated on?" It was a genuine question; this had been the fourth time one of Derek's friends has cheated on you. To be fair, you didn't care the first three times. You were in your early 20s, just messing around and let it go that same night. It's his fault, for all of his dick head friends asking to be put on with you and Derek knowing you were typically down for a good time not a long time. Little did he know, with age came the desire for love. Not just a fling.

He looked you up and down, dramatically tipping his head from side to side and humming while offense slowly covered your face.

"Hideous, your forehead's too big and you don't even look that good for real." He stared with the blankest face while chewing a piece of chicken. Disgust colored your features, and you jabbed him in the side.

Derek knew you weren't ugly. Not his type due to your personality but there's no doubt that you were fine. But he also knew that he couldn't shake yourself confidence. You had the self-confidence of a budding narcissist and were so delusional with what your looks could achieve that it was a little jarring. Most of the time it worked anyways, men were basically putty in your pretty, manicured hands. The only men who didn't take the bait were usually not attracted to women in general.

"I'm done with dating. I'm going to become a nun. Or take a vow of celibacy." You huffed, while sitting up and your hood came down. Your hair came down and covered your entire back. The men you dated tended to like spoiling you, evident by your current lace front that you didn't drop a cent on. Too bad they didn't also like being loyal.

Chewing a spring roll, Derek rolled his eyes. He's been your best friend since college. Fourteen years of friendship and Derek has seen this time and time again. You go out with guys, have sex with them too early, they don't take you seriously because you don't date guys on your level for some unknown reason. Then you cry, Derek comforts you and the cycle repeats. It gets a little tiring.

"Or you could start being serious. You're still dating the same guys you dated when we were 20. Bum's who don't take shit seriously. You have a doctorate. You pay all your own bills. You're too grown for this." You bit your lip, the words like a slap across the tit. Maybe Derek was right. He was certainly right. But rule number one of having male friends: never let them know that their right ESPECIALLY with dating advice.

"Date serious guys, be in serious relationships if that's what you want. Or keep dating losers. Keep dating bums who are gonna keep cheating on you and are only good for money and some dick." You couldn't even make a joke back. Because this was one of the rare times when Derek was being serious. Giving genuine advice for your broken heart.

❥ From there you did take Derek's advice. No more losers, lames, bums, dummies. No guys who made you laugh and that was all they were good for, definitely no sex on the first date. Not even the second or third. And that tended to weed out the losers early

❥ Dating good, smart men, also brought out a weird group who had their ideas on what a 'high value woman' was. Turns out losers can have doctorates as well. But you didn't give up, and Derek was happy when you've gone a few months without calling him about heart break

❥ It wasn't fun for him to see his best friend of over a decade just going through the motions. Not when love was such a powerful and beautiful thing that truly helped color your lives in a nice way.

❥ The craziness of your jobs for some reason caused you to entertain bums and Derek has been so disgusted for ten plus years. The number one hoe Derek Morgan, was disgusted in your choices of men

❥ You were still you at the end of every day, no matter how much your dating choices matured

❥ So when Spencer Reid, that tall glass of milk was gazing at you star struck one day, Derek knew he would have to let him down for you. Spencer didn't know what to do with all that. Truthfully, you'd be perfect for one another. Derek knew all your ins and outs, you'd fit into Spencer like a puzzle piece. But the kid was too young. Too wide eyed, and you were too much for Spencer at his young age

❥ It took a while but eventually Spencer somehow stole your heart. Even though you swore he was too young for you and refused to have another guy not take you seriously. But you and Spencer are in the same socioeconomic class, have similar hobbies and similar levels of intellect.

❥ He's on your level, handsome and something about him just made it impossible for you to follow your head instead of your heart. Nothing good could come from hooking up with a guy almost ten years younger than you but somehow you found yourself at a nice dinner with him and the rest was history

❥ Spencer was truly lucky, Derek can't explain how lucky Spencer was to have you in his life. You were the realest woman on the planet and Spencer got to see you. The you under 'you' in a way

❥ Spencer was still young though. He didn't understand it some things you said or did. Cultural differences, we'll call them.

❥ When you two did start dating, Derek said a little prayer for him. He still wasn't sure that Spencer could handle all that

"You have to train white boys when you start dating them." Your mother said over the phone one day while you and Derek were hanging out.

"Mommy he's not a dog."

"He's just a tall, awkward white man." Derek joked, and you slapped him on the bicep.

"Okay, let me ask you this. Does he use a washcloth when he bathes?" Your mom asked over the phone while the TV played in the background of her house in Houston.

You hesitated and Derek laughed. Busted.

"Girl that's nasty." Derek laughed and you kicked him.

"I'm working on it ma. Look, I have to go but I'll call you tomorrow. Love you." You hung up the phone to escape scrutiny from your mom.

❥ But deep down, Derek knew that there were some things to you that couldn't be worked around.

❥ It didn't pop up again until a few days later. When Derek was sitting down late at night, you were on a coffee run, and Spencer found himself alone with Derek

❥ And Spencer sheepishly leaned in to ask Derek something

"Derek, I have a question. I don't mean to be weird but you're the only person I can really ask." Looking up from the files on his desk, he bit back a yawn.

"What's up kid?"

"What's wash day?"

"What?"

"I asked her if she wanted to go out on Saturday. But she told me it was 'wash day', and I asked her if would really take her all day to do laundry. She just laughed, kissed me on the cheek and told me not to hurt myself thinking about it." And Derek realized the kid was cooked. Fried actually.

It was no secret that Spencer was a bit clueless when it came to women. But black women were a whole separate case. There are rules, things you need to know, do's and don'ts. So, Derek, desperate to keep both of his friends happy decided to lend a hand.

Derek motioned for Spencer to come around his desk.

"Wash day, is sacred. It's important. It's a battle for women with natural hair everywhere. It could take all day or all night."

"Wouldn't she just wash her hair every night when she showers?" Poor, sweet Spencer.

"No. Black people don't typically wash their hair every day. More so once a week or once every two weeks. Washing our hair everyday would ultimately damage it."

"What hair?" Spencer's eyes flicked to Derek's bald head.

"I'm choosing to ignore that."

"But wait. She styles it differently every few days."

"...Spencer that's a wig."

"...What."

"Her hair, it's a wig." No way Spencer thought your natural hair was that long, wavy wig that you named 'ol reliable' because it's served you well for a little over a year.

"I thought- well. Okay." And then he went back to his desk. In the nick of time the object of conversation entered.

❥ As your best friend, Derek got to hear all about your sex life. Including how severely underwhelming your first time with Spencer was. And this maybe a little weird but there's something about women where if you do something just right whenever you hit that perfect spot, they stay glued to your side. And right now, you were not sticking to him due to how poorly he preformed

"It wasn't like, his first time ever but it was like...I don't know D. He just was not putting it down." You sighed, eating some chips while you two drove from the police station and back to your hotel room.

"What, you think he just needs a little guidance?"

"I don't know. But this has never happened to me."

"You've never had bad sex?" Derek asked in awe, while turning at the intersection and turning off the turn signal.

"I've never been bad in bed. I kind of just...don't want to do it with him again." You sighed, looking defeated. Usually if the sex was bad, the relationship was over for you, but you liked Spencer enough to not just write him off as a bad lay.

"He would have it for like two seconds. Then I'd literally go back to feeling nothing." You held out a potato chip and Derek gratefully chewed it while humming in thought.

"Well, what wasn't he doing?"

"He wasn't hitting the spot, he had no rhythm, he wasn't even whispering in my ear. It was like he couldn't set a consistent pace. He was basically just flopping around. At some point, he did it. Like he rolled his hips, and I loved it, but he got nervous or something and went back to flopping. He wouldn't even touch me. Oh my god, what if he thinks I'm ugly?"

"He had sex with you without touching you? What'd he do, dry hump the air over your pussy?" Derek asked with a smile, and you let out an unlady like cackle.

"That would've been hotter than whatever he was doing. I mean like, he wouldn't kiss me. He wouldn't touch my hair or my face. Not even my ass. Couldn't even look me in the eyes. Do you know how many men would die to touch this? He was acting like he was...scared? I don't know man. It was bad." You shook your head and sighed.

"I tried at first! You know? I sucked his dick, I tried to throw it on him, I tried to move but it seemed to freak him out. So I didn't want him to freak out and I just let him think he was really doing something. I literally fought back tears."

"Tears is crazy." Derek was in genuine disbelief, turning into the parking lot of the hotel and taking another chip from the bag. The car was put in park and you two passed the chips back and forth.

"I don't know what to do here man. I don't think I can even teach that. I don't think I can show him what I like. He just gets scared whenever I like try to touch him and stuff."

"So, you're just gonna give up?"

You tilted your head side to side while chewing and then nodded.

"Yep. We'll have an asexual relationship because he honestly seems scared of sex." And Derek knew that was a fast way for any relationship would implode. Because if he found out he did so bad at sex that his girl never wanted to have sex again then he'd have to break up with her out of his pride.

❥ You two got out of the car once the bag was empty and made your way to the hotel. Spencer's happy ass walked into the lobby of the hotel happy as can be. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek while you cringed and covered it quickly with a smile. Dude had no clue that he basically flopped around like a fish on top of you

❥ But when three months passed without you two having sex again, Spencer and Derek found themselves having a nice lunch together when Spencer was poking at his food. Clearly lost in thought

"Has she said anything about me lately?"

"No." Other than how you have no rhythm and literally acted like you were scared but she likes you so much that she's willing to endure celibacy but will not have sex with you again. Oh, and how she's running out of ways to decline sex and thinks she might have to just stomach it once every few months. Spencer's girlfriend would do anything with him, sit throughs hours of random ramblings. But no way in hell was she about to have sex with him again. Luckily sex is something Derek is very good at.

"Let me ask you this. What did you do before she started being weird?"

Spencer went red, looking down at his plate and pulling at his collar.

"We uh, had sex for the first time. And the last time I guess."

"What'd you do during?"

"Well. I just uh, I put it in."

"...Okay. Then?"

"I like, started thrusting."

"...Okay. So, did you like kiss her or anything?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh man."

And after 25 minutes of having a man to man talk about intimacy, how vaginas are nothing to be afraid of, if you want to regularly have sex then you have to try and not be so scared of kissing and understand that women have likes. And if you really can't find any sort of way to move your hips then find a time in your head to move too. Like a nice little four count.

And the next day you skipped into work and happily shared half of your breakfast muffin with Derek while you recounted how things went. They weren't perfect but it was far better than last time.

"D, it was so much better than before. And honest to God he was actually exploring my body instead of standing there like he'd never seen a naked woman before. I didn't move as much but he even kissed me, and we held hands."

"Sounds terrible."

"It was horribly vanilla but there's definitely room for improvement."

❥ As your bestfriend, Derek also gets access to your fridge

❥ Eats all of your snacks like a biggie, but Spencer is over as well. He's searching for cookies but voices his disbelief when he finds another cookie tin filled with various materials. You were like someone's grandma in a way

❥ You sit down at your island and Derek is eating one of your pudding cups much to your dismay. He sits across the island from you, and Spencer is leaning on the surface while you talked about some sort of party. You had a little notepad, ever so organized.

"So, my mom is bringing banana pudding, and my cousins are bringing the apple pie and rum punch. D, what are you putting in?"

"Some meat." And he wiggled his eyebrows at his own joke.

"Nasty." You scowled and Spencer tilted his head in confusion.

"I can bring some ribs OR I can make peach cobbler."

"Why not both, you lazy bum?"

"I'm not a slave; you get one or the other."

You scoffed in fake annoyance and Derek flicked you in the arm.

"If I bring ribs, I'm manning the grill so I can't man the grill and bake cobbler. Unless you wanna pay me, 14 an hour."

"Alright Betty Crocker. I'm making the mac and cheese."

"Not the cornbread?" Derek asked, devastated that you wouldn't be making him your signature cornbread.

"No, Aunt Gina is making that."

"Who's frying the chicken and the fish? Because if the person isn't trustworthy I'm not coming."

"My uncle Moe, I don't trust him with the grill after his stroke, but he really wanted to help out." Then your house phone rang from the living room, and you quickly excused yourself. Spencer picked up your little notepad and scanned the page.

"You thinking of bringing something pretty boy?" Derek asked, scrapping the spoon on the inside of the pudding cup. Should he get another? Should he risk you kicking his ass?

"Almost everything is taken, except the potato salad. Maybe I can ask my mom if she has an old recipe she might remember. I remember my mom making it with dinner sometimes. If not I'm sure I can find one or I can go to the grocery store and get a pre-made one."

And Derek's never felt his own facial muscles betray him so quick.

"Do you value your relationship?"

"Of course?"

"And you want her family to like you?"

"Well yeah, if it's important to her."

"Leave that shit at home. Bring the paper plates or something." He left it at that, ignoring Spencer's shocked open mouth.

And you came floating back into the room with a grim expression.

"That was Jack. He asked if Trina could bring the potato salad."

"Why not Trina?" As far as Spencer knew, there were only two white people in your family. Spencer, and your cousin Jack's girlfriend Trina and neither of them seemed to be approved to bring food. Maybe it was just potato salad.

"Well...not to say anything is wrong with Trina. It's just...well white people have a tendency to put weird shit in their food sometimes. Hence the saying, 'you can't eat at everybody's house' because y'all tend to do things different from us.

You know it comes from social differences, differences in when we grew up and what we had available along with what recipes were passed down to us. And you guys' kind of just...fuck up all type of shit in the kitchen. I compromised and said she could make the salad."

"Well, that doesn't sound fair!" Spencer chuckled and Derek shook his head.

"Okay let me ask you this: when you cook chicken do you and your family wash it first?" You and Derek leaned in simultaneously and eyes Spencer carefully.

"You don't have too; studies have found that the heat kills the bacteria!"

"OH!" Derek yelled in protest while clutching his chest, and you busted into laughter.

"When you season your meat, how do you know when there's enough?"

"I follow the recipe."

"Instant fail."

"What if the recipe says pepper for spice or ONLY calls for salt and pepper?"

"Then that's all I use." You sucked in a breath and shook your head

"Yeah. Maybe just bring yourself and that beautiful smile of yours."

A frown creased his face until you stood on your tip toes. You planted a kiss on his cheek, and he instinctually broke into a joyful smile.

"Well, I feel fed just seeing that, thank you Spencer."

❥ Overall, Derek is overjoyed to see you and Spencer happy. He's happy to see you with someone who understands you. Someone who sees you for the you underneath all the makeup, high fashion and glamour

❥ And sure Spencer may be a little lost sometimes but he's always willing to listen. Truly he appreciates Derek being willing to fill in the blanks. And you may not know it, but you appreciate Derek as well for filling things in for your man

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almostwisegalaxy · 1 month ago

Text

Silent Hostility

Part 2

Part 3

Part4

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story

Age gaps : Spencer 37- 38 Reader : twenties

Post prison Reid. Season 13. But let's imagine that the team is Always the same as in the seasons marked, with : Derek Morgan, Aaron hotcher...

..................................................................................

The atmosphere in the BAU offices was the same as usual: agents moving back and forth, stacks of files piling up on desks, and the constant background noise of professional conversations. Spencer Reid usually kept his head down, absorbed in a scientific article or a pile of reports.

But today, something—someone—disrupted the ordinary flow of his day.

Y/N had just arrived.

A new recruit specializing in behavioral criminology. Young, far too young to be here in the eyes of some. And yet, her upright posture and sharp gaze spoke of a confidence far different from the polite smile she wore.

Spencer watched from the corner of his eye as she greeted Hotch and Prentiss with impeccable professionalism. She was elegant, composed, and he immediately noticed how some colleagues looked at her—with that mix of doubt and misplaced interest.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t look away for an entirely different reason.

Something was off.

Not with her directly, no. But in the way she carried herself, a subtlety almost imperceptible to an untrained eye. Her smile was perfectly controlled, her gestures measured, but there was tension in her fingers when she shook hands, a microsecond of hesitation before making eye contact.

A duality that captivated him.

He didn’t realize it at first, but he had stood up. He approached.

— Y/N, right?

She turned to him, and the moment their eyes met, Spencer felt a cold shiver creep into the air.

— Doctor Spencer Reid, he introduced himself, suddenly uncomfortable without knowing why.

She stared at him for a moment, her smile fading ever so slightly, as if something about him had just struck her straight in the heart. Then, she regained her composure and nodded.

— Nice to meet you, Doctor Reid.

A neutral response. Too neutral.

He felt a strange discomfort without being able to pinpoint its source. It was as if, in just a few seconds, she had erased him from her mind, like an annoying background noise.

— If you ever need help with—

— I can handle myself just fine, thanks.

The tone wasn’t overtly aggressive, but there was a sharp firmness, an invisible wall she had just put up between them.

Spencer froze. He didn’t understand.

The others had received smiles and polite exchanges. But with him, it was different.

It was cold.

And he had no idea why.

With time, Reid realized this wasn’t a passing awkwardness. It wasn’t just a misunderstanding.

Y/N hated him.

Oh, not openly. In front of the team, she was impeccable. Professional. But in the shadows, away from prying eyes, it was a different story.

Every time they were alone, the air grew heavier.

Once, as he was about to enter the break room, she walked out at the same moment. Their eyes met, and he immediately saw the change in her expression. A barely perceptible tension.

She walked past him without a word. As if he didn’t exist.

Another time, he tried to talk to her about a profile they were working on together.

— Y/N, I reviewed the latest data and—

— Look, Reid, she cut him off with a sigh, irritated. I know you love the sound of your own voice, but I’m not in the mood.

A knife to the chest would have hurt less.

He stood frozen, unable to respond.

She didn’t even look at him.

She despised him.

And he had no idea what he had done to deserve it.

Spencer Reid was a man of logic. He understood human behavior better than most. But this particular case eluded him.

Why?

Why her?

Why such visceral rejection?

He tried not to think about it. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But the truth was, he had never been able to stand not understanding something.

So he watched her. Discreetly, of course. Just enough to catch those fleeting emotions she let slip when she thought no one was looking.

He saw the way her jaw tensed after a polite smile.

He noticed the stiffness in her shoulders when a man got too close.

He noted that, sometimes, she almost seemed… afraid.

But never around him.

No. She didn’t fear him.

She hated him.

And he would never know why.

---

Y/N knew Reid was watching her.

She could feel it before even seeing him. It wasn’t an intrusive gaze, nor was it ill-intentioned. But it was there. A persistent presence in her field of vision, an invisible weight on her skin.

She would have preferred if he despised her in return.

But no. He kept trying, clumsily, to break the barrier she had built between them.

And she kept reinforcing it.

That day, she was finalizing a report in an empty conference room when the door opened.

She didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

— Are you looking for someone? she asked bluntly, her tone sharp.

Reid hesitated for a second before stepping inside completely.

— No. I just wanted to… talk about the suspect’s profile.

She exhaled softly through her nose.

— We already discussed the profile with Hotch.

— Yes, but I noticed something that might be relevant.

She closed her laptop slowly and finally turned to him.

— Do you really want to do this now, Reid?

He blinked, visibly caught off guard.

— I… I don’t understand.

— Exactly. You don’t understand. So stop trying.

A heavy silence settled between them.

Spencer opened his mouth, closed it, then did what he always did when he was nervous—he started talking too fast.

— I’m sorry if I said or did something that offended you. That wasn’t my intention. Statistically speaking, first impressions can be biased by external factors—

— Reid.

She had just cut him off.

He stopped.

Her gaze was burning. Not with anger, but with something deeper. Something he couldn’t define.

She stood up slowly, took her file under her arm, and stepped closer to him.

— There’s nothing to understand, okay? Nothing to analyze, nothing to dissect.

She was so close now that he could see the faint tremble of her eyelashes, the barely perceptible tension in her fingers around the file.

— So stop.

She walked past him and left the room without another word.

Spencer remained still, his heart beating a little too fast, his thoughts in chaos.

He still didn’t understand.

But what he did know was that this woman was beginning to consume his mind.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Reid tried to ignore the effect Y/N had on him. But it wasn’t just a matter of attraction. It wasn’t her smile he wanted to understand. It was that silent pain hiding beneath the surface.

But she wouldn’t let him get close.

Worse, she seemed to close herself off even more when he was around.

Until that night.

They were returning from a grueling case in Dallas, one of those cases that leaves a mark on the soul.

On the plane ride back, the team was half-asleep. Y/N, however, sat with her arms crossed, staring into nothing.

Reid hesitated, then sat across from her.

She didn’t react immediately, but he saw her shoulders tense ever so slightly.

— Can I? he asked softly.

She raised an eyebrow.

— Since when do you ask permission to sit?

— Since I realized you’d probably prefer me on the other side of the plane.

She said nothing.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, she sighed, exhausted.

— Why do you keep pushing, Reid?

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Because he didn’t know.

Because she fascinated him as much as she pushed him away.

Because he sensed, deep down, that beneath her disdain, there was something else.

— You’re a mystery, he finally admitted, honest.

She let out a bitter laugh.

— Do you think everyone is a puzzle to be solved?

— Not everyone.

Just her.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment. Then she stood up and went to sit elsewhere.

Spencer watched her empty seat, unable to understand why his chest felt so tight.

But he knew one thing.

He wouldn’t be able to ignore her.

And he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

---

Y/N knew how to adapt. It was a necessity, a survival instinct she had perfected over the years.

She knew when to smile. She knew how to joke, how to adjust her tone to seem warm without being too familiar, to keep her distance without appearing cold.

Within the team, she was well-liked.

Derek Morgan had immediately taken her under his wing. He liked ambitious young recruits, the ones with fire in their veins and iron willpower. With him, Y/N allowed herself to be a little lighter, to exchange playful banter and feigned arrogance.

— You really insist on running every morning before a field day? he asked one day, watching her tie her laces.

— I mostly insist on not running out of breath behind you, she replied, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed and patted her shoulder.

With Hotch, she was impeccable. Respectful, disciplined. She knew he was testing her, observing how she handled pressure, and she had no intention of giving him any reason to doubt her.

JJ, on the other hand, was gentle and maternal, which made Y/N uncomfortable for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. But she appreciated her, and they worked well together.

Emily Prentiss was perhaps the one she felt closest to. Not that they talked much, but there was a silent understanding between them, an unspoken recognition of wounds they never named.

And then there was Penelope Garcia.

Penelope was a whirlwind of bright colors and exuberant cheerfulness, everything Y/N was not. And yet, Garcia had immediately taken her under her wing, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

— My sweet star, you’re far too serious, she declared in the first week. We’re going to have to work on that.

Y/N rolled her eyes.

— I’m fine, Garcia.

— That’s what every little broken heart says before I save them with cookies and a personalized playlist.

Y/N had laughed despite herself.

Garcia had that gift, the ability to make the air feel lighter, to erase shadows without even realizing it.

So Y/N let her. She accepted the sudden hugs, the affectionate nicknames, the sincere gestures. Because, in some way, it was nice.

It was a friendship she had never known before.

But with Spencer, it was a completely different story.

Y/N always felt when he was there.

He didn’t talk much when they were in a group, but she felt his gaze.

It wasn’t oppressive. It wasn’t perverse or domineering like others had been before him.

No. His gaze was a suspended question.

And she refused to answer it.

One evening, as she was leaving the office late, she heard footsteps behind her in the hallway.

She tensed, breath short. But when she turned around, it was only Reid.

He stopped immediately when he saw her expression.

— Sorry, he murmured.

She looked away, jaw clenched.

— Don’t follow me.

— I’m not following you, he simply replied.

She laughed, a joyless laugh.

— Of course.

He remained still, and she felt her anger boil.

— Why do you do this, Reid? she whispered.

— Do what?

— Staring. Insisting.

He blinked, genuinely lost.

— Because you haunt me.

Silence fell like a heavy weight.

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest. A deep fear. A vertigo.

She took a step back.

— Stop this.

— Stop what?

— Trying to understand me.

He said nothing.

Because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t understand.

And she would never let him.

---

Months passed.

Y/N was integrating well into the team. She was no longer just the "new recruit"; she was a respected profiler whose intuition and keen observation made a difference in the field. Even Hotch, who was sparing with compliments, had implied that she belonged among them.

And yet, something in her remained on edge.

She laughed with Morgan, exchanged knowing looks with Prentiss, accepted Garcia’s suffocating hugs without flinching. But it was just a mask, a dance she had mastered to perfection.

There was only one person who refused to dance with her.

Spencer Reid.

He still watched her with that intensity, that silent obsession she hated as much as she feared. He didn’t understand her. He never would.

And yet, he remained.

Watching.

Searching.

Trying to uncover a secret she would never reveal.

But life at the BAU wasn’t just about the quiet tension between them. There were also moments of lightness, absurd instances that made their work bearable.

Like the day Rossi got locked in his own office.

Garcia had tampered with the lock to prove a security system could be bypassed, and she had accidentally trapped their veteran inside.

— Garcia, open this door immediately! Rossi thundered, furious.

— Oh my God, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die! Garcia kept repeating, frantically tapping at her keyboard.

Y/N and Morgan were in tears from laughter.

Reid, on the other hand, leaned towards her, a smirk on his lips.

— Technically, he could survive for days with the snacks he hides in his bottom drawer.

She shot him a dark look, but deep down, she had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling.

Then there was the case of the kitten in the office.

Garcia had found a stray cat near the FBI building and had secretly brought it into her office.

— Just for one night! she pleaded.

Except the cat escaped and caused chaos throughout the floor.

Hotch caught Y/N and Garcia trying to lure the animal with a piece of turkey stolen from Reid’s sandwich.

— Don’t tell me there’s a cat in here…

— There’s a cat in here, Reid confirmed, turning a page in his book, unbothered.

— It has a white paw! Y/N added enthusiastically, earning an incredulous look from Hotch.

In the end, it was Prentiss who caught the creature with a dexterity that suggested past experience in animal rescue.

— I don’t even want to know, Hotch concluded before walking away.

Reid watched as Y/N gently stroked the cat’s head.

— You like it.

— Who wouldn’t?

— You don’t usually let yourself be swayed so easily.

She lifted her head towards him, her smile slowly fading.

— Maybe I’m more complicated than you think.

He said nothing.

Because he already knew.

That night, Reid couldn’t sleep.

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind refusing to grant him rest.

Y/N.

She occupied his every thought.

He wanted to understand why. Why her, why this hostility that didn’t feel like simple dislike?

He could analyze a criminal in minutes, dissect a lie with clinical precision. But with her… he couldn’t.

She hated him. He felt it in her gaze, in the tension of her jaw when he spoke.

And yet, sometimes, there was something else. A crack.

One evening, as they were finishing a report late at a café near the FBI, she had slightly dozed off, resting her head on her hand.

Reid had wanted to wake her, but he stopped.

She looked… peaceful.

But also terribly fragile.

And something in him tightened.

He knew she was hiding something.

And he knew he would never find out what.

It was unbearable.

He ran a hand over his face and sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding too hard.

She haunted him.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Y/N felt that obsession too.

She saw it in the way Reid looked at her, in how he kept trying to talk to her despite her cold responses.

But what she couldn’t understand… was why she didn’t push him away more violently.

She was used to keeping men at a distance. To shutting them down with a sharp smile or a biting remark.

But with him, it was different.

He was patient. Too patient.

And that scared her.

One night, after a grueling mission, she found herself in Garcia’s office.

— You want to talk about it, my sweet star?

Y/N tensed.

— Talk about what?

— About whatever’s eating at you.

She wanted to lie. To say she was fine.

But Garcia was a magician, able to see beyond masks.

— It’s Reid, isn’t it?

Y/N’s head snapped up, shocked.

— What?

— You’re mad at him. But not for what he’s done. For what he is.

Silence fell, heavy.

Garcia took her hands, her gaze soft but piercing.

— I don’t know what you’ve been through, Y/N. But I do know you’re stronger than whatever haunts you.

Y/N felt something crack inside her.

But she said nothing.

Because she couldn’t.

Because some wounds weren’t meant to be shared.

A few days later, Reid tried to talk to her again.

And she snapped.

They were alone in a conference room when he said something. She didn’t even remember what.

But it was too much.

— What do you want, Reid?!

He stepped back, startled by the violence in her voice.

— I just want to understand…

— There’s nothing to understand!

Her heart was pounding. She hated him. She despised him.

Because he reminded her too much of…

No.

She wasn’t allowed to think about that.

She shot him one last glare before storming out.

But Reid remained frozen, a cold shiver running down his spine.

Because for the first time, he had seen something other than anger in her eyes.

He had seen fear.

And that changed everything.

---

Spencer Reid didn’t know what to do anymore. Y/N hated him, that was obvious. But that night, as he returned home, he realized it wasn’t the contempt that haunted him. It wasn’t even her anger. It was her fear. Because he had seen it. Just for a fraction of a second, before she slammed the door. And it had turned his stomach upside down. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how to recognize the signs of trauma. He carried the scars himself. Y/N was hiding something. Something enormous. Something that, in one way or another, was connected to him. But he didn’t know what. And he never would. Because if one thing was clear, it was that she would rather see him disappear than talk to him. So why couldn’t he stop holding on to her? Why did he feel this irrational, senseless need to understand her, to fix her? He sat on his couch, head in his hands. He felt... lost. And that was a sensation he hated.

The next day, Y/N tried not to think about him. She buried herself in work, flipping through files, studying criminal profiles with an intensity bordering on obsession. But even there, in the relative calm of the BAU headquarters, she could feel him. Spencer Reid. Sitting at his desk, silent, but always present. Like a shadow behind her. Like a ghost she couldn’t exorcise. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Don’t think. Don’t feel. She could do it. She had to do it. She was going to make it. Until Garcia burst into the room like a colorful tornado.

"Okay, everyone, mandatory coffee break!"

Morgan looked up from his screen, amused.

"We’re in the middle of work, Garcia."

"Correction: you’re in the middle of work. I’m in the middle of an emotional disaster because my baby cat refused to eat his kibble this morning, and I need a pick-me-up."

Prentiss chuckled.

"Poor Garcia."

"You don’t understand, my children. This is an existential crisis."

Y/N smiled slightly, grabbing her coffee cup. But as she stood up to follow the others, her eyes met Reid’s. And there, just for a fraction of a second, she saw something in his eyes. Something sad. Something unbearable. She looked away, fists clenched. And left the room without a word.

The tension between them had become a problem. Y/N felt it. Reid knew it. And everyone could see it. It was Hotch who finally broke the silence. One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, he called Y/N into his office.

"Sit down."

She obeyed, sitting up straight. He studied her for a moment, fingers intertwined under his chin.

"I’ve noticed you have a problem with Reid."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"No, sir."

"Don’t lie."

She gritted her teeth. Hotch sighed, lowering his voice slightly.

"Listen, I’m not going to force you to talk about it. But let me be clear: we’re a team. And a team that doesn’t function well is a team that puts lives at risk."

Y/N lowered her gaze.

"I understand."

"Then find a way to fix it."

She nodded and left, her heart pounding.

She could have ignored Hotch’s warning. She could have kept pretending nothing was wrong. But that night, as she was leaving the office, she found Reid in the parking lot. Sitting on the hood of his car, staring into space. He looked... tired. Exhausted. As if this silent war between them had drained all his energy. She should have left. She should have pretended she didn’t see him. But her feet carried her toward him before she even realized it.

"Why are you still here?"

He lifted his head.

"I could ask you the same question."

She crossed her arms.

"Seriously, Reid. What do you want?"

He hesitated. Then sighed.

"I want you to stop hating me."

The shock was brutal. She took a step back, breath caught.

"I don’t..."

"Yes, you do. I know you do. But I don’t know why."

She closed her eyes, feeling panic rise. No. Not now. Not like this. She took a deep breath, trying to regain control. Then, slowly, she lifted her head.

"It’s better this way, Reid."

"Better for who?"

She didn’t answer. Because she couldn’t. She turned away, walking away quickly. But this time, Reid didn’t let her go.

"Wait."

She stopped.

"I don’t know what I did to deserve this."

His voice was shaky. Sincere.

"But if you think that will stop me from worrying about you... then you don’t know me as well as you think."

Y/N felt a burning in her throat. A dull pain in her chest. She said nothing. She didn’t turn around. She walked away into the night, knowing full well that this was a battle she wouldn’t be able to run from forever. Because Spencer Reid wouldn’t let go. And a part of her no longer knew if she wanted him to give up... or to keep fighting.

---

2:37 AM. Y/N’s phone vibrated insistently on her nightstand, pulling her from a deep sleep. She opened her eyes, still groggy, and reached for the device.

HOTCH: URGENT. EVERYONE TO HQ. IMMEDIATELY.

She groaned, sitting up, her vision still blurry.

“Shit…”

Without thinking, she threw on a large black coat over her silk pajamas and hastily tied her hair into a messy ponytail. She neither had the energy nor the patience to get properly dressed.

Arriving in front of the FBI building, she realized she wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Garcia was just stepping out of a taxi, her oversized orange coat poorly buttoned, revealing pink unicorn-patterned pajamas. Her glasses were askew, and she clutched a cup of coffee like her life depended on it.

When she spotted Y/N, she squinted behind her colorful lenses.

"You also decided fashion was overrated?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, glancing at Garcia from head to toe.

"I think we just revolutionized the FBI’s dress code."

Garcia smirked and hooked her arm through Y/N’s as they entered the building.

"Remind me why we do this job again?"

"My memory fails me at this hour."

As they stepped into the briefing room, they found the rest of the team, all visibly exhausted. Morgan had his head resting on the table, Prentiss was yawning over her file, and even Rossi seemed to be battling sleep.

But it was Reid who caught Y/N’s attention.

Already awake. Already fully dressed. Already focused.

He sat upright, a coffee cup in hand, flipping through files as if he had never gone to bed. When he briefly looked up at her, she felt his gaze linger a second too long.

She frowned.

"What?" she snapped.

Reid blinked and immediately looked away, clearly caught in the act.

"Nothing."

She rolled her eyes and sat as far from him as possible.

That’s when Hotch entered the room.

The Ohio monster case was beginning.

Hotch turned on the main screen, and faces appeared. Women. Children. Broken families.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she saw the photos of them before they vanished.

They were smiling. Laughing.

And now…

"Eight mothers. Eight children," Hotch began gravely. "All disappeared under similar circumstances."

He pointed to a series of images on the whiteboard.

"The MO is always the same. He takes the mother first. Leaves the children alone for two days, then comes back for them."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Y/N already felt nausea rising.

"Then he forces them to make a choice."

Morgan leaned on the table, jaw clenched.

"What kind of choice?"

JJ briefly closed her eyes before answering.

"Either the mother kills her own children… or he rapes her in front of them."

The silence was deafening.

Garcia immediately looked away, gripping her coffee cup until her fingers turned white. Prentiss closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Rossi let out a long sigh, shaking his head.

But it was Y/N’s expression that caught Reid’s attention.

She didn’t react.

She remained still, eyes locked on the screen, her face eerily blank.

Too blank.

Reid furrowed his brows slightly.

He knew that kind of silence.

He knew that kind of look.

It was the look of someone trying to lock everything deep inside.

Hotch shattered the frozen atmosphere with a firm tone.

"He films everything and sends the videos to the fathers."

Y/N finally looked away, clenching her fists under the table.

This man…

This monster…

She wanted to destroy him.

"We leave for Ohio immediately," Hotch announced.

No one objected.

They all knew every minute counted.

And that the horror was only beginning.

They arrived in Ohio at dawn, greeted by a sheriff with exhausted eyes.

"Agent Hotchner."

Hotch shook his hand.

"Tell me what we know."

The sheriff gestured for them to follow him to his office, where an entire wall was covered with photos and reports.

Y/N felt an invisible weight pressing on her shoulders as she looked at the images of the missing mothers.

These women.

These children.

She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the cold rage building inside her.

Then she felt a gaze.

She turned slightly.

Reid.

Again.

He was watching her, brows slightly furrowed, as if trying to figure something out.

She clenched her jaw.

"Got a problem, Reid?" she murmured coldly.

He hesitated.

Then, softly:

"This is affecting you more than other cases."

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

She hated this.

She hated how observant he was.

"You think you know everything, huh?" she snapped. "Well, let me tell you something: you don’t know shit about me. So stop looking at me like you’ve cracked my damn secret."

She shot him one last dark look before walking away.

Reid remained still, troubled.

He didn’t understand why, but he knew one thing:

This case was awakening something in her.

Something she didn’t want to face.

And that, more than anything else, deeply worried him.

---

The team settled into the conference room of the local police station, their files scattered across the large wooden table. The sheriff had provided all available information, but the case was a nightmare. Eight mothers. Eight children. Eight broken families. And no trace of the killer.

Hotch stood up and studied the photos pinned to the whiteboard.

"We know he targets single mothers. All between 28 and 35 years old, all with one or two young children. He watches them for a while before attacking."

"How does he choose his victims?" Prentiss asked, arms crossed.

Rossi tapped on the report in front of him.

"They all have jobs that require a lot of public interaction. Teachers, waitresses, nurses, social workers…" He paused. "He wants women who seem approachable. Easy to engage with."

Y/N spoke for the first time.

"Which means he inserts himself into their lives long before taking them."

All eyes turned to her.

She pointed at the photos.

"Look at these women. They’re all smiling in these pictures. They look happy, social. This guy doesn’t go after isolated or vulnerable women. He wants the strong ones."

Morgan slowly nodded.

"Because he wants to break them."

Silence.

Reid was watching Y/N closely.

His gaze was cold, analytical, but filled with something else.

He knew that tone. He could tell when someone was speaking from their heart.

She wasn’t just profiling the killer.

She understood him.

And that unsettled him.

Hotch brought the discussion back on track.

"Garcia, check if any of the victims reported a suspicious individual in their surroundings before the abduction."

"Already digging, boss."

She typed furiously on her keyboard, her glasses slipping down her nose.

"But so far, nothing."

Y/N ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

"We’re missing something…"

Reid, who had remained silent until now, murmured,

"There has to be a connection."

He stood up, walked to the board, and stared at the victims' photos.

A detail. A clue.

And suddenly, something clicked.

"The schools."

Everyone turned to him.

"Look." He pointed at the children. "They all attended local public schools."

Prentiss frowned.

"You think he’s scouting them there?"

Reid nodded.

"It’s an easy way to observe them without drawing attention. He could be posing as a parent, a school employee, a delivery worker…"

Hotch processed the information quickly.

"We’ll start there. Garcia, get us a list of staff and frequent visitors at the schools these kids attended."

"Consider it done."

The investigation had taken a new turn.

And for the first time in hours…

They had a lead.

A few hours later, Garcia called them back.

"I might have something."

Her voice was tense.

"All these schools have one thing in common."

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

"A man."

She pulled up a photo on the screen.

A plain, forgettable face. A man in his forties, short brown hair, discreet glasses.

"His name is William Harrow," Garcia explained. "Maintenance worker. He does repairs in several schools in the area."

Y/N stared at the photo, a cold shiver running down her spine.

"Does he have a record?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing major. Just an old harassment complaint, dismissed."

Reid frowned.

"It’s too perfect. A job that gives him access to school buildings, an unremarkable appearance…"

Y/N murmured almost to herself,

"And the ability to disappear under the radar."

Hotch made an immediate decision.

"We’re paying him a visit."

The team arrived at Harrow’s listed address. A small house on the outskirts of town, with an unkempt yard and closed shutters.

Morgan and Prentiss positioned themselves at the back while Hotch, Y/N, and Reid knocked on the door.

Silence.

Then…

Footsteps.

The door opened slightly.

A man appeared in the doorway, eyes tired, wary.

"Yes?"

Hotch showed his badge.

"FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions."

William Harrow didn’t flinch.

"About what?"

Y/N studied him carefully.

His posture. His gaze. Every micro-expression.

And something in his eyes unsettled her.

Reid, beside her, noticed her shift in demeanor.

"It’s about the schools where you work. The missing children."

Harrow raised an eyebrow.

"I don’t see how that concerns me."

His tone was calm. Too calm.

Y/N clenched her fists slightly.

"Can we come in?" Hotch asked.

A long silence.

Then Harrow opened the door wider.

"Be my guest."

Y/N’s instincts screamed.

Something was off.

And she knew this was just the beginning.

---

The inside of William Harrow’s house was clean. Too clean. Not a single personal photo. No children’s toys. Nothing that showed a trace of life. Y/N let her gaze sweep across the main room while Hotch and Reid asked the usual questions.

"You work at several schools, correct?" Hotch asked.

"Yes," Harrow replied, sitting calmly on his couch.

Reid observed his body language with an almost unsettling intensity.

"Have you ever had any contact with the children’s mothers?"

A slight smile appeared on Harrow’s face.

"I exchange polite words, like everyone does."

Y/N said nothing.

She studied.

Every blink. Every hand movement.

And her instincts screamed that he was lying.

But she couldn’t prove it.

Hotch continued, "Where were you during the last disappearances?"

"At home."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"No one."

Harrow was still smiling.

Reid and Y/N exchanged a glance.

No alarm. No involuntary slip.

He wasn’t playing the outraged suspect.

He wasn’t trying to appear innocent either.

He was waiting.

As if he knew they wouldn’t find anything.

And he was right.

After an hour of questioning and a legal search of the house, the team had no choice but to leave.

Nothing.

No physical evidence. No misstep in his answers.

Just an intuition that wasn’t enough to arrest him.

Morgan, who had been waiting outside, whistled when he saw their expressions.

"So?"

Hotch shook his head.

"Nothing useful."

Morgan grumbled.

"This guy is guilty. I can feel it."

Y/N, arms crossed, was still staring at the house behind them.

"So can I."

But it wasn’t enough.

They needed proof.

In the car, silence stretched.

Then Reid murmured, almost pensively, "He wants to frustrate us."

Y/N turned to him.

"What do you mean?"

Reid tapped his fingers against his thigh, thinking out loud.

"He was perfectly calm. He didn’t try to deny anything outright. He let us do our job… Because he knew we had nothing on him."

Y/N clenched her fists.

"That means he’s going to do it again."

Hotch took a deep breath.

"Yes. And the next victim may already be chosen."

The silence that followed was heavier than ever.

They had to stop him.

Before it was too late.

---

The sun was beginning to set over the small town in Ohio as Morgan and Y/N made their way to a run-down garage on the outskirts. It was where William Harrow had applied for a second job a few months earlier before mysteriously disappearing off the radar.

"You think we’ll find anything here?" Y/N asked as she stepped out of the car.

Morgan shrugged, eyes fixed on the building’s entrance.

"Anything he doesn’t want us to find."

They ducked under the partially open metal shutter and stepped into the dusty workshop. Cars in various states of repair, scattered tools, the smell of oil and metal…

A man in his fifties, wearing grease-stained overalls, looked up at them.

"Need a hand?"

Morgan stepped forward and flashed his badge.

"FBI. We’re investigating a suspect who may have worked here. William Harrow."

The man frowned.

"Harrow? Yeah, he applied a few months back. But he never showed up for work."

Y/N exchanged a look with Morgan.

"Why not?"

"No idea," the man replied, wiping his hands on a rag. "Seemed serious at first, then he just… vanished. No call, no excuse. Never heard from him again."

Morgan nodded, but before he could ask another question…

A voice interrupted them.

"You’re looking for Harrow?"

A chill ran down Y/N’s spine.

She knew that voice.

Slowly, she turned.

And she saw William Harrow.

Standing near the exit, dressed in jeans and a light shirt, as if he had been expecting them.

"You and your team sure are persistent," he said with a polite smile.

Y/N immediately felt his gaze on her.

Too intense. Too deliberate.

Morgan crossed his arms, ready to step in at the first sign of trouble.

"What are you doing here, Harrow?"

The man shrugged.

"I applied for a job here. Wanted to see if it was still available. But it seems like you’re more interested in me than the position."

His tone was light, but Y/N sensed the darkness beneath his words.

Harrow turned his gaze to her.

And he stared.

For too long.

As if he recognized her.

As if he knew something she didn’t.

"You, on the other hand…" he murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

She forced herself not to look away.

"What about me?"

Harrow tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

"We’ve met before, haven’t we?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

No.

That was impossible.

She had never seen this man before.

Never.

And yet…

Why did his words feel like they carried a hidden truth?

Morgan, sensing the tension, placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We should go."

Y/N didn’t respond immediately.

She stood there, facing Harrow, trying to read in his eyes what he was insinuating.

Then, slowly, she stepped back.

"Yeah. Let’s go."

But as she walked out of the garage, she still felt the weight of Harrow’s gaze on her.

And for the first time since this case began…

She felt afraid.

They had barely returned to the police station when the phone rang.

Hotch answered immediately.

"Hotchner."

Y/N and Morgan, still shaken from their encounter with Harrow, exchanged a glance.

But as they saw Hotch’s expression harden, Y/N knew before he even spoke.

Another woman had disappeared.

"He just took another mother," Hotch said as he hung up.

A cold silence fell over the room.

"When?" Rossi asked, already on his feet.

"About three hours ago," Hotch replied. "A neighbor noticed the front door was open, the lights were on, but no one was answering."

JJ rubbed her forehead.

"Which means we have…"

"Two days before he takes the children," Reid finished.

Y/N tensed.

Two days.

The countdown had begun.

They rushed to the scene immediately.

The victim’s home—Sarah Mitchell—was exactly as they had imagined.

A broken home in the dead of night.

The door slightly open.

No signs of struggle.

And a six-year-old boy curled up on his bed, too young to understand that his mother might never come back.

Y/N felt anger boil inside her.

She stared at the scattered toys on the floor, the school bag still sitting by the door.

A child waiting for his mother to wake him up in the morning.

But tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t be there.

Morgan clenched his jaw beside her.

"We have to find him."

"Yeah."

Reid, meanwhile, was staring at the floor.

Then he murmured, "He’s accelerating his cycle."

Y/N turned to him.

"What?"

Reid looked up, his mind racing.

"He’s been waiting weeks between abductions," he explained. "But now… he just took a woman while we were on his trail."

"He feels threatened," Hotch added.

"Or he wants to provoke us," Rossi said.

Y/N felt an invisible weight press down on her chest.

Two days.

They only had two days to stop the inevitable.

So she turned to Hotch.

"We don’t have time to wait. We need to take Harrow down now."

Hotch slowly nodded.

"Then let’s do it."

And they set off.

Towards the man who was already waiting for them.

---

The local precinct was heavy with tension that night. Fatigue and urgency made the air nearly unbreathable. Every officer on-site knew they were racing against time. With JJ absent, Y/N had been sent to speak with Matthew Mitchell, the ex-husband of the missing woman.

He sat in a small interrogation room, hands trembling, eyes bloodshot. The moment Y/N entered, he shot to his feet, desperate.

"Did you find her?!"

Y/N briefly closed her eyes before answering.

"Not yet."

He collapsed back onto the chair.

"Oh my God…" he murmured.

His entire body looked on the verge of breaking. He rubbed his face with shaking hands, as if trying to erase reality. Then, in a broken, desperate voice, he began to ramble.

"I’m nothing without her… Nothing."

Y/N remained still. She knew this pain. That abyss. That gaping void that swallowed everything.

He shook his head, eyes wet with tears.

"I heard what that psycho does to women… I don’t want her to go through that. I’d rather she be…"

He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Y/N swallowed.

He meant, I’d rather she be dead than suffer that.

She couldn’t blame him.

"She’s strong," she said softly.

"But not strong enough." He met her eyes. "No one is."

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine.

He was right.

No one could ever be prepared to face what Harrow did to his victims.

And she had to stop him.

After the interview with Matthew, Y/N returned to the briefing room where the team was combing through every detail of the case.

Something nagged at her.

A feeling, a blurry thought lodged in the back of her mind.

Then, suddenly, it clicked.

"He has a daughter," she blurted out.

All eyes turned to her.

"What?" Rossi asked.

"Harrow. He has a daughter."

Spencer Reid frowned.

"But… we’ve investigated his family. He has no known children."

Y/N shook her head.

"Not officially. But look at the pattern." She scrolled through the case files on the computer. "He manages to lure children without a single direct witness. No signs of forced entry, no apparent threats."

Morgan caught on immediately.

"He doesn’t need to force them… He’s using someone they trust."

Y/N nodded.

"A teenage girl. She wouldn’t raise suspicion."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Then Hotch said the words they were all dreading.

"Where is young Mitchell?"

A chill ran through Y/N.

He was under supervision. Here, at the station.

But…

Why did she suddenly have a terrible feeling?

Then, she heard it.

A barely audible sound.

A muffled "Mommy."

She didn’t think.

She ran.

She tore down the hallway, the others right behind her.

She slammed open the door to the room where the little boy was supposed to be.

But he was gone.

Only an open window let in the cold night air.

Y/N felt her world tilt.

"NO."

She looked everywhere, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

His small backpack was still there.

His stuffed animal lay on the floor.

But he… he was missing.

"Shit…" Morgan muttered as he reached her.

Y/N froze, her breath caught in her throat.

She was the one who had heard the cry.

She should have run faster.

Reid stepped inside, his horrified gaze fixed on the window.

He knew what this meant.

They had just lost their only hope of finding Sarah Mitchell alive.

Y/N pressed against the wall, fingers trembling.

She had failed.

She felt anger, frustration, and most of all…

Fear.

Reid slowly approached her.

He wasn’t good at comforting people.

But he understood what she was feeling.

Softly, he murmured,

"This isn’t your fault."

But Y/N didn’t look at him.

Because deep down…

She wasn’t sure he was right.

Next part...

..................................................................................

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blackynsupremacy · 6 months ago

Text

“HI, MS. PARKER!”

pairing: female!reader x female!bff x oldermale!character

inspo: friday (1995)

18+ vibes, so minors dni! contains: age gap, flirting, teasing, mention of a threesome, arousal, implied smut, swearing.

the neighbor: clark kent, steve rogers, thor odinson, logan howlett, derek morgan, dean winchester, erik killmonger, john winchester, bucky barnes or any character the reader has in mind!

taglist: @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn @afrowrites @rosiestalez @zombiehe4rt @sabrinasopposite @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu

the sun adores the illuminated skin of you and your best friend. it’s friday, ya’ll ain’t got work nor classes, so you decided it was a beautiful day to take a bike ride through the neighborhood. it’s a blazing temperature of eighty-seven, so of course you’re both scantily clad in black halters and denim cut offs with slides before you hit the block. as you peddle around the corner, you spot him. it was one of your neighbors that had a decade on your twenty-five year old selves, but who gave a damn when he’s this—fine and recently divorced. your eyes gawk at how each of his muscles flexes in that tight-ass white tank top while performing the most mundane tasks such as mowing the lawn or fixing his car. the stains of perspiration leave a glistening mess on areas of his skin such as his arms, chest, and neck. you and your friend give each other a smirk, a glint of mischief within your eyes. you simultaneously wave at the man and greet him in the “friendliest” tone as you have done in prior occasions.

“heeeey!” you both squeal and let a few giggles escape as if you were back in your high school days.

he stops what he’s doing and lifts his head up at the harmony of your voices. he wipes the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand as an amicable grin curves on his lips. he raises a bulging arm in the air, a baritone voice resonating to reciprocate the greeting.

“hey, ladies! how ya doin’?”

“we’re good!”

you turn your heads to secretly converse with each other as the raunchiest of thoughts run circles through your minds. your friend mutters under her breath on your behalves.

“we’d be better if you’d let us fuck.”

he peered at you both with a tantalizing gaze, an arched brow and a piqued smirk that thankfully, both of you couldn’t see. this was a weekly routine of this teasing and he played right along with ya’ll. he hadn’t really got any play since the divorce finalized because he was just trying to focus on himself, but how could he focus with these two pyt’s basically eye fucking him each time they pass by as their bodies bounced on their bikes? the aching sensation of his dick hardens as he couldn’t deny the fact that he was just as intrigued as you and your friend. he often battled with himself as to which one he would take first, but then again—why not both at the same time?

“i’m sorry, what’d you say, honey?” he feignedly inquired.

to say ya’ll were gagged was an understatement because there’s no way that man heard what your friend said. albeit it was true that both of you held a strong attraction to the older male, ya’ll weren’t gonna let him know that too quick.

you stammered to save your asses.

“uh—nothing! have a good one, sir!”

the heat of embarrassment rushed on your faces as you waved again and peddled off a few more blocks before retiring back to your home. after that encounter, you both needed a cold shower to cool off the area that needed it the most.

later that evening as you both were binging your favorite reality show, your phones pinged at the same time. you both picked them up to see you got a new message from an unknown number and they put you in a group chat: you, your friend, and the unknown person.

the message read:

you know i’ve heard you loud and clear earlier.

baffled, you read the message and you took it upon yourself to respond:

i’m sorry. who’s this and how’d you get our numbers?

don’t act so coy. you girls like to tease me every week on those bikes.

•••

it’s driving me fucking crazy.

it dawns on you both that this unknown person was…your neighbor.

“oh…” you started.

“…shit.” your friend finished your thought and she responds in the chat.

we didn’t mean to tease! we just wanted to say hi real quick because you looked so busy.

“and so damn fine.” you mutter, eyes not pulling from the screen awaiting the next response.

•••

let’s cut to the chase. it’s obvious you want to—have your way with me. i feel the same way, so if you stunning young ladies wanna know how a real man does it, swing by my place in the next 10 minutes. ;)

•••

you said you want to fuck, so let’s fuck.

you both stare at your phones then at each other not knowing that as you were reading each word your thighs instinctively clenched together to hold in the arousal that was erupting between your legs. as if you were speaking telepathically, you both deserved to relieve some tension with one of the finest men on your street. you kept your end of the bargain because within ten minutes you’re both standing in anticipation at his front door. you were getting a taste of your own medicine as his sculpted figure leaned against the frame. one of his forearms supporting his body while his other hand “tries” to grasp onto the cotton towel that was lowering at his navel. he skips the formalities by using his large, two fingers to beckon you both into the house and you both simply follow his command.

a ménage a toi—who knew that this was a way to spend a friday evening?

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vee6lolz · 8 months ago

Text

𝖇𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝖍𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝖇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬.

summary; after falling in love with spencer reid, you navigate the challenges that come with your relationship. While you cherish your moments together, the rough patches can be hard to ignore. One day, in an effort to find clarity, you go shopping and unexpectedly discover something world shattering. But before you can share the news with Spencer, he comes home with a shocking revelation that could change everything between you.

cw!!; +18 content, minors dni!, spencer reid x reader, angst, cliffhanger ending, breakups, mentions of drug use, mentions emetophobia warning; vomiting -- mentions of pregnancy -- Y/N HAS A GIRL KISSER BSF !

. w/c: 4.1k -- don't forget to like / reblog !! this is not proof read + english is not my first language

You and Spencer had been privately dating for seven months. At first, it was exciting. sneaking around, leaving parties early to go hook up in the bathroom, the birthday sex, apology sex, apology for apologizing with sex sex, it was easy, it was simple—you both met through a party he and his team was invited to by your best friend Ciara, who was friends with the one and only Penelope Garcia. you both got to talking and by the end of the night, you were snuggled up in his bed with his dick in your mouth. and he learned two things that night. 1. he had never had head that brought him so much ecstasy. and two, by the way your outgoing demeanor fit perfectly with being his more shy and non-direct, you were the one for him and he would've been a fool to let you slip through his fingers. those late-night study sessions, stolen kisses in dimly lit hallways, and quiet moments over coffee made you feel like the luckiest person in the world. but the moment that you hit the three month mark, everything went downhill. and usually, at six months, its supposed to be good again, right? wrong.

the past few months had turned into a whirlwind of arguments. It felt like every time you talked, it spiraled into a fight over something that should have been minor. “You don’t understand what I’m going through, Spencer!” you yelled one evening after a tough day at work where he seemed more focused on the case than on how you were feeling. “I do, understand [y/n] I just don't care. Not everything has to be about you.” that night, you both had shouted over each other until the early hours of the morning, hearts racing, voices raised, and emotions running high. the tension felt suffocating. and to ease it you tried to have makeup sex, and he started an argument while literally inside you because he felt like you were faking orgasms and doing it in a obvious way to make him feel bad; you were.

It wasn’t just work stress that fueled the fire; it was the pressure of hiding your hardships relationship from your colleagues, the weight of lying to your friends, and the constant fear of him leaving. and the fear of you leaving for him only made him resent you more. sometimes, it felt like you were living a double life, and you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between your love for Spencer and the isolation that secrecy brought. the make-up moments after the fights were fleeting, filled with hugs and quiet apologies as you tried to mend the shaky ground you were standing on. you’d find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, promises lingering in the air that things would change, but deep down, you both knew nothing had really shifted.

but today, everything felt heavier than usual. you had woken up to yet another silent treatment from spencer, both of you too stubborn to reach out to each other first. the anxiety had burrowed deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe. you could sense it—Ciara had noticed. when she came over, she was met with a hurried and agitated spence who only muttered a cold greeting before walking out the door as fast as he opened it for her. her footsteps where light and quick, making her way towards your bedroom where she heard retching and coughing.

you spit into the toilet bowl, groaning in discomfort as everything you had last week came back to haunt you. you looked up at Ciara as she held your hair back, getting her fingers tangled as she took a moment to try her best to untangle them without scalping you. You sat there in front with your head down as you dry gagged, and once you were safe, you reached up and flu shed the toilet.

Ciara rubbed your back for a little before pulling your head to rest on her chest, planting sweet kisses on your forehead. you giggle at the sensation and make tsk sounds. “If you were a man,” you muttered, to which she rolls her eyes at you and lets you go with a smile, helping you stand up, she runs some water so you pat your mouth with it and spit out all the yucky residue left over. she starts asking questions and all you can think back at was this morning. it pained you and you felt your heart sink the more you thought back at it, you realize that him expressing his feelings, yelling, insulting, or even cursing you would've been better. he just left you, in silence. he didn't acknowledge you, and it just made you feel terrible. you looked at Ciara, overcome with emotions which got you a confused look. “What's going on with you--”

“He didn't even look at me, cee.” You muttered as tears filled your eyes uncontrollably. your emotions overwhelmed you as you melted into her arms, you were holding her incredibly tight, she probably wouldn't be able to breathe if you gave her an oxygen tank. She scrambled over her words trying to find away to not pass out from the lack of blood going to her brain because you were quite literally blocking any blood flow possible. She tapped your back and you released your death grip, to which she exhaled heavily.

“Who, What? What are we talking about?”. you stared up at her with a expression of depression, not moving your lips to answer her question. It gave her the answer alone. “That's not... like him.”. Scoffing, you shook your head and wiped your tears, your mood switching from self-pity to pure and undeniable anger. “It's exactly, like him. Actually.”. She tried her best to calm you down but you couldn't, you just walked out of the bathroom and fell face first on the bed, screaming and letting out all of your frustration on his cotton sheets. You started mumbling out of intense anger, and Ciara just stood there, flinching with every curse that flew through your lips as if you were going to reach backwards and bite her.

It took you twenty-and-some minutes to calm down. It took you three to go back to being sad and depressed. Your mood swings were seriously giving her whiplash. You sat up and heaved, sobbed, flew your arms around like a toddler. Ciara sat with you and let you sob on her chest until you start hyperventilating, she blew on your face so you could catch your breathe, shushing you to soothe your tears. Your brain felt fuzzy, your senses has softened.

The only thing that you felt was the immense pounding on your head you couldn't help but feel. “How about we go on a little drive, yeah?” you looked up at her with your red eyes glistening was a tear fell down your cheek, you nodded. you needed fresh air. “Yeah?” She spoke in a soft voice, kissing your head. “Alright go put on some clothes ill be out here,”

Ciara sat behind the wheel, the engine humming softly as she pulled away from spencer's place. The cool breeze wafted through the slightly open window, sending a refreshing shiver through you. You let it wash over you, momentarily grounding you in the present. Still, your mind felt fuzzy, caught in a haze that blurred your thoughts and emotions. It was as if you were floating, untethered from reality, with everything around you blurring into a muddled backdrop.

the streets rushed by, and while the world outside was alive with the chatter of people and the vibrant colors of storefronts, you found yourself lost in your own silence. You stared at the trees lining the road, their branches dancing in the breeze, but even their movement felt distant and out of reach. each passing moment felt like an echo, reverberating through your mind but leaving no traces of clarity.

Ciara’s was talking, filled with energy and it made you feel oh, so worse because you were not listening. “No, dude, I'm being so serious. I told her that she can either get her shit together and stop acting like a little kid or she can pack her shit and leave because I've had enough crazy girlfriends to know it is not for the fucking weak.” you barely registered the words. they floated in one ear and out the other, your focus remaining hazy. you shifted in your seat slightly, trying to push the swirling emotions away, yet they clung to you like a shadow.

“You’d think we were fighting we were fighting over me burning her house down, no. A miss call, a singular miss call and I called her back immediately. And of course, she chose to get her act together because... honestly, would you leave me?” she joked, grinding in her seat to pop her ass a little;

the corners of your mouth twitched, but you didn’t have the energy to respond; the effort felt monumental. As the scenery shifted from commercial buildings to the broader expanses of the mall, you caught yourself wishing you could feel that lightness again. The breeze slipping through the window felt nice, but every now and then, a wave of discomfort coursed through you, reminding you of the things you were trying to forget.

Ciara continued talking, sharing the latest gossip, her voice a steady stream of sound that mingled with the whoosh of passing cars. “and after that, she tried to hookup with me as an “apology”. if she could lick my pussy a couple times and I'm going to immediately forgive her... she's right.”

Still, you remained silent, lost in thought. The feelings swirling within you were too tangled to unravel—the confusion, the sadness, the weight of it all. It felt heavy, and as you drove closer to the mall, the world outside turned brighter, but for you, it remained shrouded in dimness.

As Ciara pulled into the parking lot, the chaotic colors of the mall surrounded you. She parked the car, casting a glance your way. “Alright, no talk of Spencer with the little dick while we're here alright?”

You nodded slowly, but your mind was still a storm of thoughts and emotions that had yet to settle. The sounds of laughter and footsteps filled the air as you stepped out of the car, but even amidst the noise, you felt like you were still floating, caught between what was real and what was just a distraction.

“There's no reason to lie to make me feel better,”, she laughed.

as you and Ciara stepped into the mall, the vibrant atmosphere enveloped you like a cocoon, yet the comfort it should have provided seemed out of reach. the air hummed with energy: laughter echoed against polished floors, the shuffling of bags blended into an excited chorus, and the enticing aromas of popcorn, pretzels, and fried food wafted through the space, each scent calling to a desire for comfort that you just couldn’t find.

you glanced around, taking in the kaleidoscope of people—the families with cheerful children, groups of friends chatting animatedly as they moved, and couples entwined in conversation. Yet, as the cheerful masses moved past, a heavy discontent settled within your chest, a constant nagging feeling that wouldn’t let up. Your thoughts were tangled, fighting the urge to not talk about spencer.

the urges whooped your ass.

“Ugh, I can’t believe how dramatic Spencer has been lately,” you began, shaking your head as you ambled towards the escalator up to victoria's secret each step feeling heavier than the last. You reached for a sleek top on a nearby rack, your fingers brushing the fabric as you stated, “He didn't even tell me what his problem was this time, Ciara. He's like a fucking kid,”

Ciara nodded, her attention shifting between you and the vibrant clothes on display. “He's exactly like Manny. You know if you were a lesbian, I'm pretty sure you would've been with her by now.”

"Har-har." you let out a fake laugh, pulling the top closer to you and inspecting it in the harsh fluorescent lights. “and its not like I don't fuck with him. Of course I do, but its only okay when I do it! and i never do it first.”

She stared at you.

“Okay, I mostly never do it first.”

you stepped into the fitting rooms, pulling aside the curtain with a little more force than necessary. Ciara leaned against the wall outside, concern evident in her eyes. “Well, it sounds like he’s really going through something. I mean the last time he had a girlfriend was years ago, plus she did get shot in front of him. Maybe, just maybe... he needs time to adjust to having you.”

“It's been 6 months, how much time does he need.” you admitted, slipping into a pair of jeans. “I’m trying to support him, but at the same time, it feels like whenever I need support I'm the 'crazy' one.”

you spun in front of the mirror, checking the fit, and briefly appreciated the outfit, but the satisfaction was fleeting. You couldn’t shake the gnawing frustration and worry that lingered in your mind. After trying on a few more items, you settled on a cozy sweater that draped nicely over your shoulders and a pair of jeans that tugged your ass and thighs perfectly.

Stepping out of the fitting room, you caught sight of Ciara’s bright smile—a thumbs-up that fueled a flicker of confidence despite the dark cloud of your thoughts. “You look great! Food?” she chirped, her enthusiasm piercing through your fog. “I look like I got fat, but, yes.” you giggled.

“Yeah, only in the right places.” she replied, leaving a quick smack on your ass. the idea of food felt foreign to you, your appetite making you uneasy. and the more you thought about it, you weren't really prone to gaining weight. in the last eight weeks, you've gained almost seven pounds. even as you walked toward the food court, the excited chatter and laughter felt like a cruel reminder of the happiness you were struggling to hold onto with Spencer.

as you navigated through the chaos of the food court, the aromas wrapped around you, each scent competing for your attention. You scanned the options—pizza, burgers, Asian stir-fry, sizzling hot dogs—but as much as your stomach wanted to respond, it remained cold and distant.

Ciara and you eventually settled on a plate of asian food. You found a table, and despite the enticing food in front of you, the heaviness in your chest pulled you down, dimming your appetite further.

while Ciara was talking about her sex life, your own thoughts lingered on Spencer: his hands, the way his mind worked like a finely tuned machine, how he would

“when I tell you she had me bent in ways I can't say out loud because I would be put on some kind of list--” Ciara’s words finally broke through the fog in your mind, and you looked at her, your voice barely above a whisper, “I feel… weird.”

Ciara’s smile faded, concern etching itself across her face. “What do you mean weird? ”

The discomfort swelled inside you as the weight of your stomach pressed down further. “I don’t know. It’s just everything… ugh. I really don’t feel good.” The admission felt heavy on your tongue, yet fear flooded through you, mingling with confusion and anxiety.

“Hey, [y/n] uh--” Ciara said, her voice laced with concern as she leaned closer, trying to draw you back into the moment. “Breathe, okay? Just uh--”

her voice did no help, the world around you began to tilt, the bright lights and laughing voices tuned out as your vision began to blur. A rising wave of dizziness crashed over you, swallowing every sense until you felt on the verge of vanishing into the void of darkness.

before you could utter another word, the world slipped away in an instant—darkness encased you, quieting the chaos of the food court and pressing down into a silence that felt weighty yet freeing. You couldn’t tell if you were floating or falling, but nothing remained except an overwhelming absence -- and then your body hit the floor.

“[y/n]? [Y/N]! Someone help, please!” Ciara begged and yelled out as she breathed on your face, checking your pulse. you were breathing, that's all that mattered. being in school for nursing, really wasn't doing her any justice at the moment.

three-hundred-thirty-eight minutes. that's how long it took for you to wake up.

you gradually regained consciousness to the muted buzz of light and occasional distant sounds filtering through the haze of your mind. blinking several times, you squinted against the warm, yellow light spilling through the curtains in the hospital room. the glow felt too harsh against your eyelids, and as you turned your head slightly, a wave of dizziness swept over you.

a sharp ache spiked through your temples, and you instinctively raised a hand to your forehead, feeling the softness of the pillows beneath you. your body felt heavy, soreness settling deep in your muscles—each small movement sent prickles of discomfort shooting through your limbs. you groaned softly, the sound a mere whisper in the stillness of the room.

The room itself was a comforting chaos, the machines beeping, the flowy blue curtains. But it was the smell that truly caught your attention: a mix of treacle sweetness from ciara's half-eaten candy bar on the nightstand, which you grabbed over and took a chunk out of. the clean scent of freshly laundered sheets, and just a hint of the medication. it was oddly grounding, and for a moment, it eased the nausea rising in your stomach like a tidal wave.

taking a deep breath, you lay still, attempting to collect your thoughts. fragments of memory flickered through your mind—little moments of laughter and joy interspersed with the anxiety that had been consuming you before everything went dark. You remembered the bustling vibe of the mall, the annoying feeling of your heart racing, and a sudden wave of dizziness that had pulled you down. panic surged through you as you recalled Ciara’s frantic voice, calling for help when you collapsed.

“there's, no way I actually fainted.” you murmured to yourself, the thought sending a shiver down your spine. “ew, that's so corny.” you felt a flush of heat creep up your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and concern. you turned to ciara, whose face was unchanged the entire time. her face stayed the same -- she looked horrified. concern. something was wrong with you, and you had a really bad feeling about what. it wasn't stress, it wasn't spencer. it was something else.

thirty-eight minutes. thats how long it took for you to find out.

ciara stayed by your side, her face didn't dare to flinch. a nurse stepped quietly into the room, her hesitant movements breaking the fragile quiet that enveloped the space. the atmosphere felt charged, and you could sense the shift immediately, your heart beginning to pound. the light from the window framed ciara, washing over her in a way that felt almost ethereal. as her expression morphed from concern into something more serious, an unsettling tension settled between you, pinning you both in a moment that seemed to stretch on.

when the nurse began to deliver the news her words flowed without sound, each gesture amplifying the weight of what she had to say. you felt your breath hitch as a wave of uncertainty crashed over you, the reality of her news unsettling sinking in like a stone. the room, once familiar and comforting, suddenly felt small and suffocating, the walls closing in as vivid memories backtracked through your mind—laughter, plans, and dreams that now teetered on the brink of change. the warmth of the space became oppressive as your heart raced, fear mingling with disbelief.

in an instant, the safety of your world unraveled, and the gravity of ciara's presence anchored you to an unsettling truth. the air was thick with unvoiced questions, your heart heavy with the weight of responsibility and the unknown. as the silence roared in your ears, every breath turned bittersweet, a reminder of how everything that had once seemed so certain was now tinged with complexity. you stood there, caught between the past and an uncertain future, realizing in that moment that everything had changed.

fifteen minutes. that's how long it took to get discharged.

the car glided smoothly along the dark road, the headlights casting fleeting beams of light onto the pavement, illuminating the otherwise shadowy world outside. ciara sat in the drivers seat seat, her silhouette a quiet presence lost in thought, her silence wrapping the cabin in an almost palpable stillness. each soft breath she took seemed to mirror the steady thrum of the engine, but the weight of her unspoken emotions filled the air, creating a tension that was hard to ignore. the familiar contours of the landscape slipped by in an undulating blur, trees lining the road like silent sentinels.

as the miles rolled on, your mind began to wander, seeking distraction in the rhythmic pattern of passing objects. you started to count the trees, the sturdy trunks becoming a makeshift anchor in the sea of swirling thoughts. one after another, the arboreal figures flickered past, offering a sense of solace as if each counted tree marked a moment of time that moved further away from the hospital. the darkened silhouettes blurred together, yet you found a strange comfort in the repetitive task, allowing your focus to drift into the rhythm of your surroundings.

six hours, thirty-one minutes. and not a single call from spencer.

as the car glided to a stop in the driveway, the familiar surroundings of your home greeted you with an unsettling mix of comfort and anxiety. the sky was turning shades of purple and orange, a vivid sunset framing the moment. ciara turned off the engine and sat in silence for a moment, her eyes fixed on the front door, as if gauging its significance. you both understood that what waited beyond that threshold was life-changing.

you unbuckled your seatbelt and took a deep breath, your mind swirling with thoughts you had been trying to organize all day. today had felt unending, a series of moments stacked upon one another, each one urging you toward this very conclusion. the weight of what you needed to reveal pressed heavily on your chest, and you were acutely aware of the time you had spent wrestling with your emotions.

ciara glanced at you, her expression a blend of concern and encouragement. you could tell she wanted to say something, perhaps offer reassurance, but instead, she simply gave your hand a gentle squeeze. the gesture felt grounding, a reminder that while you were stepping into the unknown, you were not entirely alone.

with a nod, you exited the car, the cool evening air wrapping around you like a cloak. you took a moment on the doorstep, hesitating as you glanced back at ciara, who offered you a reassuring smile before she drove away. the sound of the engine faded, leaving you with the echo of your own heartbeat.

spencer sat there, something heavy on his mind. his shirt was off, and he was stood in sweatpants and the line of his boxers showing. his hair was damp and flew down to his shoulders, his arms clinging onto the back of his neck and he eyed you up and down. you stared up at him with heavy, red eyes. you set down your purse and stared off into the distance.

he stared at you in silence. it was pissing you off. he was acting like a fucking child, and now really wasn't the time. your heart raced as your thoughts spiraled, the weight of everything you had been holding inside bubbling just beneath the surface. You could feel the frustration rising as you realized you were no longer willing to play your eyes met, and in that shared moment of understanding, something unspoken ignited.

“I can’t do this anymore,”

“I'm pregnant.” You blurted simultaneously.

The air shifted, charged with the gravity of your revelation and his confession, and the silence that had ruled the room felt like it was finally ready to crack open, revealing the unvoiced truths waiting just beneath the surface. your eyes widened and jaw feel open, as you grasped what just came out of his mouth. tears welled up at your eyes, and his met with yours with the same expression, and at the same time you both uttered;

“What?”

reblog or comment for part 2 <3

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paisholotus · 9 months ago

Text

Ch.1

Narrative

"JJ's keeping tabs on that. What do we know about the bombs?" Gideon asked, Hotch. "They're sending pictures of bomb fragments as they find them." Hotch told him.

"Pipe bombs." Gideon said.

"Packed in cardboard boxes. Package bombs." Derek said, showing them pictures of the victims.

"Sent through the mail?" Gideon asked.

"No. The other picture in your hand is of the switch that ATF found. The same mechanism for both bombs.Mercury-activated." Derek told them.

"What does that mean? Elle asked.

"There are contacts to a detonator on either end of a bent tube full of mercury." Spencer explained.

"What it means is all you have to do is tilt the package to detonate it. So they couldn't have been sent through the mail." Hotch said, placing down the pictures.

"The bomber had to deliver them himself." Emily said, looking at the pictures of the bomb fragments.

"Exactly." Morgan said, looking back at the screen.

"Strange way to commit an act of terrorism." Elle said frowning.

"Why go to all this trouble to kill just a few people?" Spencer asked, looking confused.

"Let's recommend not raising the terror alert level for now." Hotch told them.

"No reason to spread panic." Gideon said.

"CNN, Fox, MSNBC. Al Jazeera, you name it. This is everywhere." JJ said.

"So much for not spreading panic." Elle said, looking at the tv

"According to doctors, he's badly injured but in stable condition in the ICU. Now, neighbors say that they heard a blast at about 10:30 this morning, and police arrived shortly..." the news reporter said.

"If DHS doesn't raise the terror alert now, they'll look weak. The BJS is going to be involved." Morgan said.

"Make sure Homeland Security knows that this is everywhere." Hotch told them.

"Now police are investigating..." the reporter said, ducking down as a loud bomb went off.

"Whoa." She says, watching a car be engulfed in flames.

"I just felt that... Are you... Are you all right? Is everyone all right?" the reporter said, looking around cautiously.

"Looks like we're going to Palm Beach." Morgan said, gathering his stuff.

"Let's meet at the airstrip in 20." Hotch said, packing paper work.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is live. I repeat, this is live. There's been another..." the reporter said, having the camera zoom in on the explosion.

"Hotch, listen.They're gonna be sending us bomb fragments by this afternoon. I'm the only one with an ATF background. So, if you'd like me to stay behind to supervise the bomb profile, I'm on that." Morgan said.

"Morgan, you wouldn't be afraid." Hotch questioned. "To be out in the field with a bomber now, would you?"

"You know, maybe it's not the bomber that I'm worried about." Morgan said, staring at Hotch and Rossi.

"I thought we were past all that?" Rossi said, frowning at Derek.

"Ross, Boston sent Gideon into a post-traumatic tailspin.How do we know that won't happen again?" Morgan asked, with his brows raised.

"Morgan, I'll tell you what. Why don't we concentrate on profiling the bomber and not Gideon?" Hotch said sternly.

Derek sighed and held his coffee up, dropping the discussion. "Copy that."

-Time Skip-

Sariya's pov

I sat at my desk during my lunch break reading over the headline on the news. There's some lunatic setting off bombs. I eat my lunch and think about the past week, I saw Spencer again.

Oh my goodness I felt giddy thinking about it. After he got out the hospital we hung out for a while, talked all night and just catched up.

Missed him so much I hate we went so long without speaking to each other.

"Sariya they found another bomb, we have to go. Special Agent Hotchner has requested our assistance." I quickly nodded and wrapped my lunch.

I given files about what was going on as I got into the car. This was gonna be a long day.

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cherrywaves333 · 25 days ago

Text

hi!! this is my first ever tumbr post, i'm super excited and super nervous for how it's gonna be received since i've been a fly on the wall in s o o o o many communities for years. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings/tags: abuse, drugs/alcohol, the normal cm stuff, hospitals, emetophobia at the end (very slight mentions of vomiting), reader is a stripper, use of y/n, slight age gap if you squint, black!reader, spencer is a bit of a perv if you squint.

“oh, fuck,” she thought as she looked at the team’s destination.

she read the name over two or three times on the jet, Charlie’s Devils. it was the same unclever name of the same dingy strip joint she used to work at to pay her way through college and the academy. she bit her lip in silence as the team went over the case. she didn’t flip any further than the first page so as to not potentially see any of her old friends in a state she couldn’t unsee.

Spencer was the first to notice her uncharacteristic silence. he was going to question her about it, but he didn’t want to mention her unease in front of everyone. he knew what it was like to be the youngest and newest on the team and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt she had to defend her spot on the team. but, he did observe her and the cogs turning in her brain as she stared at the picture of the epicenter of the murders. it looked as though she wasn’t breathing, she was so still. then, she spoke.

“okay, i feel like i’ve been here long enough that i can trust you all and i know i’ve proven myself more than capable and professional on this team,” she began to ramble before stopping herself to breathe, “i used to work here.”

the team fell silent, especially Spencer who was now left in her old position. he stiffened up, his breath caught in his throat at the thought. he had tried his best not to imagine her in any light other than his best friend as he knew they could never happen. he knew he was too old for her. JJ was the first to crack a smile, followed by Emily who couldn’t help but laugh.

“but you can’t walk in heels!” Emily laughed a little harder.

“shut up! i so can!” y/n defended herself, ears hot with embarrassment but also relief.

“no, you can’t. you look like a deer!” Morgan added on.

Hotch observed y/n for a minute and her gaze shifted to his, causing her to shrink into her seat a little further. everyone fell quiet, both hoping that Hotch wasn’t mad at her and that they hadn’t embarrassed her.

“do you want to sit this case out?” Hotch questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“no! actually, i thought i could be more helpful,” she reasoned, hoping he wouldn’t take her off the case, “none of them know i joined the FBI except my cousin, i could be an informant, i could go undercover, wherever you need me.”

“we’ll see how it goes when we touch down. for now, i want you as far away from the club as possible. stay in the police station. Prentiss, Morgan, go to the club and ask questions. Reid, L/N, stay at the precinct, go over the files and work on the profile. Rossi, go down to the morgue and see the MD. JJ will come with me to talk to the victims' families.”

everyone closed their case files and waited on the flight to Los Angeles. y/n had moved over to the couch by herself and busied herself with music and a book, but she had been on the same page for the last 5 minutes. not that spencer was counting or anything. he moved to sit next to her to make sure she was alright with working this case.

“you okay, y/n?” he asked, softly.

she didn’t answer for a moment before answering with a question of her own, “who were the victims?”

as spencer went down the list of 5 victims from the same club, she didn’t recognize any of them, they were all new girls. she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she felt guilty for the relief that she felt, but she needed to know that none of them were her girls in order to work the case.

“i don’t know any of them,” she breathed out.

he felt his heart throb with sympathy for her as she was willing to work her friends’ case earlier, knowing what she would have to see. she gave spencer a small smile before speaking again.

“you don’t see me any different?”

spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “of course not, being an exotic dancer isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

she laughed a little at the title, “this club is not nice enough for us to be called exotic dancers.”

once they arrived at the precinct, spencer and y/n immediately got to work setting up the profile. she thought back to everything she knew about this club, overthinking and overanalyzing every aspect, every dynamic.

“were these girls working the streets as well as the club?” she asked, looking at their outfits.

“there’s nothing in their files, why do you ask?” spencer looked up in confusion.

“the girls who just work the club show up in warm ups, sweatsuits, pajamas, hair and makeup not done, and they leave that way. the girls who work the street get cute before coming,” she explained, pointing to each girl looking done up.

“i’ll let everyone know we might be working with potential street workers,” spencer nodded at her observation.

she bit her finger as she stared at the board, unmoving as she analyzed every single detail. the method of murder on each victim was strangulation. each victim had alcohol and drugs in their system, namely MDMA and high levels of THC. most of the girls at the club partook in a party drug every once in a while, especially during an off day. y/n tried to stay away from harder drugs, sticking to weed during her college years and only dabbling outside of that for two years. each victim was in their early 20’s, but they were all different physiologically. none of them were the same race or body type. one girl was 5’8 while another was only 4’11.

hours later, the team met up to discuss the details of the case. the killings were sporadic, there was no pattern to the space in between killings. the victims all worked in the same club, but other than that there were no obvious links. there was no DNA left at the crime scenes. Rossi had found that the bodies were scrubbed clean before they were dumped.

y/n couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, this whole case felt familiar to her. she kept shaking it off as being the club she used to work at and the feeling that this could’ve been her or her friends. she knew deep down that wasn’t it.

“L/N, i want you to go down to the club tomorrow. dress casual, show face, let people know you’re back in town,” Hotch stated casually.

all eyes fell on her and spencer was the first to speak, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“i’ll do it,” she nodded at Hotch, “am i going undercover?”

“if we don’t catch this guy by day after tomorrow, you’ll be going undercover that night,” Hotch confirmed.

she nodded before excusing herself to get some water with spencer hot on her tail.

“kid’s got it bad for her,” morgan nodded.

“he’s just looking out for her,” JJ shot down the idea, “it’s sweet seeing spence stepping up.”

“20 bucks says they start dating before the end of the month,” emily wagered after Hotch left the room.

“you’re on,” morgan took the deal.

“100 bucks says they start dating before the end of the case,” rossi remarked before leaving the room as well.

“you don’t have to go undercover if you don’t want to. none of us will think any less of you,” spencer started as soon as they were alone.

“i can handle a sting, spencer,” she chuckled, a little sarcastically.

“are you sure? you’ve been anxious all day,” he shot back.

“are you seriously profiling me?” she scoffed, “you know what, i think you do think less of me. i’m not a child, spencer, i can handle my job.”

she stormed out of the office, pausing to ask Hotch if she was good to leave. she left the precinct to go get into character for her upcoming operation.

the next day, she walked into the club, donning a new nail set and done up hair. her outfit was much less than anything she would ever wear to work, trading her usual blouse and jeans for a mini skirt and a cute top. as soon as she opened the doors, she was taken back 4 years to the last time she was here.

“y/n? is that you, baby?” she heard a familiar voice call to her.

“did ya miss me?” she let her personality shine through her voice with a huge smile on her face.

Laticia wrapped her arms around the girl, squeezing her tightly and whispering, “i told that fine ass man yesterday that you needed to be here with us until they catch the bastard that’s killing my girls.”

“let’s go to the back,” y/n nodded with a smile.

“look who’s back!” Laticia announced to the girls, “just in time to get me in this corset. let’s go, show’s in 2 hours!”

she got dragged to Laticia’s private room before any of the girls could even get up and swarm her. she took in the room that used to be theirs. the two vanity mirrors, one decorated and one abandoned with a lone vase of orchids atop it. the pink carpet with questionable crunchy parts. the posters on the walls. Laticia took her sweatshirt off and slipped on the corset.

“lace me up while we talk,” she said, playing music over her speakers loudly so no one could hear them.

“what’s new here?” y/n said in detective mode.

“King’s running shit now,” she whispered, “he’s got almost every girl in his grip, time’s are real bad over here.”

y/n fell quiet at the mention of her ex, “are you working for him? is sadie?”

“no, no. but, you have to stop him, y/n/n. i feel like he’s at the center of all this, i know it.”

“i know, we can’t link him to anything, though, tish. there’s nothing i can do.”

she got her laced in and Laticia wiped her face, letting y/n speak again, “i can convince my boss to let me go undercover and work here again.”

“king wants you back, he never let you breaking up with him and leaving the club go. he’s gonna come after you,” Laticia shook her head at the suggestion.

“and my team will take him down, babe, i got this,” she hugged her cousin and walked out to be swarmed by the old girls welcoming her back.

after a bit of convincing, she was allowed to get on the pole the next night. she sat in the dressing room, putting makeup on by herself. she had told the team it was best she showed up just as she would when she worked here before.

“heard you were back,” a voice said from the doorway.

her blood ran cold as she looked up through the mirror, “what do you want, king?”

“so it’s king now? what happened to auggie?” he questioned, condescendingly.

“you choked me,” she stated, coldly, going back to her eyeliner.

“you know i didn’t mean it, baby,” he dropped down to her side, “i missed you, you left in the middle of the night.”

“you choked me,” she repeated, finishing her second wing.

the two sat in silence for a beat before he grabbed her thigh and looked up at her, “smoke with me. just like old times.”

she tensed, knowing refusal would make her look suspicious but she couldn’t smoke because of her job. she looked at him, trying to look as sad as she could. his grip tightened the longer she hesitated.

“i don’t smoke weed anymore,” she tried to shake him off.

she sat and stared at him and he pulled something out of his pocket, “or do you think you need something stronger to take the edge off?”

she shook her head and he nodded, “then smoke with me.”

she sighed and gave in, feeling his grip getting tighter and tighter, “fine, but let go.”

she didn’t have a wire, nobody was going to knock on her door. they had cameras set up all over the club and people undercover set up around the perimeter with Spencer, Morgan and Prentiss inside the club as patrons. there was nobody except one of the girls who could interrupt this interaction and keep it casual.

he lit the end of the joint, releasing his grip on her. she relaxed ever so slightly being free from his grip, but still shaky about smoking. she inhaled the weed, body fully tensed as she thought about her career going down the drain. she felt herself getting higher the longer he kept her in the room, her tolerance dropping significantly in the 5 years since her last hit.

“let me put your glitter on you,” he whispered to her.

she complied, trying to keep him happy and maintain the personality he knew of her, “don’t mess it up.”

he pulled her robe off of her as soon as she stood up. the air was so thick she couldn’t breathe, she knew in her heart that he had killed those girls as soon as he spoke to her. he grabbed the glitter gel and rubbed it over every inch of exposed skin. she looked modest given the circumstances; cheeky high waisted champagne bottoms paired with a matching glittery bra with chains hanging off of the bottom. she donned rhinestone fishnets, a wine red garter, and high stilettos. she lost her balance when he gripped her hips to glitter up her stomach.

“you’ve stayed in shape,” he flirted.

“wish i could say the same for you,” she shot down.

he let the comment slide, finishing up her glitter and looking her over, “you walking around like this all night?”

“the robe is a part of the set, don’t you remember, king?” she taunted him with his street name.

she sauntered out of the room, head in a fog from the weed. she walked up to behind the main stage, waiting for Laticia, now candy, to finish her routine. she watched from the velvet curtain as her cousin picked up the money from the stage and strutted towards y/n.

“you got this, cinny,” she smiled at the girl, squeezing her arm.

Prentiss was sitting at the bar, sipping a rum n coke all coke. she watched the stage intently, using her peripherals to scout out potential criminals.

“how yall doing tonight?” she heard the owner of the club announce over the microphone, much to the disdain of the patrons, “i know you came here to see these beautiful girls dance, but i want to welcome back a very special guest to our regs of years. our girl cinnamon will be taking the stage for the first time in 4 years.”

y/n shook out all her nerves and told herself to remember her pole routine, trusting that she can work the stage just fine. she put on her stage face and sauntered on stage on beat as wine pon you started playing. she flipped her hair to the side as she got to the front of the stage, curled hair framing her face beautifully.

i ain’t got my eyes on you

she bent over slowly before quickly squatting down, ass to the audience. Spencer stiffened in his seat.

ain't been hypnotized by you yet

she slowly stood up, pushing out her ass. spencer tried to picture the girl in the navy blue cardigan, speed running a puzzle with him on the jet.

ain't in here tryna find my dude

he could see the body glitter on her chest as she rolled her body.

i take it you just like the way i wine pon you

her hips whined their way down to the floor on beat. his hand gripped his glass tighter as his loose button down seemed to strangle him.

she worked the stage, and spencer little to her knowledge. her mind was in such a fog, she knew she was working on muscle memory and personality alone. no logic to her movements, no calculation between her position and king. she felt all her training leave her brain, becoming a vessel to the mission, returning entirely to the club in that moment. she felt hunted.

after some polework, she noticed king’s attention slip away from her onto a girl serving drinks and she was desperate to get it back. she climbed off the stage, sitting on his lap and lip syncing the lyrics to him, “be like a museum, got you lookin’ but you can’t touch.”

she climbed off of him and dropped to her knees, maintaining eye contact with him. spencer’s eyes tracked her every move like a hawk, both in shock and intrigue at the provocative nature that she had hidden so well. he tried to figure out if any part of this was her or if it was all for the case. before she stood, she tossed her head back, making a pornographic face as she locked eyes with spencer across the club. she could see something in his gaze, a hunger she was unfamiliar with.

she sauntered back to the stage from the club floor to finish her routine. from then on, she was juggling spencer and king’s attention, doing everything to keep the gaze on her. her every move was to make sure the light hit the detailing on her bra, the glitter on her skin was popping, that they could see her every curve. she made sure her lines were clean and that she was drawing them deeper and deeper into her.

when her set was over, she returned to her dressing room. she had hoped deep down that spencer would come in to talk to her about the moment of eye contact they had shared. she hoped he would come in and tell her that she wasn’t delusional and that there was something there. but she knew they were working a case, she knew he wasn’t coming.

her door opened and in came king, “why’d you leave the club again?”

she turned around and giggled, “i had better opportunities.”

he grabbed her hips, “like what?”

she giggled even more, leaning back against him, “college.”

“why don’t we get outta here and you can tell me all about it?” he leaned down to her face, pressing their noses together.

she smiled, even though his grip was tightening and it was hurting her, “okay, king.”

he draped his arm across her waist, keeping his hand on her hip. he guided her out of her dressing room after she slipped on her long robe and her sweats. she was tying it closed as she walked through the club, catching the attention of spencer and morgan.

“i can’t change first, baby?” she asked, stumbling to keep up with him in her heels.

“i like you like this,” he stated, not looking in her direction.

“i look like a hooker,” she grumbled as she covered up.

he ignored her, squeezing her closer to him to keep her from wandering away. spencer had half the mind to start following them out because of his aggression toward his friend, but he waited for her signal. it also seemed like they were going out to his car, which was in his usual spot right next to the team’s stakeout van in the alley.

the rest of the team waited in the van, watching as y/n stumbled to the car. they couldn’t tell if she was actually under the influence or if she was struggling to keep up with the man’s pace because of her shoes. they watched as she climbed into his tinted car and waited for any sign of a struggle or signal to move in.

y/n anxiously shook her leg in the passenger’s seat, feeling any high she had going slipping away from her with the intensity of the situation. she was sitting in the car where dozens of women had likely been abused or killed, she couldn’t breathe. king climbed into the driver’s seat a second later and just watched the girl.

“you good?” he questioned.

she couldn’t get anything out, thinking about the last time she was in this car, “i’m fine.”

“nah, you’re tense,” he tried, pushing her buttons.

she shook her head and tried her hardest to relax, but she was angry at him. she was mad for herself, she was mad for the other girls, she was boiling over with hatred. she couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking he had all this power over not just her but women in general. she was so wrapped in her hatred, she didn’t see it.

“come on, baby,” he held a powdery tablet in the shape of a playboy bunny.

“what?” she questioned, knocked out of her gaze.

“it’s e, baby, you used to do it all the time, remember?” he held out the suspiciously printed drug.

she tried to shake her head, but realized he wasn’t asking her. the moment she got in the car, she was in his domain, under his influence, at his beck and call. she couldn’t say no.

so, she took it. and the next 15 minutes were a blur.

“get off me!” she screamed, kicking at him and the driver’s side window as he knocked her head back against the passenger’s door.

he was trying to force her into the backseat as she kicked and screamed, clawing at his neck and face. she managed to flip them, so they were fighting in the driver’s seat and her butt slammed on the horn multiple times. the team took this as her signal and moved in as he threw her into the backseat. they fought as the window broke all over them and the door flung open.

he was pulled off of her as she crawled out of the other door. spencer was waiting on her side of the car and she immediately backed into him.

“i need to go get my stomach pumped,” she gasped, putting all her body weight against him as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit.

spencer had waited in the emergency waiting area, his leg anxiously shaking as he waited for the girl to wake up. he thought over the situation and couldn’t believe she would be so careless with her life. what if he had laced the drugs? did she even know what she took? he couldn’t fathom how she ended up in that position and why he didn’t push back against her going undercover harder.

“she’s awake,” garcia informed the team as she waited in the room with her.

spencer stood up first, “can i go see her?”

the team decided to let spencer go up first while garcia let them know how she was doing.

y/n looked over at the lanky man in her doorway and a smile graced her cracked, chapped lips. she looked almost gray, but spencer could see her heart was beating strong and her lungs were full of air on the monitor, giving him comfort. she was a little embarrassed, her teeth were covered in charcoal and she had very clearly just vomited.

“hi,” her voice raspy from throwing up.

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” he said awkwardly, not moving from his spot.

“me too,” she giggled, trying to make a joke. she grabbed her water taking a sip, “i’m sorry i scared you.”

“what were you thinking?” he sat down, next to her.

“it was me or someone else, at least the team was there for me,” she shrugged.

“no, taking the drugs. you could’ve died, you don’t know what he put in that,” he pushed, starting to get annoyed by her lack of care.

“i had to do something, spence. i wasn’t getting out of that car without taking something with him.”

spencer twiddle his fingers before tossing his hands, obviously getting frustrated, “that’s not the point!”

“why are you so upset?” she furrowed her eyebrows, expecting this from hotch but not spencer.

“because i just realized i like you and then you almost die!” spencer snapped at the girl, word vomiting his thoughts.

the room falls quiet, minus the beeping of the monitors connected to y/n. she looked at spencer with tight lips, deciding to lighten the mood once again.

“can you say that again when i don’t have a black smile and bruises?”

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