#derek tw x reader

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[g0ldwasteland]

Hmmmnnnggg being forced to ride a yandere but you've never done it before and they don't like how slow you're going and just grab ur hips and force you down and bounce you themselves andnnfgaghhhhh

Cough cough, Derek and Strade on the mind))

[companionjones]

The Club

Pairing: Sterek x Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf (MTV)

Summary: Derek calls you in the middle of the night to inform you that Stiles is having a panic attack.

Warnings: Depiction of a panic attack

*******

In the middle of a dead sleep, you woke up to your phone ringing. "Hello--?"

Right as you finished the word, Derek's panicked voice rang out, "Y/nineedyoutogetoverhererightnow--"

"Der?" You were confused in your fugue state.

He didn't stop. "--Ican'tcalmhimdownheneeds--"

"Derek." You were finally aware enough to ask him something important. Your voice remained calm. "I need you to slow down, okay? I can't understand what you're saying."

You could practically hear Derek's frantic nod through the phone. "It's Stiles. He's having another panic attack. I can't calm him down. He needs you."

"Keep trying to talk to him. I'll be over in 10 minutes."

What you'd received wasn't a rare phone call, you just needed to make sure there wasn't another supernatural emergency.

Five minutes later, you were walking into Derek's apartment. You found Derek and Stiles in the bedroom. Stiles was huddled in the corner, breathing erratically, and Derek was crouched down, carefully watching him.

You came into the room, and Stiles immediately reacted to you. "I'm sorry," he hiccuped.

"Nothing to be sorry for." You joined the two men by kneeling on the ground. "What's got you all worked up?"

Stiles couldn't look at you. "There was...I had...I had this dream...the Void, the Void was back and-and he killed all of you...using me...When I woke up, I didn't know what was real anymore."

"This is real, Stiles," proclaimed Derek.

"How do I know that?" worried Stiles.

"Count your fingers, count my fingers. Count Derek's. Count however many fingers you think is necessary to believe we're really here with you."

Instead of doing that, Stiles kept switching his gaze between yours and Derek's.

You took that as an opportunity to inch closer to Stiles. He tried to back away from you, but he couldn't get far due to the wall behind him. However, as soon as you placed a hand on him. Stiles practically enveloped you into his space. By hugging him, you could truly tell how much he was shaking. You tried your best to come to his hair and calm him down.

Derek stood then. He always seemed in awe at how easily you were able to calm Stiles down.

Holding Stiles like you were felt wrong without Derek. So, you stretched out an arm.

He was hesitant at first, but Derek slowly took the few steps necessary to reach you. Gingerly, he took your hand.

Not gingerly at all, you pulled Derek down to join you and Stiles.

Finally, you felt whole.

But alas, you knew you couldn't stay. You weren't one to intrude where you weren't welcome. You'd been asked over, but not asked to stay. You moved to leave.

"Do we need to spell it out for you?" Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're in the club--"

"We're a club?" Derek smirked.

"--You've been in the club for a long time," Stiles completed.

"I have?" you wondered.

Derek answered with a smile, "'Course you have."

"Well, that's pretty great news, then." You couldn't keep yourself from grinning. "Can we move this club to the bed?"

Stiles gasped then, like what you had said was scandalous.

You flicked him on the forehead. "For someone who just got out of a panic attack, you're pretty sassy."

Derek rolled his eyes as he stood and carried Stiles to bed. "Have you met Stiles? He's always...sassy."

The two laid down in bed, kissed, and both reached out for you.

Another grin spread across your face before you happily joined Derek and Stiles in bed.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlists. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[soulofapatrick]

Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members. 

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully. 

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys. 

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house. 

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words. 

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance. 

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him. 

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine. 

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together. 

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before. 

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home. 

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone.  It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories. 

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter. 

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.” 

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long. 

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long. 

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss. 

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us. 

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.” 

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.” 

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged. 

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me. 

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection. 

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

Teen Wolf Masterlist

TAGS

@bellabadacadabra

[uofcosmos]

liam dunbar bf hcs

sfw

- always gets up freakishly early for lacrosse practice

- tries not to wake you up but he makes so much noise in the morning you get up anyways

- mostly the little spoon but when he is the big spoon he wraps himself around you like he's your backpack

- always has his head on your shoulder either from behind you in a backhug or leaning his head onto you when you're sitting together

- never does PDA in front of stlies though

- chronic whiner, always complaining and whining about something

- you try to record him when he's in one of those moods and as soon as he sees it he starts acting macho

- its lowkey an ick

- he's such a brat and doesn't listen to anyone but as soon as you say something he turns super agreeable- it makes mason super upset

- chronic pinkie-linker

- gaming nights with him turned sleepovers because he literally doesn't let you go after

- you guys would get super serious about iphone games and always try to beat each others high scores

- you know how guys lose on purpose ?? he's not doing that shit

- you always keep up with him though, but he refuses to give you credit

- your first genuine fight would be about a game because he refuses to back down

- would really be into doing "secret projects" for you like knitting you something, or baking you something, and makes sure that you know "how hard and difficult it was :(( "

- he's lowkey really bad at all of it though

- you know the whole "this one's for you babe" thing, he'd do that but he'd whisper it to himself before taking a shot "this one's for y/n"

- whenever something happens, he always asks scott to look out for you and makes sure you're okay- you guys love taking walks in parks and walking through cute trails in beacon hills

- you'd have lots of spots in the beacon hills forest

- scott and stiles love having you around because it tames liam so much more

- he doesn't let theo talk to you

- after theo finally gets to talk to you he looks and liam and gives him a little smirk "liam you were keeping this from me ??"

- he loves braiding your hair and figuring out cute little hairstyles for you

- he would keep a hairtie on his wrist all the time in case you need it

- he would love when you play with his hair and scratch his head

nsfw under the cut !! mdni

- he would be a top and leans more submissive

- sometimes he's tired from lacrosse and just loves fucking you while you're spooning

- he'd be really really enthusiastic about getting head, you could use it as leverage for anything

- would be the type to tear up

- around full moons, he gets a lot more aggressive

- really be into biting, like you'd have to have a conversation about it after the first time

- he'd be into hickeys in places that are easy to see, so you'd have a harder time covering it up

- has sensitive ears

- gets off on you complimenting his body because he worked so hard for it

- crazy stamina

- he'd be into you edging him

- but it would take absolutely nothing for him to start begging you to let him finish

- he'd get extremely pink - pink-cheeked, pink-lipped, pink-nosed, pink-eared

- lowkey shit at aftercare in the beginning, but he'd work on it

- after you guys finish, he'd need to be attached to you for at least 3-4 hours

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

[ellswritings]

Undercover Heat

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: Regular Criminal Minds violence, mentions of blood, death, and gore, suggestive content at the end (no smut), a bit of foul language, enemies to lovers, Hotch is kind of a meanie.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Sitting in the Los Angeles police station for the third day in a row has the entire team from the B.A.U stretched thin and exhausted. They’ve been dealing with a serial killer who targets couples with large age gaps in upscale, luxury clubs. He’s taken out three couples in the past three weeks. Tension was thick in the air, the exhaustion from long hours spent hunting a brutal unsub weighing on each of them.

Y/N runs a hand over her face in irritation as she leans on Morgan’s shoulder. They’ve been driving themselves crazy trying to figure out who this killer is. They’ve gone to multiple different clubs asking if anyone has seen a man between ages 35-50 who tends to sit at the bar people watching rather than engaging in the night’s festivities. But the regulars and employees said they hadn’t seen anything. Their unsub has been strangling his victims in the luxury clubs before dumping their bodies exactly two miles away in very particular positions. They’ve all been found in public spaces. But so far, they were missing something.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, flipping through the latest crime scene photos as Rossi and Morgan finished pinning the map with the last locations of the attacks. Y/N sat across from Reid, skimming through her notes as she analyzed the patterns. With an IQ of 179, a doctorate in criminology and psychology, two master’s degrees in chemistry and law, and a B.A. in history and human resources, her mind rarely rested. She could also fluently converse in four languages—French, Russian, German, and Spanish—which had come in handy countless times in the field. Despite her vast knowledge and sharp instincts, this case had left her unsettled. Something was off, and they hadn’t cracked it yet.

Rossi broke the silence. “We’ve been over this already. The unsub is hitting clubs that cater to the upper class, targeting couples with large age gaps. But there’s still a piece we’re missing. Why these clubs? Why these victims?”

Morgan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “This guy knows how to pick his victims, that’s for sure. But he’s not choosing randomly—there’s gotta be something more connecting these places.”

Y/N frowned, glancing between the case files and the map. “It’s not just about wealth. These clubs aren’t the most high-profile ones in the city, and they’re spread out across the area.”

Reid tapped his pen against the table. “It’s true. They’re not clustered in one neighborhood, and they don’t have a shared ownership group or any overt connections that we’ve found.”

Emily Prentiss nodded from her spot at the edge of the table, deep in thought. “What about the victims? They’re all couples with significant age differences. That’s part of his ritual, but it doesn’t explain why he’s picking these clubs.”

Y/N was staring at the list of clubs they’d canvassed earlier: Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. She narrowed her eyes, something beginning to click in her mind. “Hold on…”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noticing her shift in focus.

Y/N sat up straighter, her voice thoughtful. “The clubs… they’re in alphabetical order. Look—Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. He’s not just picking random spots. He’s following a sequence.”

Reid’s eyes lit up in realization. “You’re right. It’s subtle, but it makes sense. This kind of obsessive order suggests a particular form of OCD—a need to control every element of his actions. It’s not about the clubs themselves; it’s about the order they fall into.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, impressed. “Damn. This guy’s not just a killer—he’s a full-on control freak.”

Hotch nodded, his expression serious. “If he’s following an alphabetical pattern, we can anticipate his next move. What’s the next club in line?”

Y/N flipped through the files, pulling out the next likely target. “‘DeVane.’ It’s upscale, fits the profile of where he’s been targeting couples. If he’s keeping to this pattern, that’s where he’ll strike next.”

JJ stepped forward, pointing at the map. “Alright. So we’ve got the next location. Now we just need to draw him out.”

Rossi’s eyes light up with an idea as he looked between Y/N and Hotch, “Well, we know the unsub’s got a thing for couples with big age gaps. Looks like we need a decoy.”

Before anyone could react, Morgan’s gaze landed squarely on Y/N, mischief dancing behind his eyes, “And we’ve got the perfect couple right here.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Emily, catching onto Morgan and Rossi’s plan, chuckled. “He’s right, you know. You and Hotch fit the profile. It’d be perfect.”

Y/N stared, incredulous, before glancing toward Hotch. The man was stone-faced, as usual, but she could feel the tension rise between them. “You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with him?”

Morgan shrugged, his smile widening. “Well, you’re 23, Hotch is… not 23. The age gap fits perfectly.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, frustration building. “You’re seriously suggesting that Hotch and I—two people who can barely tolerate each other—pretend to be a couple?”

Hotch didn’t even look up from his files. “We’re professionals. We can set aside our differences for this.”

Y/N let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Set aside our differences? Hotch, we can’t even get through a team meeting without arguing over strategy. How do you expect us to pull off a believable relationship?”

Prentiss leaned in, smirking. “You two do argue like an old married couple already.”

Y/N threw her a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”

JJ chimed in, trying to defuse the tension. “Look, I know this is uncomfortable, but we need to catch this guy before he kills again. You two are the best option we have.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just about being uncomfortable. We have to convince the unsub that we’re a legitimate couple—he’s going to notice every detail. And we’re not exactly… compatible.”

Hotch finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. “We don’t have to like each other to do our jobs, L/N. We just have to be convincing enough to lure the unsub in.”

Y/N stared at him, arms crossed tightly. “Convincing? You and I can barely stand to be in the same room. How do you expect us to sell a romantic relationship?”

Morgan chuckled from the side. “Come on, L/N, you’re one of the smartest people I know. With that IQ and all those degrees, you can figure this out.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I have a doctorate in criminology and psychology, a master’s in law and chemistry, and a B.A. in history and human resources. None of those degrees cover ‘pretending to like your boss who you can’t stand.’”

Rossi stepped in, his tone more diplomatic. “Look, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think you could handle it. This guy’s escalating, and we need to act fast. You and Hotch are the best team for this.”

Y/N sighed, clearly frustrated but recognizing the urgency. She looked over at Hotch, who met her gaze with that same impassive expression. “Fine,” she muttered. “But for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Hotch gave a curt nod. “Noted.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the skimpy red dress that Emily had insisted she wear for this undercover mission. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating every curve. The slit on the side revealed a generous portion of her thigh, leaving just enough room to conceal her gun but not much else to the imagination. The sweetheart neckline plunged dangerously low, exposing far more cleavage than she was used to. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but Emily had been insistent.

“Trust me,” Emily had said with a wicked grin. “You’ll knock them dead.”

Y/N took a deep breath and adjusted the neckline again, trying to reconcile the professional part of her brain with the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She wasn’t usually the type to use her looks to her advantage, but tonight was different. Tonight, the mission came first.

She stepped out into the hallway where the rest of the team was waiting. The moment she appeared, Morgan’s eyes widened, and he let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, Y/N, you trying to kill the unsub or us?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not that bad.”

Morgan grinned, his gaze trailing over her in a playful, non-threatening way that only a close friend could get away with. “If this guy doesn’t fall for the bait, Lord knows I will,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth making Y/N slap his chest.

Emily stepped up beside Morgan, her eyes lighting up with approval. “See? I told you that dress would be perfect. You look like a total bombshell.”

Y/N glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “Yeah, well, I feel like I’m about to flash someone.”

Emily shrugged, unfazed. “That’s kind of the point.”

Morgan shot her a wink. “You’re gonna break hearts tonight, sweetheart. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward Hotch, who had been silent since she entered the room. His gaze was locked on her, but he wasn’t saying anything. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her stomach tighten.

He quickly glanced away when she caught him staring, clearing his throat. “We need to focus on the mission.”

“Right.” Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her chest. She wasn’t here to impress anyone—least of all Aaron Hotchner. He was too serious, too controlled. While Y/N on the other hand tends to handle the job by hiding behind a wall of humor and sarcasm, something Hotch hates. They’d never gotten along. This was strictly business.

Still, as they walked out to the car, she couldn’t help but feel Hotch’s presence looming next to her. He hadn’t said a word about the dress, but the way his eyes had lingered on her—particularly on her cleavage—hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was like he was trying not to look, but failing miserably.

By the time they arrived at the club, Y/N’s nerves had settled somewhat. The loud thrum of music pulsed through the walls as they approached the entrance, and she straightened her spine, trying to adopt the confident persona they needed for the night.

“Okay,” she murmured as they stepped through the door. “We need to sell this. So maybe try not looking like a statue,” she grumbles lowly.

Hotch, staying ever stoic, gave a curt nod. “I know.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. Hotch’s body language screamed discomfort. His shoulders were rigid, his movements stiff, and he had the expression of someone being dragged to an event they wanted no part of.

She leaned in closer to him, keeping her voice low. “Hotch, you’re going to blow this if you don’t relax. We’re supposed to be a couple.”

“I’m relaxed,” Hotch said, though the tension in his jaw told a different story.

Y/N huffed in frustration. “You look like you’re about to interrogate someone, not go dancing with your girlfriend.”

Hotch shot her a look. “I’m here to catch the unsub, not dance.”

“You’re here to catch the unsub by pretending to be my boyfriend,” Y/N whispered fiercely. “Right now, you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

Hotch’s expression remained impassive, but Y/N could sense the faintest hint of annoyance in his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Start by putting your arm around me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Couples don’t walk into clubs two feet apart.”

Hotch hesitated, then slipped his arm around her waist. It was awkward at first, his hand hovering as if he wasn’t sure where to put it. But Y/N pressed into him slightly, encouraging him to pull her closer. After a moment, his grip tightened, and they moved deeper into the crowded club.

They found their way to the dance floor, where couples swayed and ground against each other in the dim, pulsating lights. Y/N turned to Hotch, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of their target. They had to blend in.

“Follow my lead,” she said softly.

Hotch nodded, though the tightness in his posture remained.

Y/N began to move to the music, her body swaying in time with the beat. Hotch tried to follow her movements, but he was stiff, almost robotic. She bit back a sigh and leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ve got eyes on us,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against the skin just below. “Black hoodie, sitting alone at the bar. You need to make this believable. Stop acting like I have some incurable disease.”

Hotch’s hands found her hips, his grip firm but hesitant. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him, but she kept moving, her body fluid and sensual as she ground against him. Their bodies remain close, she spins around pressing her ass against crotch, and for a moment, she felt his breath hitch.

“You’re too stiff,” she murmured, leaning her head back, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Relax.”

Hotch’s hands tightened on her hips as he tried to match her rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease, and he pulled her closer, his breath now becoming warm against her neck.

“That’s better,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Hotch’s hands moved more confidently now, gripping her hips with a possessive strength that sent a shiver down her spine. Y/N’s heart raced as she tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against the skin of his neck. She trails kisses up and down his skin, nibbling at the soft spot that connects his shoulder to his neck. She turns back around, running her hands through his raven black hair, tugging on the strands which ends up pulling a small groan from Hotch’s lips. The music and atmosphere of the club seems to have pulled them in much deeper than they thought. It’s getting harder to breathe the closer they stay.

“We’ve got his attention,” she murmured, her lips ghosting along the curve of his jaw. She fights off every urge to leave a mark. “He hasn’t looked away for the past five minutes.”

Without warning, Y/N moves her attention from his neck and kisses him, her lips pressing against his in a way that was both soft and urgent. Hotch froze for a split second, but then his hands gripped her waist, pulling her even closer as he deepened the kiss. He’ll probably scold her for the unprofessional action later, but they need to keep this guys attention if this is going to work.

It was electric, the tension between them igniting in a way neither of them had anticipated. Hotch’s hand moves upward, gripping the back of her head. If her eyes were open, they’d be rolling into the back of her head with the way he’s dominating her. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she kissed him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, it didn’t feel like an act.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their eyes locked. Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“He’s hooked,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless. “We need to get him somewhere more secluded. Before he hurts someone else.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on her waist still tight as they made their way toward the exit. Once outside, the cool night air hit them, and Y/N quickly scanned the area, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. She can’t see if the unsub followed them. The only light illuminating the area around them being the moon.

“We need to keep making this look real,” Y/N murmured as they moved toward a shadowed alley. “Just in case he’s still watching.”

Without warning, Hotch spun her around and pinned her against the wall, his body pressing into hers. One of his hands is still tight on her hip, the other one shooting up to her neck, squeezing it slightly to hold her in place. Y/N’s breath catches in her throat as Hotch’s eyes visibly darken.

“Is this believable enough for you?” Hotch whispers, his voice low and rough in her ear.

Y/N swallowed hard, enjoying the tiny amount of pressure on her throat. “Yeah… that’ll do.”

They stood like that for a few moments, their bodies pressed together in the darkness. Hotch plants open mouthed kisses from her cheek all the way down to her neck and across her chest, the neckline allowing him much needed access. Y/N sucks in a shaky breath, still waiting for any sign of the unsub. She could feel the tension between them, the heat radiating off Hotch’s body as he held her against the wall.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye. The unsub stepped out of the shadows, his gaze locked on them. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately. She shoved Hotch to the side, spinning around to face the unsub as he lunged at her.

In one swift motion, Y/N ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. The unsub let out a grunt of pain as she swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Hotch was by her side in an instant, helping to restrain the unsub as they waited for backup to arrive.

When it was all over, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She glanced over at Hotch, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

Y/N nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hotch’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he looked away, his expression unreadable once again. “Good work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, despite the tension still thrumming between them. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

As they waited for the team to arrive, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The mission might have been over, but the tension between her and Hotch was far from resolved.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N barely made it through the door of her hotel room before she kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. Her feet ached from the hours spent in the club, and all she wanted was to peel off the red dress that clung to her like a second skin, take a long shower, and crash for the night. The team had successfully apprehended the unsub, and they’d earned a few hours of sleep before their early flight back to Quantico.

As she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, a commanding knock on her door stopped her mid-motion. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was late, far past the time she expected anyone on the team to come knocking. Confusion settled in her chest as she moved toward the door, wondering if someone had an emergency or a last-minute update about the case.

When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her sent her heart racing.

Hotch stood there, but not like the composed, stoic team leader she was used to seeing. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usually slicked-back hair had a slightly tousled look, as if he’d been running his hands through it. But it wasn’t just his disheveled appearance that threw her off—it was the way his dark eyes flickered with something raw, something he was barely holding back.

He looked… frazzled, but not in a scared or anxious way. No, this was different. It was the kind of frazzled that spoke of barely-contained desire, the kind that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes swept over her, lingering on the red dress she was still wearing. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening for a split second before he quickly looked back up at her face. But not quickly enough.

“Hotch?” she asked, her voice uncertain, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Hotch stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back. He shut the door behind him with a firm push, the click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His entire presence was overwhelming, the space between them growing smaller with each passing second.

“Why are you still in that dress?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his gaze once again dipping to the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t a question borne out of curiosity; it was an accusation, a demand.

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off by the intensity in his eyes, the tension radiating off him in waves. “I—I just got back. I didn’t have time to—”

But before she could explain further, Hotch took another step forward, backing her up against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of her head, caging her in. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the scent of his cologne filling her senses.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a low growl, “what the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her breath hitching as she stared up at him. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. “What are you talking about?”

“The kiss,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “The way you touched me. What were you trying to do?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, her mind spinning. This wasn’t an interrogation—not really. This was something else, something charged with an energy she couldn’t ignore.

“I was trying to sell the cover,” she replied, her voice faltering slightly, though she stood her ground. “We had to be convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Convincing? You were doing a hell of a lot more than that.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his words hung between them, thick with implication. The way he was looking at her, the way his body pressed so close to hers, sent heat pooling in her stomach. She could feel the tension crackling between them, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her heart pounding in her chest.

Hotch’s gaze bore into hers, his voice dangerously soft. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, trying to regain control of the situation, of herself. But the way Hotch was staring at her, the way his body was crowding her against the wall, made it nearly impossible to think straight.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” Hotch’s voice was thick with disbelief, and he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering near her ear. “You kissed your superior, L/N. You pushed yourself against me like a dirty whore. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling where his breath brushed against her ear. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The heat between them was suffocating, and her body reacted in ways she couldn’t control.

“You kissed me back,” she shot back, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, even as her voice wavered.

Hotch’s hand slid down the wall, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a shockwave of electricity through her. His lips were so close to her neck now, she could feel the warmth of them, but he didn’t touch her—at least, not yet.

“You want to talk about what I did?” His voice was a husky whisper. “Or do you want to talk about why you did it in the first place?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing. “What are you trying to get at, Hotch?”

“I’m trying to figure out what was going through your mind,” he said, his eyes dark with intensity. “You could’ve made it believable without kissing me like that. But you didn’t.”

Y/N’s skin flushed, and she fought to stay composed. “I did what I had to do to keep the cover intact. That’s it.”

Hotch’s lips twisted into a smirk that sent a ripple of heat through her. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Her pulse was in her throat now, and she couldn’t ignore the way her body responded to his nearness, the way her mind spun every time his breath ghosted over her skin.

“You’re trying to act like you don’t care,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, predatory. “But you can’t stand it, can you? You’re as affected by this as I am.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You may be able to lie to yourself,” Hotch said softly, his hand brushing over her side, sending a shockwave of heat through her. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing uneven as the tension between them became unbearable. Every inch of her body was attuned to his, and the more they fought, the stronger the pull between them became.

“Maybe it’s you who can’t handle it,” Y/N shot back, her voice shaky, but defiant. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s affected.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened even further, and without warning, his lips crashed against hers, all of the tension, all of the pent-up frustration between them exploding in that moment.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her body melting into his as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. A certain wetness pools between her legs as his thigh spreads her legs apart. She grounds herself against him as the kiss builds. It’s fierce, heated, and Y/N can’t stop herself, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

It was overwhelming—the way his body pressed into hers, the way his lips moved against hers, demanding more. She could feel the heat between them building, igniting something deep within her that she couldn’t suppress.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The mission, the team, the rules—they all disappeared, leaving only the fire that burned between them.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to regain control.

“This is a bad idea,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless.

Hotch’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers brushing against her neck. “I know.”

But neither of them made a move to stop.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Silent Echos

Summary: Y/N is unknowingly dating and unsub, will the team get to her in time?

Pairing: slight Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt, crime

Warnings/Includes: angst, hurt, danger, crime, kidnapping, murder, abuse, assault

Word count: 4.8k

a/n: sorry this is dark!! no excuses really

main masterlist

The conference room at the BAU headquarters was a somber place, its walls filled with photos and case details of the latest horrific crimes. Aaron Hotchner stood at the head of the round table, his expression as grave as ever. The rest of the team sat around, listening intently. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare, adding to the cold, clinical atmosphere of the room.

Hotchner cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to the screen behind him, where images of three women were displayed side by side. Their faces bore a haunting similarity, enough to unsettle even the most seasoned agents.

"Three women," he began, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. "All missing for several days before their bodies were discovered. Each victim was assaulted, killed, and dumped without any signs of remorse. The killer made sure their faces were left untouched, but the rest... the rest was brutal."

He clicked a button on the remote, and the screen changed to show the locations where the bodies were found. "These areas are remote, secluded. No witnesses, no CCTV footage. It's clear that this is personal for the unsub. The level of violence suggests a deep-seated rage, likely tied to someone close to him."

Emily Prentiss leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Do we have any leads on a common connection between the victims?"

Hotchner shook his head. "Not yet. The similarities in their appearances suggest a specific type, which could mean the unsub is projecting onto these women. We need to find out who they remind him of."

Derek Morgan glanced at the photos again. "Any family or friends who fit the profile?"

"That's what we need to dig into," Hotchner replied. "Reid, anything from the victimology?"

Spencer Reid, who had been lost in thought, snapped back to attention. "All three women were in their mid-thirties, single, no children. They lived alone, and none of them had any known enemies. They worked in different fields and didn't socialize in the same circles. The only thing linking them is their appearance."

"Which means," Hotchner continued, "we're looking for someone with a specific psychological trigger. This isn't random. It's methodical, controlled. He knows what he's doing."

Penelope Garcia, the team's technical analyst, chimed in from her corner. "I've been running background checks on people in their lives, but so far, nothing stands out. No shared acquaintances or unusual activity."

Hotchner nodded. "Keep digging, Garcia. We need to find any thread that ties these women together."

The room fell silent as each member of the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary case. The unsub was intelligent, careful, and driven by a dark compulsion. They had to move fast before another woman became a victim.

"We'll reconvene on the jet," Hotchner said, breaking the silence. "Let’s get to work."

As the team dispersed to their respective tasks, a sense of urgency hung in the air. They all knew the stakes. Finding the connection between these women could mean the difference between life and death for the next potential victim. And with each passing hour, the unsub grew bolder, more confident that he could continue his reign of terror unnoticed.

Hotchner stood and added, "Wheels up in 30. We're heading to Idaho." The team members exchanged determined glances, knowing that every second counted. They quickly gathered their things, preparing for another intense, high-stakes case. 

---

The jet touched down in Idaho under a cloudless sky, the landscape starkly beautiful but a harsh contrast to the dark work ahead. The team disembarked quickly, Hotchner leading the way as they made their way to the local police precinct. They were met by Detective Laura Thompson, a seasoned officer with a determined look in her eyes.

"Welcome," she greeted them briskly. "We've been expecting you. Follow me, please."

Inside the precinct, the atmosphere was tense. Officers moved with purpose, aware that time was of the essence. Detective Thompson led the team to a conference room where a young woman sat, nervously fidgeting while an artist sketched beside her. Her face was pale, eyes wide with the trauma she had endured.

Hotchner stepped forward, his demeanor calm and reassuring. "I'm Agent Hotchner, and this is my team from the BAU. We're here to help."

Detective Thompson introduced the woman. "This is Sarah Collins, the fourth victim who managed to escape. She's been incredibly brave."

Sarah looked up, a flicker of relief crossing her face. "I... I bit him. While he was tying me up. He dropped his weapon, and I just ran. I didn't look back."

Emily Prentiss leaned in, her voice gentle. "You did the right thing, Sarah. Can you tell us anything else about him? Any details that might help?"

Sarah nodded, her hands trembling slightly. "He had a tattoo on his wrist, a small black star. And he kept mumbling something about 'her'. It was like he was talking to someone, but there was no one else there."

The sketch artist paused, holding up the drawing for Sarah to review. She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "That's him. That's the man who tried to kill me."

Hotchner took the sketch, studying it carefully. "Thank you, Sarah. You've been incredibly brave, and you've given us something to work with."

He turned to the team. "Reid, Morgan, let's get started on a geographical profile. We need to figure out where he's operating from. Prentiss, JJ, talk to Sarah more. See if there's anything else she remembers. Rossi, go over the crime scenes again. Garcia, I need you to dig into any records of men with a tattoo of a black star."

Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid moved to a map laid out on a table. Morgan began marking the locations where the bodies were found, while Reid started analyzing the patterns.

Hotchner looked back at Sarah. "We'll find him, Sarah."

As the team dispersed to their tasks, the weight of the case settled heavily on their shoulders. They had a sketch and a few leads, but they still needed to uncover the identity of the unsub and the woman who had caused him such fury. The clock was ticking, and they knew they had to work quickly to prevent another tragedy.

"JJ, I need you to go public with the sketch. We need all the help we can get to identify this unsub. The faster we get his face out there, the better chance we have of someone recognizing him," Hotchner instructed.

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau nodded, determination in her eyes. "I'll get it done."

JJ stood behind a podium outside the precinct, flanked by local law enforcement. Cameras flashed, and the murmur of reporters filled the air. She held up the sketch of the unsub, her expression serious.

"Good afternoon. We are asking for the public's help in identifying this individual," she began, her voice steady. "He is wanted in connection with multiple assaults and murders. If you recognize this man, please contact our tip line immediately. Any information, no matter how small, could be crucial in our investigation."

She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to sink in before continuing. "Additionally, we urge women who bear a resemblance to these victims to be extra cautious." She gestured to the photos of the three murdered women displayed on the screen behind her. "These women were targeted because of their similar appearances. If you or someone you know looks like them, please take extra precautions and report any suspicious behavior."

---

Y/N sat in her living room, absently flipping through channels, her mind preoccupied with the mundane concerns of the day. Her heart skipped a beat when she stumbled upon the news broadcast. The urgency in JJ's voice immediately caught her attention, and she leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screen.

The sketch of the unsub appeared, and Y/N's breath hitched. The face staring back at her was disturbingly familiar. It was Daniel. Her boyfriend. The man she had trusted and loved.

As JJ continued, Y/N's eyes shifted to the photos of the victims. Her blood ran cold. Each woman had a hauntingly similar appearance to her own. The same hair color, the same features. She felt a chill run down her spine as she realized the terrifying connection.

For a moment, she was paralyzed. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions surged through her. Could it really be him? She felt a pang of disbelief, mixed with a deep, gnawing fear. Memories of Daniel's occasional distant, angry moments flashed in her mind. She had always dismissed them as stress, convincing herself it was normal. Now, those memories took on a sinister new meaning.

Y/N's hands trembled, and she felt an overwhelming urge to do something, to take action. But she hesitated. The taught behaviors from Daniel held her back, making her question her own judgment. What if she was wrong? What if this put her in more danger?

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clutched her phone tightly. She knew she couldn't ignore this. Her fear for her own safety was overshadowed by the need to stop Daniel from hurting anyone else. Mustering all the courage she had, she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, heading straight for the police station.

The precinct was alive with activity and near constant phone calls when Y/N arrived, breathless and visibly shaken. She approached the front desk, her voice trembling.

"I need to speak to someone from the BAU. It's about the sketch on the news. I think... I think it's my boyfriend," she said, her words stumbling over each other in her rush.

The officer at the desk quickly notified Detective Thompson, who then led Y/N to the conference room where the team was gathered.

Hotchner looked up as they entered, his expression shifting to concern when he saw the distress on Y/N's face. "I'm Agent Hotchner. Please, have a seat."

Y/N sat down, her hands shaking. "The man in the sketch... it might be Daniel. My boyfriend. I can't believe this, but I think I recognize him. I think he might be the one you're looking for."

The room fell silent as the gravity of her words sank in. Hotchner leaned forward, his tone calm and reassuring. "You're doing the right thing by coming to us. We need to know everything you can tell us about Daniel. Any detail, no matter how small, could help us."

Hotchner focused his attention on Y/N. Her distress was evident, but she had shown remarkable courage in coming forward. Hotchner's expression was calm and composed, as he asked the crucial questions.

"Y/N, has Daniel ever hurt you?" he asked gently, his eyes searching her face for any sign of hidden pain.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and shook her head quickly. "He's always been kind to me, but there are moments when he gets... distant. Angry, even, but he never shows it around others. I thought it was just stress from work. But he never... he never laid a hand on me."

Despite her words, the team members exchanged knowing glances. Years of experience had taught them to read between the lines. Derek Morgan's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her body language, the subtle flinches and the way she kept her hands tightly clasped. Emily Prentiss noticed the shadows under Y/N's eyes and the way her gaze seemed to dart around the room, unable to settle.

Hotchner continued, his tone still gentle but probing. "Sometimes, abuse isn't just physical. It can be emotional or psychological. If there's anything, anything at all, that made you uncomfortable or afraid, it's important for us to know."

Y/N looked down, her hands trembling. "I... I don't know. There were moments when he got really angry, but he always apologized afterward. I thought it was just stress. I mean, I messed up sometimes. I didn't think it was anything more."

Emily Prentiss moved closer, her expression compassionate and understanding. "Y/N, it's not your fault. Sometimes, people like Daniel can make us feel like we're to blame for their actions, but it's not true. You've been incredibly strong to come forward, and we're here to help you. You're safe now."

Y/N looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. "I just... I never thought it was abuse. I thought I was the one causing the problems."

Prentiss gently took Y/N's hand in hers. "It's a common reaction, especially when someone you care about manipulates your emotions. But you're not alone in this. We're going to figure this out together. You're doing the right thing by being here."

Hotchner turned to Garcia, who had been monitoring the conversation from her laptop. "Garcia, start digging into Daniel's background. We need everything you can find."

Garcia nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "On it, Boss."

---

Emily and JJ led Y/N to a quieter room, away from the hustle and bustle of the precinct. Emily offered Y/N a seat and a cup of tea, hoping to calm her nerves.

"Thank you," Y/N said softly, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of fear and confusion.

Emily sat beside her, her demeanor warm and comforting. "You've been very brave, Y/N. I know this is difficult, but we need to learn as much as we can about Daniel. Can you tell me anything about his past? His family, his job, anything that might help us understand him better?"

Y/N thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. "I... I don't know much about his family. He never really talked about them. He said he had a difficult childhood, but he never gave details. He works in finance, I think, but he travels a lot for work. I don't even know the name of his company. I know he likes to hunt."

Emily nodded, jotting down notes. "What about friends? Did he ever introduce you to anyone he knew?"

Y/N shook her head. "No, he was always very private. We mostly spent time alone together. He said he didn't have many close friends."

As Emily continued to ask questions, it became clear that Y/N knew very little about Daniel's life outside of their relationship. The realization dawned on her slowly, bringing a new wave of fear. "I... I really don't know anything about him, do I?"

Emily reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N's arm. "It's okay, Y/N. You're safe now, and we're going to find out everything we can. You're doing the right thing by helping us."

Y/N nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Thank you. I just want to help. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

JJ, who had been quietly observing, spoke up with a gentle smile. "We won't let that happen. We'll find him, and we'll stop him. You're not alone in this."

---

Penelope Garcia's fingers flew over her keyboard as she dug into Daniel's background. Suddenly, she gasped and leaned closer to the screen, her eyes widening in shock.

"Oh my god," she muttered, quickly calling Hotchner over. "Hotch, you need to see this."

Hotchner, Derek, and Rossi gathered around Garcia's workstation. "What did you find, Garcia?" Hotchner asked, his voice tense with anticipation.

Garcia pulled up an old photograph. "This is Daniel's mother. She looks almost identical to Y/N. And get this—Daniel was taken away from her as a child due to severe abuse. It all fits. He's projecting his rage towards his mother onto these women."

Hotchner nodded grimly. "We have our guy. Now we need to find out where he's taking his victims."

Rossi spoke up. "Emily said Y/N mentioned Daniel goes hunting a lot. Maybe he has a cabin. That might be where he's taking them."

Hotchner turned to Derek. "We need to find if there is a cabin. Y/N might be able to help us narrow it down. Let's get her back in here."

---

Y/N sat in the conference room, anxiety written all over her face. When Spencer Reid entered the room, he was momentarily taken aback by her appearance. He quickly composed himself, but the initial shock lingered. Her resemblance to the victims and the photo of Daniel's mother was striking, and there was something else about her that made his heart race.

"Hi, Y/N. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he said, trying to sound as calm and reassuring as possible.

Y/N nodded, her eyes still wide with worry. "Hi, Dr. Reid."

Reid sat down across from her, spreading a map on the table. "We believe Daniel has a cabin where he's taking his victims. Can you help us figure out where it might be?"

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "He goes hunting in the woods north of here. He never mentioned a cabin, but I also never went with him. He said it was his alone time."

Reid nodded, marking the area on the map. "Did he ever mention any specific landmarks or roads that could lead to the cabin?"

Y/N thought for a moment. "He talked about a river nearby. And there was an old logging road he used to get there."

Reid marked the potential routes on the map. "This helps a lot, Y/N. Thank you."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. "I just want to help. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

Reid smiled gently. "You're doing a great job. We're going to find him, and we're going to stop him."

---

After the meeting with Y/N, the team regrouped to discuss their next steps. Spencer Reid was still processing his initial reaction to Y/N when Derek Morgan approached him with a teasing grin.

"Alright, what was that, pretty boy?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer looked up, confused. "What was what?"

"You couldn’t even look Y/N in the eye after you saw her. Why?"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. "I just... I wasn't expecting her to look so much like all of the victims."

Derek smirked. "You sure that's it? Don’t have a crush now, do we?"

"Morgan, inappropriate," Hotch warned, his tone stern but his eyes showing a hint of amusement.

Spencer mulled this over, his mind racing. It wasn't just that Y/N looked like the victims. There was something about her that had caught him off guard, something he couldn't quite put into words. But he pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they had more important things to focus on.

Hotchner redirected the conversation. "Let's stay focused on the case. We need to find that cabin. Reid, Morgan, you two work on pinpointing the exact location. Prentiss, JJ, continue talking to Y/N and gather any more information she might remember."

As they dispersed to their tasks, Spencer couldn't help but glance back at the conference room where Y/N was sitting. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. There was no time for distractions now. They had a job to do, and they needed to do it fast.

---

Y/N sat in the quieter room with Emily and JJ, trying to steady her nerves. As they talked, her anxiety shifted to another pressing concern.

"My dog," Y/N said suddenly, her voice trembling. "Daniel doesn't like him. I'm afraid if he goes home and sees I'm not there, he might take it out on him."

Emily and JJ exchanged concerned looks. JJ placed a comforting hand on Y/N's arm. "Y/N, it's not safe for you to go back there. We can send someone to check on your dog."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow. "No, please. I need to see him. I need to make sure he's okay. I can't just stay here knowing something might happen to him."

Emily hesitated, glancing at JJ. "Y/N, we're worried about your safety. Daniel is dangerous, and we can't risk you getting hurt."

Y/N's panic escalated, her voice trembling as she cried. "Please, you don't understand. I have to go. I can't leave him there."

JJ sighed, seeing Y/N's distress. "Alright, we'll send a police escort with you. But you have to promise to stay close to the officers and let them handle everything."

Y/N nodded frantically, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you. I promise."

Y/N arrived at her house with the police escort, her heart pounding in her chest. The officer led the way inside, his flashlight cutting through the dim interior. Y/N called out softly for her dog, relieved to hear him barking in response from the backyard.

As they moved further into the house, the officer was suddenly struck from behind. Y/N screamed as Daniel emerged from the shadows, his face twisted with rage. Before she could react, he grabbed her, holding her tightly.

"You couldn’t keep your goddamn mouth shut?” Daniel snarled, dragging her toward the door.

Y/N struggled, trying to break free. "Let me go, Daniel! Please!"

The remaining officer quickly radioed for backup while trying to keep a safe distance, his weapon drawn but unable to get a clear shot without risking Y/N's safety. Daniel, using the chaos to his advantage, managed to overpower the officer and drag Y/N out of the house and into his car. He sped off, leaving the police and the BAU scrambling to respond.

---

The precinct was in a state of controlled chaos as the BAU regrouped. Hotchner barked orders, his tone urgent. "Garcia, I need everything you can find on Daniel's possible locations. Focus on that cabin. Reid, Morgan, get the map. We need to pinpoint exactly where he could be."

Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard. "I'm on it, Hotch. I'm cross-referencing hunting permits, property records, and any other data that could give us a lead."

Reid and Morgan spread out the map on the table, marking the potential areas based on Y/N's descriptions. "She mentioned a river and an old logging road," Reid said, tracing the lines on the map.

JJ, her face pale but determined, joined them. "We need to move fast. Every minute counts."

Garcia's eyes lit up as she found a promising lead. "Got it! There's a cabin registered under Daniel's uncle's name. It's isolated, fits the description perfectly."

Hotchner nodded. "Good work, Garcia. Reid, you’re with me. Let's move." 

The BAU team arrived at the cabin deep in the woods, the tension palpable as they exited their vehicles. Hotchner and Spencer Reid led the charge, their hearts pounding with urgency. They reached the front door, weapons drawn, and with a swift kick, Aaron Hotchner forced it open.

Inside, the scene was horrifying. Y/N was tied to a crude crucifix, completely naked, her body trembling in fear. Daniel, the unsub, stood nearby, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and satisfaction.

"FBI! Drop your weapon!" Hotchner commanded, his gun trained on Daniel.

Daniel hesitated, but the sound of more agents entering the cabin behind Hotchner made him realize he was outnumbered. Derek Morgan and David Rossi quickly moved in, subduing Daniel and placing him in handcuffs.

Meanwhile, Spencer and Emily Prentiss rushed to Y/N. Spencer's hands shook slightly as he worked to untie the ropes that bound her. The moment she was free, Y/N collapsed against Spencer, clinging to him desperately. Her body shook with sobs, and something primal in her brain sought the safety and protection of the tall man holding her.

Spencer was momentarily aghast, unsure of what to do with a fully naked woman hugging him so tightly. He looked around helplessly, his face flushed with embarrassment and concern.

Hotchner quickly approached, removing his large FBI jacket and draping it over Y/N's shoulders. "It's okay, you're safe now," he said softly, but Y/N refused to let go of Spencer.

Outside, the awaiting medics rushed over as the team carefully escorted Y/N out of the cabin. She clung to Spencer, her grip tightening whenever he tried to step away. The medics, understanding her traumatized state, offered her a pair of scrubs and a blanket. Spencer gently helped her into the scrubs, trying to maintain her modesty as best as he could.

As Y/N was wrapped in the blanket, she continued to cling to Spencer, her eyes wide with panic and confusion. "Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Spencer looked at Hotchner, who nodded reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," Spencer promised, his voice calm and soothing. "I'll stay with you."

The medics began their preliminary checks, ensuring Y/N was physically unharmed. All the while, Spencer stayed by her side, holding her hand and offering quiet reassurances. The rest of the team kept a respectful distance, understanding the bond that had formed in Y/N’s brain during those terrifying moments.

Emily Prentiss approached, her expression one of deep empathy. "You're safe now, Y/N. We're here for you," she said softly.

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her face as she clung to Spencer. In her panicked, traumatized state, he was her anchor, the one constant in the midst of chaos. The team knew they had a long road ahead to help her heal, but for now, she was safe, and that was what mattered most.

Once Y/N was thoroughly checked and stable, Spencer had to reluctantly leave her with the local authorities. The BAU's job was done, and it was time for them to head back to Quantico. Spencer felt a pang of guilt as he left her in the care of others, but he knew she was in good hands.

---

The team settled into their seats on the jet, the tension of the case gradually giving way to the camaraderie that came with their line of work. As they relaxed, the teasing began.

"So, pretty boy," Morgan started with a grin, "how does it feel to have a beautiful, naked woman literally throw herself at you?"

Spencer's face turned a deep shade of red. "I was just doing my job," he stammered, looking anywhere but at his teammates.

"She was beautiful, though," JJ added, smirking.

Reid shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his embarrassment evident. "I didn't even think about it like that. She was traumatized, and I just wanted to help her."

Emily, sitting across from him, pointed out a piece of paper sticking out of his pants pocket. "Spencer, what's that in your pocket?"

Spencer looked down, surprised. Before he could reach for it, Rossi deftly plucked the paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

"Hey, give that back!" Spencer protested, his face flushing even more.

Rossi raised an eyebrow and began to read aloud. "Dear Spencer, thank you for everything you did for me. I'm sorry for how things happened, but I'm so grateful you were there. If you ever want to talk, here's my number. Y/N."

The team fell silent for a moment before Morgan broke the silence with a playful grin. "Looks like you've got a new friend, Reid."

Spencer took the note back, his fingers trembling slightly. He looked at the handwriting, a mix of gratitude and something else that made his heart skip a beat.

"When did she even have time to write that?" JJ wondered aloud.

"She must have gotten paper and a pen from the medics," Emily suggested.

"But Spencer was there the whole time," JJ pointed out.

Morgan chuckled. "Ah, but young Reid was preoccupied."

Spencer's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "I was just trying to make sure she was okay."

"You gonna call her?" Emily asked, her tone more serious now.

Spencer looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "No, she’s a victim. That’s got to be breaking some rules."

Rossi nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, Spencer. We have to maintain professional boundaries. But that doesn't mean you can't be supportive from a distance."

Morgan leaned back, considering. "Yeah, maybe send a message just to let her know you're there if she needs someone to talk to. Nothing more."

Spencer nodded slowly, tucking the note away carefully. "I'll think about it. She went through a lot, and the last thing I want is to cause her any more trouble."

The team nodded at his decision, understanding the fine line they walked in their profession. As the jet continued its journey back to Quantico, Spencer leaned back in his seat, deep in thought. He couldn't shake the image of Y/N's fearful eyes and the feeling of her clinging to him for safety. Despite the rules and boundaries, he felt drawn to her in a way that he couldn't quite ignore, and didn’t quite feel professional.

[gurokiitty]

Can i request Derek taking his anger out on fem!reader after the "he took you home" ending? You can make it as nasty as you want 👀

a/n: sure! i luv that sleazy, bleach-blonde bastard. hope you like it! :3

PLAYING WITH FIRE

{ derek goffard x f! reader }

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: NON-CON, painal, fire torture, burning, stomping, mutilation (?), degradation, name-calling, humiliation.

As you blink away the haze of sleep, the painful wound in your back throbs dully amidst newer aches. With a shuddering breath, you try to push yourself upright, only to be met with the uncomfortable resistance of chains binding your wrists. The cold, varnished floorboards press into your bare skin, making you acutely aware of your nakedness.

"Hello!? Where am I?" your voice cracks, echoing slightly in the vast, lavishly furnished room.

The door swings open as you struggle to make sense of your opulent, yet foreboding surroundings. Derek steps into the room, his presence immediately filling the space with a palpable tension. He's meticulously groomed and dressed in an expensive, tailored suit; a stark contrast to the dishevelled, agonising figure you remember from the desert.

“Ah, finally awake, are we?” His smooth voice cuts through the silence, his smirk widening as he hungrily scans over your body. It's then you realize this is the man who revelled in your torment under the brutal desert sun— the same man you had desperately stabbed, yet had been too terrified to finish off.

You try to speak, but your voice is strangled by the rising panic, words lost in the jumble of your frightened thoughts. Instinctively, you slide back as he approaches, the cold metal chains clinking as your throbbing back slams against the wall.

“You remember me, don't you?” His voice is smooth, almost casual, but you can hear the malice underlying each word. “You stabbed me.” He emphasizes the word, his eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“I-I'm sorry,” the words tumble out as a weak whimper.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry.” Derek’s tone is mockingly sympathetic as he crouches in front of you, his face inches from yours. “But an apology won’t quite cut it, will it? No,” he shakes his head slowly, his words sending a shiver of dread through your spine.

You press back against the wall, trying to disappear into its cold embrace. The chill from the varnished wood floors beneath you seeps deeper into your bones, mirroring the cold dread that fills you as he leans closer. His presence suffocates, looming over you, chained and vulnerable.

Without a word, he reaches for your ankles, pulling sharply to straighten your body along the cold floor. The chains at your wrists tighten as your arms twist and pull at your shoulders. The metal is cold and unforgiving against your bruised skin as your joints are stretched to their limits.

"You know... I've thought long and hard about what I wanted to do to you once I got you here." Derek says, towering over you. He reaches around in his suit pockets and then produces a small bottle filled with a clear liquid and a sleek silver lighter. "Here, we won't run out of time," he adds, his eyes gleaming as he holds up the items for your inspection.

"If you don't die too soon, at least." With a chilling smirk, he swiftly slams his foot down hard on your stomach, the polished dress shoe pressing cruelly into your flesh.

You gasp, air whooshing out of your lungs, pain splintering through your body like shattered glass. Your eyes water, a silent scream etching itself into the frozen air as you struggle futilely against the icy hold of the chains. The weight of his shoe pins you helplessly as he unscrews the bottle's cap.

"Wh—" Your breath catches in your throat as the acrid scent of alcohol permeates the air. He grinds his foot deeper into your soft stomach, eliciting a pained grunt from your lips.

"Let's see how long you last," he muses, his words slithering through the air and sending waves of panic crashing over you.

With a chilling calmness, he begins drizzling the alcohol over your breasts; trailing a cold, wet path across the marred skin. Some drops seep into your fresh wounds, making your muscles tense involuntarily.

"No, please— Wait!" you plead, your voice cracking as each breath is laced with the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol.

As Derek lowers the lighter to your chest, his eyes alight with a perverse pleasure. With a flick of his thumb, a small flame dances to life and the liquid ignites a blazing inferno upon your writhing body. For a fleeting moment, there's a bizarre sensation of warmth that tickles your skin, almost deceivingly gentle. But this warmth rapidly morphs into a deep, searing pain.

Within seconds, the ticklish sensation escalates into an unbearable burning. Your skin reacts violently to the intense heat, the pain magnifying as the fire consumes the alcohol-soaked area. The room fills with the acrid smell of burning as you scream, raw and guttural.

The sound of his laughter mingles with your cries as the flames dance hungrily across your tender breasts. You instinctively try to recoil, but the chains and the weight of his foot, hold you mercilessly in place.

"Awww... I could listen to you squeal like that all day," Derek taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he watches the flames. "But I want this to last."

Abruptly, he shifts his stance, lifting his foot from your stomach and bringing it down sharply onto the flames on your chest. The polished shoe crushes the fire against your skin, smothering the flames with a series of swift, brutal stomps. The heat retreats as quickly as it had erupted, leaving behind a suffocating smoke, the grotesque smell of charred skin, and the lingering scent of alcohol.

Derek observes the aftermath with a twisted satisfaction, his shoe leaving a grim imprint on your abused flesh. Leaning down, he grips your face harshly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to meet his gaze. "You look good when you're crying," he murmurs, a malicious smirk twisting his lips.

Before you can respond, he presses his foot down on the side of your face, turning your head sharply to the side. His other hand uncaps the bottle once more, and he begins dousing the other side of your face and neck with alcohol.

Muffled cries escape your lips, distorted and desperate, as Derek's shoe presses firmly against your cheek, pinning you to the hard floor. You struggle to breathe, each gasp a laborious effort as panic claws at your throat. Your sounds of distress are smothered under his force, reduced to whimpering that barely breaks the tense air of the room.

Leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear, Derek taunts, "What was that, bitch? Did you say something?" He pauses, feigning a moment of thoughtful consideration before his voice hardens. "Ah, you want me to burn your pretty little face, is that it?" With a cruel smirk, he straightens slightly, the pressure momentarily easing from your face before he shifts his stance.

"You really shouldn’t ask for things you don’t want," he murmurs darkly as he once again produces the sleek silver lighter. His fingers play over the metal, teasing the flame to life with a swift flick.

Holding your gaze with his, he lowers the flame deliberately towards the alcohol-soaked side of your face. The fire catches instantly and the heat sears your skin as it ignites. The initial warmth is swiftly overwhelmed by a sharp, engulfing pain that races across your flesh. As the flames lick upwards, the tips of your hair catch fire, adding a horrifying, crackling sizzle to the dreadful orchestra of your shrieking. Your cries intensify; a visceral reaction to the unbearable sensation of your skin and hair burning.

With deliberate cruelty, Derek shifts again, his shoe coming down hard on the burning side of your face. The sudden pressure extinguishes the flames and the harsh grind of his sole against your charred cheek sends a new wave of pain through your body. As he steps back, the smell of burnt hair and skin lingers nauseatingly in the air.

The room falls silent for a moment, save for your heavy, ragged breathing and the occasional clink of chains. Derek eyes the damage with a perverse sense of accomplishment. "Look at you now. Not so pretty anymore, are you?" he sneers.

He suddenly grabs your ankles and pushes them uncomfortably over your body so your toes touch the floor behind your head. The harsh and sudden movement forces you into a vulnerable and painfully distorted position. "Mmm, but your cute noises got me all excited," He purrs, fumbling with the zipper of his dress pants. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he peers down at you from between your thighs, his cock freed from the confines of his boxers.

"Now, beg for it," Derek demands, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for me to fuck you."

You swallow hard, your throat tight with fear and revulsion. You bite back a cry, clenching your eyes shut.

His hands, now gripping the backs of your thighs, push your knees even further towards your chest. The movement is so forceful that a sharp yelp escapes you despite your resolve.

"I said beg, slut" he repeats, his brows furrowing. "You were quick to beg for my cock out there in the desert; let's hear that desperation again, right here."

You turn your eyes away from his gaze, a small act of defiance against his demands. However, the cruel delight in his eyes intensifies as he reaches beside him, retrieving the sleek silver lighter once again. His fingers play over the metal deliberately as he watches your eyes widen with renewed fear. The small flame springs to life with a click, its glow reflecting ominously in his turquoise eyes.

"Or," he murmurs, the flame now hovering dangerously close to the sensitive skin between your legs. "I could burn you where it'll hurt most."

Panic claws at your chest, your heart hammering wildly as the heat from the flame prickles your inner thigh. The threat is clear and imminent, pushing you to the brink.

"Please, Derek," your voice trembles, the horror of the situation squeezing the air from your lungs. "Please fuck me... I'll do anything. Just don't burn me again... please."

The words tumble out of your mouth, broken and raw, the shame of hearing your own voice reduced to such desperation echoing within you. Derek's smirk widens in response, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his eyes.

The flame suddenly licks across the tender skin of your vulva, causing you to scream in pain. "Oops," he says nonchalantly, watching as the small burn mark forms.

"No, please, stop it!" you cry out shakily, tears welling in your eyes. "Please... anything but this,"

"Hah! I like really that pathetic look on your face," he sneers, the flame flickering dangerously close one last time before he snuffs it out.

With a cruel smirk, he deliberately spits on your clenched hole, the warm liquid landing with a sickening splatter. You recoil in disgust, waves of shame and humiliation crashing over you. "I knew you'd be begging for me to fuck you," Derek chuckles, leaning close as his hot breath brushes against your burned face.

He positions himself at your entrance, the smirk never leaving his face. he taunts, pushing forward without any gentleness. The discomfort is immediate, intensifying the mix of pain and humiliation already consuming you.

He curses under his breath as he slides into you, the ring of muscles gripping tight around him. His fingers squeeze into your hips, anchoring him as he moves with ruthless intent.

"That's it, cry," he whispers harshly in your ear, each word punctuated by another forceful movement. His laughter is low and dissonant, mixing with the sound of your choked sobs. He thrusts harder, his body pressing down on yours with a cruel weight.

"I love hearing you like this," Derek hisses, his breath hot against your neck. The pain from the burns and his brutal handling makes each moment excruciating. Your vision blurs with tears, the room spinning as you struggle to find any semblance of control over the situation.

Suddenly, Derek stops, pulling back slightly to look down at you with a twisted grin. "You know, I think you enjoy this. All this pain, the humiliation. It's what you deserve, isn't it?" His words cut deeper than any physical wound, his voice dripping with cruelty.

You gasp for breath, trying to form words, to deny his accusations, but the pain overwhelms you, stealing your voice.

Without warning, his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are cold, devoid of any humanity as he scrutinizes your tear-streaked face. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your pain."

You stare back at him, your eyes wide with fear. Derek’s face inches is from yours as he resumes his movements; slow and deliberate now, watching your reactions with sick satisfaction.

The room fades around you, your senses dulled by the overwhelming pain and fear. You feel disconnected, as if watching the horror unfold from outside your own body. Derek's voice, his harsh breaths, and the cold chains become distant sounds, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

As he continues, his grip on you tightens, his body pressing down with oppressive weight. "You’re mine, my property," he whispers, each word a venomous promise. "No one can hear you here. No one will save you."

You struggle to focus on anything but the pain, the burning sensation that seems to consume every inch of your being. Your thoughts spiral out of control and your body feels like it's being torn apart. Derek leans forward, bracing himself on one arm as he thrusts deeper, harder.

Finally, his movements grow erratic, his breaths coming faster as he nears his release. His lips nearly touch your ear as he delivers a final, chilling message. "Remember this pain," he murmurs. "It’s only the beginning."

With those words, Derek finishes inside, his body shuddering above you. You feel his warmth fill you as he slowly pulls out, sliding free with a wet, sucking sound.

He stands, fixing his clothing with quick, efficient movements, never looking back at you. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room.

You lie there, aching and broken, the tears drying on your cheeks. The chains rattle faintly as you shift, the cold metal a harsh reminder of your captivity. In the silence, your mind whispers a vow, a flicker of defiance in the darkness: somehow, you will survive this. You must.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Derek Hale Would Include:

When he has a person of interest, he will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means being violent and cruel. He's usually a very calm and collected kind of guy, but once he becomes obsessed with someone, he becomes irrational and emotionally unstable. His jealousy and possessiveness over you are also extreme.

He would try to keep you all to himself. He might even go as far as locking you away so that no one can take you from him. He would try to control every aspect of your life and try to make sure you only want him. He might even try to sabotage any other relationships you might have so you only want him. He would try to isolate you so that he's the only person you can rely on and depend on.

Due to losing so much some of it stems from that. He's lost so many people important to him in his life. He's been betrayed and left alone so many times by people who he trusted and cared about. It's given him a deep fear of abandonment and a need to cling to you for fear of being alone again.

He'll even manipulate you using fear or guilt. He might even try to make you feel powerless against him and like you have no other choice but to stay with him. He might even try to make you scared of what might happen if you were to ever try to leave.

He would also try to make you feel scared of other people when they pay attention to you. He would try to instill a sense of paranoia in you so that you start to think that every person who expresses any kind of interest in you is a threat. He would try to make you feel like he's the only person you can trust.

Being a werewolf just amplifies his yandere tendencies. It allows him to be even more possessive and territorial over you and also allows him to be more violent and cruel towards anyone who threatens you. He would be more prone to attacks of rage and also will go to any lengths to protect you.

He would also be more likely to use violence or threats of violence to keep you from leaving or even trying to escape. He would become incredibly protective and obsessed with keeping you safe even if it meant hurting you. He would also become even more jealous and paranoid towards anyone trying to interfere with his relationship with you. He would want anyone who expresses any kind of interest in his loved one to stay as far away from you as possible and also would want his loved one to not interact with anyone else besides him.

He would seek you out constantly and demand that all of your time and attention is dedicated to him. You cannot leave his side or spend any time with anyone else. He would be jealous and paranoid if you interacted with other people or communicated with others. He would want to hear from you constantly throughout the day, and if you didn't respond quickly, it would upset him and feed his jealousy.

Well, being a werewolf also gives him a unique ability to track your smell and location. This makes it easier for him to know where you are and also allows him to catch you when/if you try to escape. He can also hear far distances and pick up on any noise you make. This makes him even more vigilant and aware of any potential threats.

He would try to arrange dates that are completely centered around the person he loves. He would try to make sure it's just the two of you, no one else can join. He would make sure that the date is special and memorable for you. He would try to make the date enjoyable by giving you gifts or doing something that you like. He would also try to plan everything ahead so that nothing goes wrong.

He would be really romantic and affectionate towards you. He would try to show his affection through physical touch, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service etc. He would try to make you feel like you're special and you're the only one for him. He would make sure that you feel loved and cherished in every possible way.

He would also try to show you how important you are to him by always being there for you, listening to your problems, and trying to help you deal with any issues you're facing. He would try to show you that he cares about you and that he's always going to be there for you no matter what. He would try to make you know that he's always thinking about you and that he won't forget you. He would also try to always be patient and understanding with you, even when you're being difficult or unreasonable.

He can also isolates you from all your friends and loved ones. He would manipulate you into thinking that your friends and family are bad people and that they don't really care about you. This way, you won't try to go back to anyone except him.

If he really wanted to show how much he owns you, he could even try to claim you physically with a mark. He would try to mark you with a bite or a scar so that you are physically marked as his.

If someone or something does attack you or tries to take you away from him, he will stop at nothing to protect you. He won't hold back and will use all the strength in his werewolf form to protect you. He would try to go after the threat without caution and use his entire werewolf strength to protect you.

If Ihereally wanted to go that far, the temptation to turn you into a werewolf would be very hard to resist. It would allow you to survive and also to fight if the need ever arises. It would also give him peace of mind that you would be stronger than you used to be, so you would be easier to protect. However, it would also mean that he would feel even more possessive over you as you would now be part of his pack.

Marriage would be the ultimate claim of ownership over you. It would mean that you are legally bound to him and this would give him a sense of security in the fact that you cannot leave him. It would be a way for him to show you that he is committed in a very public manner.

Marriage is a major step in a relationship and taking that step could possibly lead to children. He would love to have children with his loved one. He thinks that would be a wonderful way to further bind together. It would also strengthen his claim over you.

If you couldn't or didn't want children, he would try to persuade you into having children or change your mind. He would do all he can to convince you that having children is actually what you want and need. He would resort to all sorts of persuasion and methods until you change your minds and are willing to have his children even if it meant stealing one and raising it together.

"You're mine and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. I won't let anyone else have their lips on you, I won't let anyone else make you laugh, I won't let anyone else hold your hand. You belong to me and you will only be with me."

Toys - Loves incorporating toys into your playtime. Using vibrators, dildos, and other sex toys on you (or even inserting them himself) is a great way to add extra stimulation and make your encounters even more intense.

Edging – The act of bringing you close to the brink of orgasm again and again without allowing you to actually climax. Knowing that he has total control over your body and mind and can keep you on the verge of ecstasy for as long as he wants.

Bondage - From simple handcuffs or blindfolds to more complex restraint systems that leave you completely at his mercy. He enjoys spanking and caning as well, especially when combined with other forms of humiliation play.

Breeding - The thought of impregnating you and making you carry his children is incredibly erotic for him. Knowing that he could leave his mark on you forever is both thrilling and exciting.

Sensory Deprivation - Blindfolding or gagging you before fucking you senseless is incredibly exciting for him. Knowing that you're completely at his mercy and unable to see or speak adds an extra layer of thrill to the encounters.

[aloneatpeace]

Cosmic Chaos

Chapter 32

Series Prev next

Recap

Truth are out in open, bonnie gets possessed and almost get killer by Damon Salvatore. Derek , scott and stiles plagued with guilt after learning that peter tormenting you. Jackson face unexpected trouble with his transformation. Among the chaotic day Issac becomes your normalcy.

When the sun came you were the first one to awake and to leave but not before sticking a note on stiles mirror saying you're fine and will be at home, you walk to your home needing some alone time but it seems impossible to get any alone time as the moment you step out the house peter greets you.

"Will you mock me, if I said I missed our chats?"

You roll your eyes "I certainly didn't." he falls in steps with you though there are not many people around you are careful to lower your voice not wanting to seen as crazy talking by yourself.

"Last night was tough, so many emotions."

"Is all Hale allergic to emotions?" you narrow your eyes at his overly excited face. "Expect for range."

He playfully thinks for a moment "I guess you could say it's in our special trait." He glances a head "So if nephew decide to not to comply what's the next plan?"

"What if I don't wanna bring you back, I like you like this less murderous." Peter chuckle at your words.

"As much I find idea of you keeping me to yourself, I am more helpful if I'm back and from the way things been lately. You are slowing down sometimes you can't always save everyone."

You face dims at that, slowing down you glance at peter "She was really close to join me on the other side." Peter sighs standing in front of you "though I may sound like preying on your fears to bend you to my will." He pauses "Okey it's like that, but you know you can't stop them or what already mend to happen. You can't beat death not without consequence. You saw what happened to the other you."

"The question what are you going to in this life? how are you going to stop it?" peter waits for your answers with sharp eyes. You start to walk to home faster.

"Let's study some spell shall we.?" Peter nod in approval walking beside you.

You change into your comfortable pair of clothes hair pulled up in bun sitting in grams study surrounded by Gilmores of grams and the book that grams give you sits Infront of peter as he goes through.

Grams had walked by few times glancing at your figure laser focused on the books you also had called Sam Winchester, asking for anything that might be helpful and his emails and notes he given you was indeed helpful. He was even willing to come and help you out, saying they are relatively close to your hometown but you declined you don't want to rope them into your mess.

Now you know more about ghosts and ghost as well, though performing necromancy has its consequences there is always a loophole, and there is always a way if you have the power to do it and the guts.

Your main problem is that gram's lives is danger her death. How can you stop that? Can you stop it? if she does die are you gonna just let it happen that? Hell no. and how are you going bring peter back. You feel your head heating up. You groan laying down the table with a grunt.

"Seems like you have a lot on your plate." Grams says she place mug pushing it towards you as she sits down the chair next to you.

Peter beside you looks up but he doesn't vanish like usually does but just lean back on his chair with no care in the world.

You turn your head to side to look at her "Did bonnie talk to you?"

She shakes her "is there something I should know about?" she raises her brow at you, you shrug you will give bonnie some more time.

"What's your thoughts on bringing back the dead?" you lean back on your chair head titled to her side.

"Is it for me or your little friend there?" she crosses her legs sitting comfortably as you did her nonchalant voice make you bring a grin to your face while peter narrow his eyes at the two women in front od him.

"Nothing gets pass you." you glance at the chair where peter sits, he's tensed jaw clenched in anticipation. "Well, he's already dead, and I'm not letting you either, die not until I have air in my lungs."

She nods humming you're stubborn to your core and determined a crazy combo "Since he's supernatural being and his soul still here it not impossible it won't have any consequence either. Though the dead should stay dead its only natures order."

"Then I shouldn't be having this power, vampires shouldn't exist any form of supernatural shouldn't exist." You close your eyes letting your head fall back a sigh leave your lips.

"Yet here we are." Grams spokes making you nod "Is derek on bored with this? What about your boys?" she adds.

"Not really." You glance at cup of coffee that grams brought you wishing it was your favorite sweet drink instead...you quickly sit straight your palm hover over the cup the red mist wrap around it when it dissolves your favorite drink sits in its place. "Nice."

You take the cup in your hands with excited grin letting out pleased hum when the cold sweet drink cools your parched throat feeling your inside melting. "I love my power."

Grams shakes her head at you "Well aren't you an expert now." The doorbell rings making grams stands up to check who outside.

"Grams" you call out making her stop at the doorstep and turns to you "Promise me, you tell if you are going to be associated with the Salvatores brothers." "I am serious, Grams. promise me."

"I will let you know."

"That went well." Peter says once she leaves "you decided what you're gonna do?"

You nod with calculating look on your face "When the next full comes, the gate to dead and living world gets blurred, I can practice on dead flowers or something starts from something small then we will see."

Peter hum pleaded with your plans to bring him back grams yell your name "Noah is here to take you school." You frown standing up you why is Noah is here, you quickly take your back bag and rush to downstairs.

"See you after class my little witch." Peter waves at you making you flip him off.

You see grams and Noah talking seriously they quite down hearing your footsteps, casting a playful suspicious look at them "Are you gossiping about me?"

"Well, you are always the main subject of over conversation." Grams says making you give her tired glance.

"I'll be in the car." You huff walking past them grams and Noah just fondly smile at your antic

"Have a good day at school honey." She adds Noah nods at grams before following you. He asks you put on the seat belt before handing a paper bag and drink to you before starting the car.

"Wow I'm getting spoiled here, as much I like this can I ask why you would come down to take me to school. I know it's been hectic at the station." You open the bag smiling wide at the treat that Noah brought for you.

Noah sighs "How are you doing kiddo?"

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt much, no need to worry." You bite down the treat with no mercy slurping down the drink in between Noah smile at you stuffed cheeks the sight reminding of that when you and stiles where you would always werewolf down your food in fear of stiles stealing it.

"Still messy." He hands you tissue to wipe your face "You sacred us all, don't do that again."

You glance at him "I'm sorry."

Noah sighs "Just be careful alright? And you see anything or you feel unsafe you call me alright?" he said in all seriousness "it doesn't matter what the situation is you don't do anything that endanger you, you call me first okey.?" He presses every single word eye fixated on you.

"I will."

The car reaches the school may turns to see why the sheriff's car pulling up, you unlock the door and undo the seatbelt.

"Don't forget to call. Anything out of the ordinary anything." Noah repeats watching you get out the car.

"I promise."

Noah nod siting straight suddenly he feels a body falls on his side hugging him, he smiles softly before wrapping his arms around you. you squeeze him tight "you worry too much."

He laughs at little "love too kiddo." You hum before breaking the hug and running away making the Noah laugh again.

You stride through sea of students and see Scott and stiles, scott glance up at you with smile waving the two catch up to you.

"Did you know that, someone dig up body last night at cemetery and took a liver!" stiles exclaimed, his hands over your shoulder turning you as the three of starts to walks.

"Good morning to you. and no, I did not know that." You glance at scott "you didn't see anything when you went to see Allison."

Scott face heat up "No. How did you?" you and stiles snickers at his flustered face

"Yeah, I don't think dad would've told you either. Speaking of what did he say?" stiles speak up again.

You sigh "Nothing, he worries too much."

"Can't blame him. Mom asking me to subtly watch how you are doing." Scott asks.

"Ha, I sense, a strong favoritism in the air." Stiles ponder playfully you roll your eyes but with smile knowing the worries come from love.

From behind jackson calls your name, you turn and see him and Tyler coming, smug as ever he winks and Tyler looks you up and down and walks past the three of you, stiles beside you scowl at them.

"He's going to be more insufferable than usual." You shake your head making your way to class as the two goes their lacrosse session.

You sit on your seat Harley face lit up seeing you she walks towards you sitting next the empty chair next to you. "You're here, Danny has been bitching about how you didn't show up the party and didn't showed the costume."

You smile taking out your phone "yeah sorry about that." You scroll you had taken few shots of you in the costume "Would this count?".

"Wow, you look so gorgeous." She swipes and zoom in admiring the photos "Why the hell aren't you posting this?"

"Better question why are you still single?" Lydia voice asks as she sits down next you, you turn towards you.

"Are you asking for date?" you place your chin on your palm elbow propped up on the table, your eyes go wide "Oh date! Issac!"

You stand up "I'll be right back." Dashing out the room you make yourself to filed accidently bumping into a body, you mutter apologies to the boy.

"What is she doing there?" Danny asks as he sees you searching around the players his question alert those who around namely Scott and sties who was helping scott to do the drill and Jackson.

Stiles stands straight "Oh she's here for me." He helps scott stands up ready to yell your name.

"Yeah, no." Danny chuckles seeing you walking up to Issac with a bashful smile on your face. Stiles pout at the scene.

Jackson scoffs looking you and Issac and talking to Scott and stiles "Seems her type is losers."

You smile at Issac surprised face offering him a smile "Sorry for startling you, how are you?"

"I'm fine." Issac stood confused at your sudden appearance he doesn't know how to talk since you didn't come down last night. He was really hoping to see you last taken the events that happened.

"I just came to apologies about last night. I wasn't home last night." You nervously cross your arms across your chest.

Issac fell eyes on him glancing around he sees almost all the players stop doing the drill and their eyes trained on the two of you wondering why you would be talking to him.

"Can I make up to you?" Your smooth voice brings him back "Wait.... are you still okey with me...I mean...like."

"I thought you didn't want to see me anymore." He interjected making you look at him confused, you now understand the insecurity and uncertainness in his eyes.

"I thought the kiss made it clear." Your words his face red, his ears turn red, Issac feels a smile tugging on his lips.

Those who relatively close to the both of you seems to heard it as well as they string of shocked 'ohh' echoes stiles tug on scott to tell him what the two of you talking

He feels his chest hammering against his ribs when you walk closer to him "Can I see you after class."

He nods "Where?"

You shrug "Anywhere you like."

"Is it a like date?" his voice was meek but bashful his eyes searching for conformation, you give him a teasing smile.

"If you wanna take me to date, all you gotta do is ask." Issac let a little laugh but before he can ask the Coache's whistles loudly coming in between the two of you.

"Bennett, let's not distract these morons anymore off to the class now." He turns to the players whistling loudly few times.

"Start the drill from the top." He commands making them groan you hang back a question still lingering in your insides but Issac smile prevents you from asking further.

"I'll see you after class." he says the coach whistle again at you making you raise your hands backing.

"See you soon." With smile you walk back before turning "Sorry by the way." You shout to the players; your eyes find stiles he's glaring at you making you smile at him before fleeing the scene.

You sit behind stiles humming after seeing most of the questions answer you do know thankfully.

Once Harris pass stiles he turns to you "Are you really going out with Issac?" he whispers at you making you roll your eyes.

"This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career."

"...Can you do that?"

"Well, there it is again. Your voice-- triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly and violently. I'll see you at three o'clock for detention." He answers making you and Scott chuckle

"You too, Mr. McCall?" that why you sit in the back.

"No, sir."

Danny's whispering make you look up to them "Dude, your nose! You, okay?" Jackson touches his nose as dark liquid drops on his pop quiz sheet, he stands up rushing out the class making you frown danny look at you worriedly.

You glance at Jackson's paper before taking it, its not blood it's something else dark and odorless dark black substance.

You walk through the hallway with Lydia she's talking about what you don't remember being too busy to call bonnie, you saw Stefan and Bonnie talking since then she hasn't been answering your call just a dry text saying she's fine that she's already at grams.

"Not her sister, her aunt. The one who murdered all those people." the word murder caught your attention making Lydia roll her eyes you from the behind you see Harley and another gossiping about Alison who stands across them

"You mean the crazy bitch who killed all those people?"

Harley glance at Allsion with a snide smile "Yeah, the fire, all those animal attacks... it was her aunt." You frown at her words sighing loudly.

"Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English." The other girl scoffs she glance behind Harley and see you and Lydia walking toward them. Allsion walks crying her hands clenching the black dress.

"Find a new seat." Harley says oblivious about the girls behind her the girl in front of her looks behind her making her turn as well.

You shake your head at Harley "Harley, I didn't expect you to be trashing talking about girl who's grieving."

She crosses her arm defensively shifting in her feet avoiding the Lydia eyes that picking her apart and your disappointed look. "I only said what's everyone has been talking."

"Then have some fucking decency to not let her hear." you walk away with Lydia "don't talk to me unless you have Apologized to her."

"You can't'..."

"Not a word."

"I always knew she was a bitch, that's why I don't like her." Lydia says making you chuckle; you glance at her.

"Lydia, you don't like half of the school."

She shrugs "Well I like you."

You grin "aren't I lucky."

"Yes, you are." Lydia glance at you "So are you really going out him?"

You nod "Yeah. he said he would at the gate." You smile at her she stares at you for a second "Well.?"

"Nothing."

You place your hand on her shoulder "Go home safe, Lydia." "I'll see you tomorrow."

You walk towards the gate Issac stands before you can reach him a hand on your wrist makes you stop turning to the person who stopped you with scowl only to split into confusion as jackson stands behind you panting and sweating making you look at him concerned.

"You alright, jackson?"

"I'm fine." He inhales sharply "Look, I need you to come with me. We have to talk."

"I have plans, jackson." You turn to walk away only to get pulled back, now Issac also shifts in his place wanting to come closer and intervene but hesitating.

Jackon glance at Issac with distain "Your little date can wait; I have more pressing matters to ask."

"For someone who wants my help aren't you being an asshole?" you take your wrist from his hold. "If it's about what I think it is why don't you go derek?"

Jackson scowl at the name a normal reaction to the name "Apparently he doesn't know anything about this, he doesn't live up to his new title."

You glance at Issac seeing his downcast look you turn to Jackson "And what makes you think I can help you?"

Jackson gives you a deadpan face making you throw your head back with a groan "You can text me what's going on. I'll bring stiles and scott and derek as well."

"No, I don't want to deal with that idiots."

"Well, you just have to suck it up." you turn starting to walking away "I see you later. Now leave me alone." You whisper knowing he can hear you clearly.

Tyler who was watching this from the side walks up to Jackson "Dude, you alright?" Jackson shrugs off Tylers hand muttering that he's fine before walking away leaving Tyler puzzled.

Once you reach Issac who still has nervous look on his face, you give him a soft smile "shall we?" he nods the two of you starts to walks towards the road to the grills. 

Series prev next

Taglist

@notaceventura

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Hello, could i request a spencer reid x daughter who gets really car sick and on a long drive with reid and morgan feels gross🤍

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan x Daughter Reader

Request: Hello, could i request a spencer reid x daughter who gets really car sick and on a long drive with reid and morgan feels gross🤍

Tw vomiting, talk of being sick, if you you don't like these then don't read.

Third person pov...

As the sun rose in the distance, Spencer Reid and his daughter Y/N, packed their bags for their long-awaited trip to visit her grandmother in Las Vaga.

The teenager was excited to see her grandmother, she doesn't get to visit her often with her Dads work, but she couldn't shake the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

She knew the long drive ahead would be difficult for her. You see Y/N  inherited his sensitive stomach and tendency to get car sick of course Spencers wasn't as bad but Y/Ns was.

As they loaded their bags into the car, Spencer's colleague and friend, Derek Morgan, joined them for the ride.

Y/Ns face lit up seeing Uncle Derek, and she quickly ran to give him a hug. "Uncle derek! Your comkng as well!" She exclaimed, Derek grins at his niece.

"Of course i am peanut, its been a while since i last saw Mrs Reid" he tells the girl, using kne hand to put the rest of the luggage in the trunk while holding his niece.

The three of them settled into the car, with Morgan taking the wheel while Spencer sat in the passenger sear leaving Y/N in the back.

At first, Y/N was thrilled to be on the road, chatting and playing games with her dad and Uncle Derek. But as the hours passed by, her excitement turned into discomfort.

She tried her best to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach and the constant swaying of the car, but it was getting harder by the minute.

Spencer noticed the change in his daughter's mood and asked her if she was okay. The H/C girl put on a brave face and nodded, not wanting to ruin the trip for everyone.

She didn't want to be known as the 'car sick kid,' especially in front of Uncle Derek, who she looked up to.

But as the car continued to zigzag through the winding roads, the young girls condition worsened. She started feeling hot and dizzy, and her stomach churned with every turn.

She tried to keep her focus on the road ahead, but all she could think about was how she wanted the car ride to end.

As they stopped for a bathroom break and some snacks, Y/N silently prayed for the rest of the journey to be over quickly.

She tried sipping on some water and munching on a granola bar, but her stomach refused to settle. She felt a lump form in her throat, and she knew she couldn't hold on much longer.

As they drove on, the young girl tried to distract herself by looking out the window and pointing out interesting sights along the way.

However, her stomach had other ideas and she had to close her eyes and take deep breaths to prevent herself from getting sick.

She could hear her father and uncle Derek talking in the front seat, but their voices were distant as she focused on trying to keep her stomach settled.

"Hey princess, are you feeling okay back there?" Reid's concerned voice broke through her thoughts. His daughers eyes flicked open and she saw her father looking back at her through the rearview mirror.

"I'm fine, just a little queasy" she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

"Maybe we should pull over and take a break" Morgan suggested. "I know a great roadside diner up ahead" he says as he drives a little more slowly and carefully.

Uncle Derek also noticed Y/Ns discomfort and turned on the air conditioning, hoping to provide her some relief.

"Dad" she called out weakly.

Reid turned around in his seat, concern etched on his face. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up" the young girl replied, her voice trembling.

Reid immediately asked Derek to pull over at the next rest stop. Running to the bathroom she threw herself over the toilet and began emptying her stomach into it

Concerned for his daughter Spencer ran after her. "N/N!" He yelled sitting behind her after ahed finished throwing up he took her in his arms and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her.

Derek handed her a bottle of water and some tissues while apologizing profusely for not being more cautious about her sickness, was fine with her throwing up, he gave Y/N a bottle of water and some crackers to settle her stomach.

He also fished out her motion sickness medication from her suitcase and rubbed her back soothingly as she started to feel better.

After a few minutes she leant away from the toilet and against her dads chest feeling his warmth.

Suddenly tears start streaming down her face as she apologized to her dad and Uncle Derek, the men instantly concerned begin comforting the distressed girl.

They weren't angry or annoyed, jsut concerned about her They both comforted her and assured her that it was okay and nothing to be ashamed of.

Uncle Derek even shared his own stories of getting car sick when he was younger.

As they finally reached their destination, Y/N couldn't be happier to get out of the car and feel the solid ground beneath her feet. Despite the rough journey, she had made it, thanks to the love and support of her dad and Uncle Derek.

"Are you feeling better now, princess?" Reid asked, placing a hand on her forehead.

"Much better, thank you" The H/C girl replied with a smile. "I'm sorry for being such a hassle on the drive."

"You're not a hassle at all, N/N We don't mind taking care of you" Morgan chimed in, giving her a pat on the back.

Y/N felt a warm feeling in her heart as she looked at the two men who had become like family to her.

She knew that she had a tendency to get car sick, but that didn't stop her from going on long drives with her father and his team. And she was glad that they didn't mind and always took care of her whenever she needed it.

As the evening went on, Y/N felt her energy returning and she was able to enjoy the conference with her father and Morgan by her side.

Sure, she still avoided the car on the way back, opting for a train trip instead, but she knew that she had the love and support of two amazing men who always had her back.

The end!

Woo third one today!

Hoped you liked this oneshot, I'm planning to get through most of the requests this week as I have it off from college.

Sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes

Requests are open!

Word count: 1177

[cryptidcorners]

Hi guys so ... I usually do NOT post art here, lmfao. but here's a Derek!!!!! + an OC based off that one picture of jhutch lol. (Might write about him if you like!!)

I promise I'll write smth lollll

[fionajames]

teen wolf one-shot genres

HELLO GUYS WASSUP WASSUP

I am currently hyper-fixated on teen wolf and i really want to write for it, however, i do not know what to write. henceforth, i am making a poll, as one does.

now the question is: what kind of one-shots/writing do you guys (the teen wolf fandom) want to read?

[reidmarieprentiss]

The Hardest Goodbye

Summary: Spencer is using again after being rescued from Tobias Hankle.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes: drug use, kidnapping, trauma, no happy ending, needles, talks of weight, talks about sex, rehab

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: so so so sorry about this one ,, when i say i live for the angst ... i mean it

main masterlist

When you started dating Spencer Reid, you never imagined the trials your relationship would face. The worst came when Spencer was kidnapped, a harrowing ordeal that left him physically and emotionally scarred. During his captivity, he was forcibly given drugs, leading to a painful and lingering addiction even after his rescue. 

Recognizing the signs that he was still using, you took it upon yourself to help him get into rehab, standing by his side through every step of the recovery process. You were his unwavering support, understanding that his journey would be marked by both triumphs and setbacks. Despite the challenges, you appreciated his efforts to overcome his addiction and never lost faith in his ability to recover.

On days when he struggled to motivate himself to attend rehab sessions, you would drop everything to accompany him, offering the strength and encouragement he needed. Your acceptance of his good and bad days showed your deep commitment to his well-being, and through your support, Spencer found the resilience to continue his fight against addiction. Your love and dedication became the cornerstone of his recovery, proving that even in the darkest times, he was never alone.

Finally, he’s clean. 

Life with Spencer has returned to a semblance of peace, a fragile tranquility that you both cherish deeply. The trauma of his kidnapping and the dark days that followed seemed like a distant nightmare, though the shadows of those memories still linger. It’s been a long, painful journey to get here, but here you are, together.

You and Spencer hadn't been intimate in what felt like forever. The ordeal with Tobias Hankle had left him deeply traumatized, and you respected his boundaries, giving him all the time and space he needed to heal. But now, with him clean and more like himself again, you thought it might be time to gently test the waters.

One quiet evening, as you sat together on the couch, you turned to him and let your hand rest on his. The warmth of his skin was a comforting reassurance. He smiled at you, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and you felt a flutter of hope. You leaned in and kissed him softly. He responded, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache with love.

As the kiss deepened, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, hoping to rekindle the intimacy that had been absent for so long. But the moment you settled in, you felt his body tense beneath you. He broke the kiss abruptly, his hands coming up to grip your hips, stopping you.

"Wait, please," Spencer said, his voice tight and strained. "I can’t... It makes me feel trapped."

You pulled back immediately, your heart breaking at the look of fear and discomfort in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Spencer," you whispered, moving off his lap and sitting beside him again. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I know you didn't. It’s just... it’s hard for me."

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I understand. We don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I love you, Spencer, and I’m here for you, no matter what."

He looked at you with a mix of gratitude and sorrow, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. I love you too. I just need more time."

You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here."

From that moment, you didn’t initiate anything again for a long time. You focused on being there for him, supporting him through his recovery, and finding new ways to connect and share your love. 

One evening, after months of patient waiting and gentle encouragement, Spencer finally took a step you hadn’t expected. You were sitting together on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background, when he turned to you with a look of determination mixed with vulnerability.

He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing your cheek before leaning in to kiss you. It was tender at first, but soon it deepened, the passion you had both suppressed for so long finally bubbling to the surface. Your heart raced as you kissed him back, feeling the intensity of his desire and his love.

As the moments passed, he gently guided you to straddle his lap, his hands resting on your hips. You could feel the shift in his demeanor, the hesitation that had once been there now replaced with a newfound confidence. You kissed him deeply, your fingers running through his hair, savoring every second of this long-awaited closeness.

But when your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, he stopped you, his grip on your wrists gentle but firm. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes with a mixture of apology and regret.

"I can't... I can't take my shirt off," Spencer said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that broke your heart. "I lost so much weight while I was using. I... I don’t want you to see me like this."

You looked at him, your heart swelling with love and compassion. "Spencer, it’s okay," you whispered, caressing his cheek softly. "You don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I love you for who you are, not for what you look like."

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for understanding."

You smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips. "Of course. We’ll go at your pace, always."

He sighed with relief, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck. You held him, feeling his body relax against yours. You knew this was a significant step forward, and you were grateful for his trust.

That night, you didn’t get any further than snuggling, but the intimacy was fulfilling without the need for anything more. Spencer was still healing, and you were more than willing to wait, to support him, and to love him unconditionally. The journey was far from over, but you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face any challenge that came your way.

As the weeks turned into months, your sex life began to resume, albeit with one consistent condition: Spencer always kept his shirt on. You respected his boundaries, knowing how sensitive he felt about his body after the ordeal he'd been through. Your intimate moments were filled with love and tenderness, and you found joy in reconnecting physically, even with this limitation.

However, as time went on, you couldn't help but notice subtle changes in his appearance. You had seen him eat heartily on numerous occasions, and it was clear that he had started to gain back some of the weight he had lost. His face had filled out a bit, and his arms seemed stronger. More noticeably, his ass and thighs were regaining their former shape, which you couldn't help but appreciate.

One evening, during a particularly passionate moment, you found yourself lost in the sensations and emotions of the moment. As you moved together, you squeezed his ass playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. "Looks like someone's been filling out," you teased lightly, your tone affectionate and playful.

But the reaction you received was far from what you expected. Spencer tensed immediately, his entire body going rigid beneath you. He pulled away, a look of panic and distress flashing in his eyes. "Don't," he said sharply, his voice almost a whisper but laced with a mix of anger and fear. "Don't say things like that."

You froze, your heart sinking. "Spencer, I'm sorry," you said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled back, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

"I can't... I just can't," he muttered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

You felt a wave of guilt and worry wash over you. "Spencer, please talk to me," you pleaded softly. "What's going on? Why is this so hard for you?"

He shook his head, refusing to meet your gaze. "You wouldn't understand," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

"Then tell me," you insisted gently, desperate to understand and help him through whatever was tormenting him. "I love you, Spencer. I want to help you, but I can't if you shut me out."

There was a long pause, the silence between you heavy and fraught with tension. Finally, he took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. "It's not just about the weight," he admitted quietly. "It's... it's the scars. The marks from the needles, from Tobias... I hate looking at them. I hate how they remind me of everything."

Your heart ached for him, understanding dawning in your mind. "Spencer," you whispered, moving closer but still giving him space. "You don't have to hide from me. I love every part of you, scars and all. They don't change how I feel about you."

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with vulnerability and pain. "I just... I feel so broken sometimes. Like I'll never be whole again."

You reached out, gently cupping his face in your hands. "You are whole to me," you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. "You are more than your scars, more than the trauma. You're Spencer, the man I love. And I will stand by you, no matter what."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he leaned into your touch, finally letting some of the walls around his heart crumble. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

One quiet afternoon, after Spencer had left for another case with the BAU, you found yourself alone in the apartment, your mind racing with worry and unease. Despite his assurances and your best efforts to trust him, there was a gnawing feeling in your gut that something was still wrong. Spencer's reaction to your playful comment had left you deeply concerned, and you couldn’t shake the sense that he was hiding something.

Driven by a mix of fear and determination, you decided to do some digging around the apartment. You hoped against hope that you were wrong, that you wouldn't find anything to confirm your worst suspicions. But you had to know for sure.

You started with the obvious places: drawers, cabinets, the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. You sifted through his clothes, checked under the bed, and even searched behind books on the shelves. The more you looked, the more desperate you became, tearing the apartment apart in your search.

After what felt like hours, you sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted and emotionally drained. You hadn't found anything—no syringes, no hidden stashes, nothing to indicate that Spencer was still using. A wave of relief washed over you, and for the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe he really was clean.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "He's doing better," you whispered to yourself, as if saying it out loud would make it true. "He's really trying."

Little did you know, Spencer had taken the box with him on the case. He had become adept at hiding his relapse, and the box—a small, nondescript container with his supply—was his lifeline. He couldn’t bear to be without it, even when he was away on a case.

—

The day started off innocently enough, with you tackling the seasonal chore of rotating your closet. You hummed softly to yourself as you put away the heavy fall and winter clothes, making room for the light, breezy garments of spring and summer. It was a mundane task, one that allowed your mind to wander.

As you reached the back of the closet, your hands brushed against something solid and unfamiliar. Frowning, you pulled out a small, nondescript box. Your heart sank as you recognized it. Opening it confirmed your worst fears—inside were the remnants of Spencer's hidden stash.

You sat back on your heels, tears welled up in your eyes, and everything began to fall into place: his moods, his odd behaviors, the way he sometimes seemed distant even when he was right next to you. Hiding his upper body, probably covered in fresh tracks. The puzzle pieces clicked together in your mind, forming a picture that was devastating to behold.

Unable to think clearly, you quickly packed a bag, your hands shaking as you shoved clothes and essentials into it. You needed space, a moment to breathe and figure out what to say to Spencer. Yelling at him wouldn’t help; you knew he was in a fragile state, and the last thing you wanted was to push him further away.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you headed for the door, your heart pounding in your chest. As you opened it, you nearly collided with Derek. He was standing there, a look of surprise on his face.

“Hey, I was just—” he began, but stopped short when he saw your tear-streaked face and the bag in your hand. “What’s going on?”

You tried to stifle a sob, making eye contact with him for a brief, heartbreaking moment. Without saying a word, you pushed past him and hurried down the hallway, the tears flowing freely now.

Derek watched you go, a deep frown creasing his brow. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialed Spencer’s number. Spencer, who was out picking up Thai food for dinner, answered on the second ring.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Spencer’s voice was casual, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“What the hell happened, Spencer?” Derek’s voice was sharp with concern. “I just ran into your girl. She was crying and had a bag packed. What’s going on?”

There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. Spencer’s heart sank, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “She knows,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “She found the box.”

Derek's confusion was evident in his voice as he pressed for more information. “Knows what? What box, Spencer?”

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to find the words. “The box... my stash. The drugs I’ve been hiding.”

Derek's silence was palpable, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Spencer, why the hell are you still using? I thought you got clean.”

“I... I thought I could handle it, that I could control it,” Spencer admitted, his voice cracking with emotion. “But I couldn’t. And now she knows. She saw everything.”

Derek sighed deeply, his frustration and worry clear. “You need to get your ass home and talk to her. She’s hurting, man. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know, Derek. I know,” Spencer said, his voice breaking. “I’m heading back now.”

As Spencer rushed home, his mind raced with thoughts of how he could possibly explain, apologize, and make amends. The fear of losing you was overwhelming, and he knew he had to face the consequences of his actions.

When Spencer finally arrived at the apartment, Derek was waiting for him, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Derek said, his voice low and serious.

“I know,” Spencer replied, his voice heavy with guilt and resignation. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation he had been dreading. "Derek, it's bad. I... I relapsed. After everything that happened, after Tobias... I thought I could handle it on my own, but I was wrong."

Derek's eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. "Why didn't you come to me, man? Why didn’t you ask for help?"

Spencer looked down, unable to meet Derek's gaze. "I was ashamed. I didn't want anyone to know I was struggling, especially after everything we’ve been through. I didn't want to disappoint anyone."

Derek shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "Spencer, we’re a team. We’re family. You don’t have to go through this alone. You can’t keep hiding this and expect it to just go away."

Spencer nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I know. But it was so hard, Derek. Every time I looked at myself, all I saw were the scars, the reminders of what I went through. Using again... it made the pain a little more bearable, even if just for a moment."

Derek placed a firm hand on Spencer's shoulder, his voice softening. "I get that, man. I really do. But you can’t let this destroy you. You have people who love you, who want to help you. You have her."

Spencer's heart ached at the thought of you, the pain he had caused you. "I know. And now she’s gone because of me. I need to fix this, Derek. I need to show her that I can get better, that I can be the man she deserves."

Derek nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Then you need to take the first step, right here, right now. No more hiding, no more excuses. We’re going to get you the help you need, and we’re going to do it together."

Spencer took a deep breath, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. "Okay," he said, his voice resolute. "I’m ready. I’ll do whatever it takes."

Derek squeezed his shoulder, offering a supportive smile. "Good. We’ll get through this, Spencer. One step at a time."

When Spencer and Derek stepped into the apartment, the air felt thick with tension and unspoken promises. Derek wasted no time, his determination clear as he followed Spencer into every room, helping him purge the space of anything that could be linked to his addiction. Spencer hesitated for a moment, but then joined Derek with a renewed sense of purpose.

Together, they scoured the apartment, starting with the small, nondescript box Spencer had hideen. They threw away syringes, pills, and anything else that could be used to get a fix. Derek watched closely as Spencer deleted all his dealer contacts from his phone, a look of grim determination on his face.

"It’s not just about getting rid of the drugs, Spencer," Derek said firmly. "It's about making sure you don't have any way to fall back into that trap. We're going to clean this place out completely."

Spencer nodded, his jaw set as they continued their task. Every drawer, every cabinet, every hidden nook and cranny was searched and cleared. By the time they finished, the apartment felt emptier, but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

Derek then stayed with Spencer, refusing to leave him alone. For three days, he kept a close eye on him, offering support, conversation, and even a few moments of levity to keep Spencer’s spirits up. They watched movies, played chess, and talked about anything and everything that could keep Spencer’s mind occupied and away from the cravings.

On the second night, Spencer broke down, the weight of his guilt and shame finally overwhelming him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. "I don’t know if I can do this, Derek," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion. "What if I mess up again? What if I can’t stay clean?"

Derek sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "You can do this, Spencer. I believe in you. And you’re not alone in this fight. You’ve got me, and you’ve got her. We’re all here for you. You just have to take it one day at a time."

By the third day, the worst of the withdrawal symptoms had just started, and Spencer felt a  deep desire to use. He still had a long road ahead of him, but he felt stronger knowing he had people who cared about him and believed in him.

It was on that third day that you came home. The moment you walked through the door, you saw Derek and Spencer sitting on the couch, talking quietly. Spencer looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

Derek stood up, giving you a small nod. "I'll leave you two alone," he said gently, walking past you and offering a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder as he left.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of Spencer, who looked worn but determined. He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He held his breath as he waited for you to speak.

"You need to check yourself into a clinic," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Spencer blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"If you want to stay with me, you need to help yourself first," you continued, your tone firm but filled with concern. "Clearly, us working through it isn’t enough to help you. You need to take control of your life and your recovery."

He stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. "But... I thought we could handle this together. Here. At home."

You shook your head gently, stepping closer to him. "We’ve tried that, Spencer. And it didn’t work. You need professional help, a structured environment where you can focus entirely on getting better. I’ll support you every step of the way, but you have to make this commitment to yourself."

Spencer’s eyes filled with tears, a mixture of fear and resignation. "I don’t want to be without you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I’m scared."

"I know," you said softly, taking his hands in yours. "I’m scared too. But this is the best chance for you to truly heal. And once you’re better, we can build a stronger, healthier life together."

He nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening. "Okay," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll do it. I’ll check into a clinic."

Relief washed over you, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Spencer. This is the right thing to do. For both of us."

Over the next few days, you helped Spencer make the necessary arrangements. You researched clinics, found one that specialized in addiction recovery, and made sure it had a good reputation. Spencer was hesitant, but your unwavering support gave him the courage to take this crucial step.

The day Spencer checked into the clinic, you drove him there, holding his hand the entire way. The building was imposing, but it represented hope and a fresh start. You parked the car and turned to him, giving him a reassuring smile.

"We’ll get through this, Spencer," you said, squeezing his hand. "I’ll visit as often as I can, and we’ll stay in touch. Just focus on getting better. That’s all that matters right now."

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of fear. "I will. Thank you for believing in me."

You leaned in and kissed him gently. "Always."

With that, you watched as Spencer walked into the clinic, ready to face his demons and fight for his future. It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, but you knew it was the right choice. And as you drove away, you held onto the hope that this was the beginning of a new chapter for both of you, one filled with healing, love, and a brighter future.

—

Not even a week later, Spencer was walking back through your front door. The sight of him standing there, his bag slung over his shoulder, filled you with confusion, anger, and disappointment.

"What the hell, Spencer?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of emotions.

"I'm clean," he said defensively, dropping his bag to the floor.

"Clearly," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "Why are you home?"

"I can check myself out whenever I want," he snapped. "It's not prison."

"I know that, but you agreed to go through the whole program, which is twelve weeks, not one."

"It was stupid," Spencer retorted, his frustration evident. "It wasn't helping. I don't need to be told not to use; I already know that."

You felt a surge of anger rising within you, your patience wearing thin. "This isn't about being told not to use, Spencer. It's about getting the help you need to stay clean, to deal with everything that led you to use in the first place. You promised you would try."

"I did try," he insisted, his voice rising. "But it was a waste of time. I don't need a program to tell me what I already know."

"You think this is easy for me?" you shouted, unable to hold back any longer. "Do you think I want to see you struggling, to see you hurting yourself? I pushed you to go because I love you and I want you to get better."

Spencer's face contorted with anger and frustration. "Well, maybe you don't know what's best for me. Maybe I know myself better than you do."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of his words hit you. "Maybe you're right," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "Maybe I don't know what's best for you. But I do know that I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself and pretending that everything is okay."

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice softening, a hint of fear creeping in.

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," you replied, tears streaming down your face. "I love you, Spencer, but I can't keep sacrificing my own well-being for someone who refuses to help themselves."

Spencer's eyes widened in shock and desperation. "You can't leave me. I need you."

"I need you too," you said, your voice breaking. "But I need you to be healthy, to be whole. And if you can't commit to that, then I have to walk away."

You grabbed your bag, tears blurring your vision as you headed for the door. "I hope you find the strength to get the help you need, Spencer. But I can't be here to watch you self-destruct."

With that, you left the apartment, your heart breaking with every step you took. You knew it was the hardest decision you had ever made, but it was also the only way to protect yourself and give Spencer the wake-up call he desperately needed. As you walked away, you held onto the hope that one day, he would find the strength to truly heal and that perhaps, when that day came, you could find your way back to each other.

[pretoriafics]

Silver Blaze Chapter 2: Heritage

Dila Erdem summons her granddaughter, the apprentice Priestess Bonnie Ierophanis, to entrust her with an important mission.

Synopsis: And from the heights of the firmament, where the stars watch over the world of mortals, the Moon Goddess saw her. Blessed by Selene, Helena Stilinski carries the echo of an ancient myth—a flame reborn under the watchful eyes of the gods. With her, the legend of the Red Ladies rose from the ashes, rekindled in her blood and soul. Yet, her very existence defies the Order of Selene, a millennia-old institution that upholds the traditions of the Ladies and safeguards the secrets of the Moon itself. But when Derek Hale crosses her path, something happens—something that should not exist. A forbidden love is born, a flame dancing on the edge of a precipice. He loved her the way fire loves the wind, in a dance impossible to control. He is the shadow the flame instinctively recognizes, the wolf who should never dare to touch her. And she loved him back. Fiercely. Unruly. But Helena’s flames do not burn only the present; they illuminate a past that refuses to stay buried. Because this is not just Helena’s story. It is a legend that has been told before—and, like all legends, it is destined to repeat itself. The question remains: will she allow herself to be consumed by the fire, or will she defy the heavens for the man she loves?

Word count: 2.027 Warnings: Translated from portuguese using AI; This is the only chapter written in a poetic way <3 PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER SILVER BLAZE - A TALE OF FIRE AND LEGEND MASTERLIST TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

�� Have you seen Isolde? But who is she? Dila walked briskly toward the ruins of the Temple of Artemis, having just parked her car. Beside her was a girl with voluminous curly hair that, left loose, gave her the grace of the most beautiful of angels. She was confused, and in the throes of adolescence, still had much to learn—both about life and the supernatural world. Her feet moved hurriedly behind Dila. Bonnie Ierofanis could be proud. Dila Erdem was her grandmother, and, it must be said, an extremely wise and respected priestess. Although her Greek-descended family lived in California, Bonnie’s mother had grown up right there, in Selçuk. Just as Bonnie was doing now, her mother had joined the Order to become a priestess—after all, they came from a millennia-long lineage of women who had always passed down this tradition. With Bonnie, it would be no different, and she would serve this purpose with honor. She was determined to make her family and ancestors proud. Dila and Bonnie crossed a green area filled with columns twisted by the passage of time. The parking lot was beginning to fill up, which meant more tourists were arriving to take photos with the temple ruins.

— Isolde lived in Celtic Ireland. I know that the records we have about the red ones are usually archives translated by other priestesses, but with Isolde, we have even less historical documentation than usual. Fire didn’t manifest in her as a destructive force, but rather as a force of life. Legends say her flames never burned without reason. She eventually became a kind of healer and spiritual guide for the werewolves in her region, and her importance was such that they saw her as an envoy of Selene herself.

The two climbed the ancient temple stairs, walking hurriedly between the columns and heading toward a restricted area. There, Dila and Bonnie descended another small staircase and walked to the side of the stone foundation. Dila pushed a small rocky plate on the foundation, and a passage opened, revealing a staircase leading underground, illuminated only by the light of torches and fire. The two began to descend as the secret passage closed behind them. Bonnie listened attentively to her grandmother’s words. She loved the moments when Dila shared ancient stories with her, just as she had done when Bonnie spent her summer vacations in Turkey with her.

— Things started to get complicated when Isolde fell in love with a werewolf—and not just any werewolf. His lineage traced back to the times of the first werewolf, Lycaon, who had been cursed by Zeus. Because of his lineage, even the other werewolves didn’t see him in a good light. To Isolde, he was just a man without a choice.

At the bottom of the staircase, a grand stone hall rose, with ancient columns reaching up to the ceiling. It was tall, majestic, and clearly very old. On the opposite side of the stairs, there were three wooden doors with carvings reminiscent of the moon, and a grand iron gate. Dila exchanged smiles with the few priestesses present, pausing her storytelling for a moment. Then, she guided her granddaughter to the third wooden door on the right. Upon opening it, they entered a large library with various sections of papyri and ancient books, alongside newer ones. As she listened to her grandmother tell the story, Bonnie looked around at the grand library. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how many centuries of history those shelves held. It was fascinating, and entering that place never lost its charm for her.

— And you know, the Ladies cannot get involved in that way with any werewolf. The Order had discovered the two of them, and so they offered Isolde a choice: either she renounced the love of her life, or she would face the consequences in a tribunal. Isolde, of course, refused. The two fled to the far north of Ireland in an attempt to escape the Order. They say that on the winter solstice, the sky lit up in scarlet flames, and the moon disappeared for three nights. Some say they were hunted down and burned by the Order itself, which I honestly wouldn’t doubt could have happened. Others say Selene took pity on them and turned them into a constellation, so they could be together for eternity.

The two sat at a wooden table, facing each other, separated only by the table. Bonnie’s eyes sparkled with the story.

— Ah, wow! — she sighed, a silly smile on her lips, her youthful innocence shining through —How beautiful, and how tragic. But I don’t understand what this story has to do with your dream.

Dila looked at her granddaughter and leaned slightly toward her, arms resting on the table.

— Over the centuries, some travelers have reported something: on certain nights, atop some Irish cliffs, they say you can see a woman dancing under the full moon, surrounded by flames. They say it’s Isolde waiting for her lover. The thing is, I saw her in my dream. Yesterday was the winter solstice. I saw the sky in flames. I saw First Ladies dancing around the fire, and I saw Isolde on top of a cliff. And it doesn’t end there. — She straightened up on the bench, preparing to speak as Bonnie grew increasingly apprehensive —I saw a red one. She was turned away. The other First Ladies stopped dancing to look at her.

Bonnie swallowed hard. She might have been a novice in the Order, but she knew what the red ones were.

— Do you think Selene showed you the coming of a red one?

A brief silence filled the room. Dila’s eyes wandered aimlessly, as if deep in thought. Finally, she looked at her granddaughter and concluded,

— Yes. Yes, I do. But I don’t think that was the only message. On one side of the bonfire were the Ladies of air, earth, and water. They all stared at the red one, who stood on the other side of the fire. But the red one didn’t look back. She was turned away. That means something: it means this red one won’t be with the Order. Perhaps she’ll oppose us. I think the position of the other Ladies suggests they’ll be keeping an eye on the red one, but the red one won’t know—or at least, she won’t care. And as for Isolde… well, perhaps her figure says something about this particular red Lady.

To Dila, her interpretation made sense. The positioning of the Ladies in the dream, the symbolism… everything told her that chaos would soon descend upon the Order. The question that remained at that moment was: Should Dila tell the others and warn them about what was to come? Should she wait for the right moment to share this kind of concern? Or should she tell everything, including her interpretation of the dream?

Despite all her years of experience in the Order, Dila had never encountered anything even remotely similar to that dream or the current situation she found herself in. She was certain that something monumental had fallen into her hands, and she needed to think carefully. Her granddaughter, though she had only been in the Order for a short time, also understood the weight of that vision.

The library fell into silence, as if both were pondering what to do. Bonnie’s gaze wandered around the room, restless, much like her thoughts. Then, she looked at her grandmother.

— Listen: I know it’s your duty to report every vision you have to the Order. But do you really need to share this one?

Dila looked at her granddaughter with a distinct glint in her eyes. In that moment, she was certain that Bonnie was truly her blood.

— Ah, my love… — She gave a slight smile to the younger girl — I don’t always share. That’s why our role requires so much trust. I understand your concern.

— Bringing this information to the Order without the slightest clue about the location or identity of this Lady will cause widespread chaos. And maybe this Lady isn’t a threat. We can’t put a target on someone’s head when we don’t even know them. Maybe she’ll just choose a different path.

Dila nodded. That was exactly why she had called her granddaughter before anyone else in the Order. Bonnie might have been young, but her mind was sharp and quick. She knew her granddaughter wouldn’t bend to every command of the Order and would act in the shadows if necessary to do what was right and just. This ability to discern, however, wasn’t common among all priestesses. Being part of the Order blinded many of them, and Dila was certain her granddaughter wouldn’t be one of those girls.

— I think our thoughts are aligned, — Dila said in a lower tone as she saw the library door open. A young group of priestesses had entered, but they weren’t paying attention to the two. Still, caution was necessary — You’ll be the only one who knows about my vision. But I’ll need your help as my primary agent. I can’t investigate as much as you can, Bonnie. I’m old, and my face is known here. I need you to go where I can’t, and I need you to always be alert to every new Lady who joins the Order, especially those who haven’t yet discovered their element. And most importantly: don’t tell anyone, not even your mother.

Bonnie swallowed hard and nodded. She was the granddaughter Dila had the most contact and connection with, and Bonnie loved her grandmother with all her heart. However, when it came to the Order, family ties had to stay outside the temple gates. It was the best way to keep things separate between family and duty, even though her family was the embodiment of duty and honor to the goddess herself. Precisely for this reason, the news that Dila would keep this secret with Bonnie hit the younger girl like a bombshell.

It had only been a few months since Bonnie had moved to Turkey to be trained and follow in her family’s footsteps. She wasn’t just young—she was still learning so much, especially now. And despite her short time in the Order, the fact that Dila trusted her with a secret of such magnitude was also a burden to bear. Dila wasn’t just her grandmother; she was an important figure within the Order. Because of this, everyone looked at Bonnie’s mother—and now at her—with great curiosity. Would they live up to Dila’s legacy? Would they be as capable as her mother and grandmother?

It was a great honor to be entrusted with the secret and mission to investigate the red one. But it was also a great weight and responsibility.

— But when we find out her identity?

— Then we’ll tell. But not before we know if she’ll truly be like Isolde or if she’ll become corrupted.

Bonnie nodded again, now determined. She was willing to see this through, make her family proud, and also follow her grandmother’s legacy: to be a just priestess.

And absolutely nothing would stop her.