#fbi open up this is your cat

[miserye]

I forgot how chaotic morning is in this household

[waitimcomingtoo]

I’ll Cry If I Want To

Pairing: enemies to lovers!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: you get stood up on your birthday and Peter attempts to cheer you up despite your feud

Masterlist

Peter walked into the kitchen in the tower and was immediately greeted by a confetti popper exploding in his face followed by a tender kiss on the forehead from Tony.

“Oh, my. Good morning to me.” Peter smiled at the greeting.

“Damn it, Parker.” Tony groaned. “I thought you were my little girl.”

“Don’t feel bad, daddy. A lot of people confuse Peter for a little girl.” You said as you walked into the kitchen behind Peter. The two of you made eye contact and you gave him an innocent smile while he rolled his eyes at you.

“Ha ha.“ He said sarcastically and then hissed at you like a cat. You gave him a look as you walked over to your dad.

“Happy birthday, baby girl.” Tony said and pulled you into a long hug.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled and hugged him back.

“Thank you, daddy.” Peter said in a high pitched voice to mock you. You and Tony looked at him and he quickly cleared his throat.

“Sorry. What I meant to say was, happy birthday. I didn’t know that was today. I mean, I’d been wondering why you looked so old but I assumed it was from your lack of sunscreen use.”

“Nice try. I wear sunscreen everyday.” You replied.

“Really?” He gasped. “Might want to up that SPF a few. You look like a crumbled piece of paper and not in a fun Taylor Swift way.”

“Don’t talk to me about skincare, Rudolf.” You snapped and tapped your nose twice to point out the zit on the tip of Peter nose. He covered it with his hand and narrowed his eyes at you.

“Children, please. No fighting. It stops my moisturizer from sinking in.” Tony sighed and rubbed circles into his skin.

“Sorry, daddy. I just wanted to make sure Peter knew about the giant pimple on his nose in case he was going to see anyone today.” You said as you smiled sweetly at Peter. He discreetly flipped you off by scratching his cheek with his middle finger.

“Any plans for the night, jelly bean?” Tony asked you.

“Nothing crazy. My friends are coming over later for a sleepover.”

“Oh God. Is this gonna be one of those crazy parties where you all get drunk and things get out of hand and you accidentally kill someone and have to dispose of the body together while hijixs ensues?” Peter. whined.

“No, because this isn’t one of the pornos you watch.” You scoffed.

“Pfft. That is not what I watch.” He insisted. “Where would I even find something like that? What would I even type? I’m open to suggestions.”

“Shut up.” You laughed. “You’re such a weirdo. And don’t be hanging around when my friends are here. I already told them you’re a pervert and on the FBI watch list so you don’t have a chance with any of them.”

“I don’t want to date your freakbob friends anyway.” He scoffed. “And to keep it down tonight, will you? I already wake up the birds chirping every morning. I don’t want to hear you birds all night too.”

“I actually came up with a solution for that. What if you killed yourself?” You asked through a smile.

“That’s a great idea. I might give that a whirl today if I’m not busy.” He replied and matched your smile.

“You? Busy?” You laughed. “Please. Busy doing what?”

“Peter and I are gonna be in the lab doing boring stuff with the suits. Adjustments, additions, and what have you.” Tony answered you.

“Oh. Okay. Do you need any help?” You asked.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that on your birthday, baby girl. Peters got it.” Tony replied, making your smile falter a little.

“Yeah. I’ve got it.” Peter boasted and gave you a smug look. You glared at him for a moment before looking back at your dad.

“I’ll catch you later for some cake, okay honey bun?” Tony told you before kissing your forehead.

“Okay. Bye. Have fun.” You smiled sadly as he left the room.

“You look greasy, by the way.” Peter said once you were alone.

“Like I care what you think. Even your hairline won’t stay with you.” You scoffed and nodded towards his forehead.

“It’s not actually receding, is it?” He asked and touched his hair.

“Maybe your forehead is just getting bigger.” You shrugged and popped a grape in your mouth from the bowl on the table.

“Bite me.” He replied and stopped touching his hair.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You chuckled. “Isn’t that how you got your powers, spider boy?”

“Yup. What do you think would happen if you bite me? Would I be able to a do anything a total bitch can?” He wondered, making you pelt a grape at him. He caught it with ease and popped it into his mouth.

“Watch your mouth before I bring out the peppermint essential oils again.” You warned him.

“You wouldn’t.” He said quietly.

“Try me.” You shrugged. You stared at each other across the kitchen for a moment before Peter gave up.

“You win. Here’s your card. Happy birthday, gaylord.” He said as he handed you a homemade birthday card from his jeans pocket before quickly running out of the room. You rolled your eyes at him but smiled once he was gone and read the card. As annoying as you normally found him, you appreciated that he remembered your birthday. Inside the card was a crude drawing of the two of you fighting next to a drawing of a gift card to Planet Fitness.

Peter strolled into your bedroom around 10 pm when he had grown curious as to why your friends weren’t there yet. It was getting kind of late and you had listed many activities that you had planned to do while Peter begrudgingly listened to you talk earlier in the day. You were still in your room by yourself so he went in and knocked on your door to see what was happening.

“Hey dingus. When are your dumb friends getting here? I need to know when I should jam my ears with scissors.” Peter said as he leaned against your doorway. You were sitting on your bed with your knees draw to your chest and your chin resting on top of them as you stared out the window.

“Do that anyway.” You mumbled and didn’t move from your position.

“I’m going to. I can’t listen to you all yap about when Reputation TV is coming all night. And your friend Stacy’s theories are always way off.” He continued. You still didn’t turn to look at him and his smirk dropped when he heard a sniffle. He frowned and took a step into your room.

“Hello? I knew you were dumb but did you forget how to turn your neck or something?” He said to try to make you laugh. You stayed still and he craned his neck to try to see your face.

“Seriously though, when are they coming?”

“They’re not coming.” You said finally in a horse voice.

“Why? What happened? Did they finally realize you’re an annoying brat whose only redeeming quality is access to daddy’s credit card?” Peter teased in another attempt to make you laugh.

“Something like that.” You mumbled. Peter frowned and finally realized that something was actually wrong. He sat down on your bed and reached his hand out.

“Whats going on? Are you okay?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Just go away.” You said sadly and wiped tears from your face. Peter shot a web at a tissue box on your dresser and pulled it over.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.” He said and handed you a tissue. You gave him a skeptical look and he held up one hand in defense while waving the tissue in the other like a white flag. You sighed and took the tissue before wiping your eyes.

“They found out it wasn’t a yacht party or at some fancy restaurant or some elitist club in Tribeca so they all cancelled.“ You said as you nervously ripped the tissue up in your hands.

“They cancelled? Why?”

“Because no one wants to come to my party. They want to come to a Stark Industries party with puppies in the gift bags and acrobats suspended from the ceiling and Avengers walking around like party clowns. Just hanging out with me wasn’t cool enough so they all bailed.” You sniffled and turned back to look out the window. Peter raised his hand to place it on your shoulder but then drew it back. He didn’t know if he was who you’d want to comfort you and he didn’t want to push it.

“I’m sorry.” He said instead.

“Like you care.” You laughed sadly and held your knees tighter to your chest.

“I do care.” He insisted. “And I’m very sorry this happened to you tonight.”

“No you’re not.” You scoffed. “You’re probably thrilled to see me like this. This is probably the greatest moment of your dumb life.”

“It’s not.” He said quietly. You finally whipped around to look at Peter and he saw the pain in your red eyes.

“It’s not? Look at me, Peter. I’m pathetic. I’m alone on my birthday because I wasn’t good enough for anyone to hang out with.” You exclaimed. Peter went quiet as you slowly caught your breath. You teased each other all the time but you’d never actually yelled at him before. You wiped your eyes with the tissue before staring at your hands.

“You were right.” You said quietly. “I am just a spoiled brat who people only like because of my connections. And I’m sure you’re anxiously waiting for me to shut up so you can say “I told you so” and prove to me once again that I’m always wrong.”

You and Peter sat in silence for a minute without looking at each other. Peter felt guilty that you were expecting him to kick you while you were down. You were feeling your own guilt for snapping at him when he was trying to be nice.

“I’m not gonna say that.” He said after a beat.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just go away.” You said miserably and turned back to the window. Peter opened his mouth to say something but shut it when he couldn’t find the words. He patted your shoulder twice before getting up and leaving your room. You turned to look at the door once he was gone and felt yourself missing his presence. You turned back to the window and stared out at the night sky through your teary eyes and let time pass.

After a while, you started to smell something. You sniffed the air until you recognized it as the scent of a something burning. Out of sheer curiosity, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and padded into the kitchen. You found Peter in the kitchen with a lace trimmed pink apron tied around his waist and flour smeared on his cheek. You smiled in surprise and leaned against the wall to watch him for a minute. He was humming to himself a song you didn’t recognize while scrapping a burnt black lump of something into the trash can. When he finally turned around, he jumped when he saw you.

“Jesus. You scared me. But I guess I should’ve known the smell of something baking would have your big back running to the kitchen like I hit the bat signal.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled. “What are you doing in here?”

“Well, your parents went to a movie since they thought your friends would be here. That means no ones home.” Peter began.

“And?” You asked.

“And so I thought we could fulfill a lifelong fantasy of mine and making sweet love to you on the kitchen counter.” He smiled suavely and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?” Your jaw dropped as he drummed his fingertips on the counter.

“I’m joking. I’m clearly baking a bake. Or, I tried. I guess 500 degrees was too hot.” He said and looked at the burnt cake in the trash.

“Yeah, that’s a few hundred above what it should be. But why are you baking? We have a chef for that.”

“Because it’s your birthday you miserable bitch. And everyone deserves a cake baked with love. Now do you prefer chocolate or vanilla frosting on your burnt cake?” He asked and held up two cans of frosting. You looked between the two before your eyes settled on him. You hugged your blanket tighter around yourself and shook your head.

“I don’t want your pity.” You said quietly.

“You don’t have it so shut up and grab a spatula before I rescind your choice in the matter and funfetti the fuck out of this cake.” He replied and held out a spatula. You stared at it and felt compelled to take it and join him, but you were still throwing yourself a pity party.

“No.”

“No? Look, I’m trying to cheer your dumb ass up so can you please work with me here?” Peter sighed and looked at you. You stared at him for a while before cracking the slightest smile. He noticed the smile and knew he had succeeded in his plan to cheer you up.

“Fine. But I’m not eating that. That’s what Santa puts in the bad kids stockings. We’ll make a new one. But I’m not touching raw eggs.” You told him and grabbed your dad’s matching pink apron from the drawer.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Princess.” Peter mumbled under his breath. You glared at him through your lashes as you threw some flour and sugar into a bowl. Peter went to put the butter in but you pushed his hand away.

“It can’t be cold butter or it won’t mix properly. It has to be room temperature.” You explained as you filled a measuring cup with water.

“Oh. Let’s pop it in the microwave then.”

“We can’t do that either. Then the hot butter will scramble the eggs. Do you want little egg bits in your cake?” You asked him as you microwaved the cup of water for a minute.

“Maybe just a little.” Peter replied as he watched you put the butter into a small bowl and then place the bowl on top of the microwaved water.

“There. This will soften the butter without making it hot enough to scramble the eggs.” You explained. He looked between your little invention and you for a minute before smiling.

“Wow. That was really smart.” He said genuinely. “Women really do belong in the kitchen.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes as you set the temperature to the correct heat on the oven. Peter couldn’t help but watch you over his shoulder as you combined the rest of the dry ingredients and expertly cracked an egg in one hand. He rarely got to see you like this, no makeup and in lounge clothes. And he definitely never saw you upset before. He was used to the perfectly groomed and standoffish version of yourself so this change of pace brought him unexpected joy.

“Move over. That’s not how you mix batter. You need to fold it.” You told him and reminded him of the you he knew. You bumped him with your hip and put your hands over his to help him fold the batter.

“Like laundry?” He asked as his cheeks heated up.

“Like you know what laundry is, Pigpen. And no. A different folding. Like this.” You said and helped him mix the batter until it was the desired consistency.

“Oh wow. That worked really well. I usually just go sicko mode until it turns into goop.” He confessed.

“And how does that work out for you?” You asked him.

“Look in the trash and you’ll find out.” Peter replied and eyed the burnt cake in the garbage can. You playfully rolled your eyes at him and kept helping him fold the batter. Everytime he tried to stir the batter, you gently corrected his hands to fold it instead.

“Why don’t you just do it?” He asked when he started getting frustrated with himself.

“Because you won’t learn if I do it.” You replied in a softer tone. Peter went quiet since you were being unexpectedly nice to him. You let the batter sit for minute once you were satisfied and then poured in into a cake pan.

“There. Thats gonna take about 30 minutes to bake and then it needs to cool before we frost it.” You told him as you shut the oven door.

“Oh, so we have 30 minutes? Then circling back to that making love on the counter idea-“

“Shut it.” You warned him. Peter pretended to zipper his lips and throw away the key. You cracked a smile before starting to clean up the kitchen. Peter wordlessly helped you tidy up and you exchanged a soft smile with each other in the silence of the kitchen.

“What was your worst birthday?” You asked after a long beat of silence.

“Are you talking to me?” Peter asked after looking around.

“Peter, we’re the only ones in the room.”

“Sorry. It’s not like you’ve ever asked me a personal question before. It’s usually “are you stupid?” or “can you go away?” or “do you need a tampon cry baby?” He recalled, making you feel bad for always being so mean to him.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” You said quietly. “I sound a lot meaner than I thought I was.”

“I’m mean too.” Peter shrugged.

“You tease me.” You shook your head. “I’m just cruel.”

“I think we are an equal amount of mean to each other. Don’t let it keep you up at night. I’m sure your chronic yeast infections do that enough.” Peter tried to lighten the mood, but you didn’t crack a smile. You seemed faraway in thought and he was curious as to why.

“Do you think I’m hard to be around?” You asked after a minute. Peter was about to crack another joke until he saw the look on your face. He could tell you needed a friend right now and was filled with determination to be one.

“No. I think those girls you called your “friends” are hard to be around.” He said seriously. “I’ve seen you with them. They’re the mean ones. Them bailing tonight has nothing to do with you. They’re a bunch of shallow jerks who only care about the material things in life. They don’t care about having deep connections with people. They only care about deep pockets on people. I know this isn’t the first time they’ve ditched you. And I know you feel alone even when they are here because you’re never fully included. You think no one notices because you tell stories about your charming adventures together but I see it in your eyes. They make you feel like an afterthought. You act tough and pretend it doesn’t bother you but I know that it does. You shouldn’t hang out with them anymore.”

“Then who am I going to hang out with?” You shrugged sadly. “Without them, I don’t have any friends.”

“Sitting alone is better than sitting at a table where you’re the topic of conversation when you get up.” Peter said simply. You stared at him for a moment before your eyes fell to the floor.

“I just don’t want to be alone.” You said quietly. Peter nodded his head in understanding and let a silence fall between the two of for a while. He was going to say that you wouldn’t be alone because you’d have him, but he didn’t know if you wanted to hear that.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked.

“No.” You said immediately. You made eye contact and you let out a sigh.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you like me?” He asked without looking into our eyes. You saw that coming and stared at him to try and get a sense of what was going on in his head. He slowly looked back up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“Do you remember that time the power went out in the city due to that Max guy or whatever and we all lit candles and hung out in the tower?”

“Uh oh.” Peter gulped. “You answered my question with another question. That can’t be good.”

“Shut up. Do you remember or not?” You asked and gently kicked his foot with your foot.

“I remember that.” He told you and held your gaze.

“You were new around here. You had just gotten your powers that year so I didn’t really know you yet. I had gone to look for more candles and found you crying on the floor of the linen closet.

“I remember that.” He nodded. “It was all so overwhelming to be here with the whole team. I had never felt so small.”

“I know. I told you I felt like that too sometimes. And then we stayed up for hours talking about every stupid thing we ever worried about and gave each other advice. I think at one point I gave you advice on how much conditioner to use.” You said as you replayed the night in your memory. You had a look on your face that Peter had never seen on you before. It was natural and relaxed and playful, all things he knew to be the opposite of you. It was so rare that the two of you were getting along and he didn’t want to do anything to ruin in.

“A dime sized amount and not on the roots. I still use that advice.” He chuckled. “You were so nice to me that night. You came in and pretended I wasn’t crying so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed. You just sat down with me and started talking ad if we’d always been friends. You quieted all my fears that night. I was initially so embarrassed about it but then I felt a lot better knowing someone had my back no matter how bad I messed up.”

“I always had your back.” You insisted. “Even when I was mean to you. If you were in trouble with my dad, I was always here talking him down and trying to get him to see your side. He sees you through the lense of his child that he doesn’t want hurt but I’ve always seen you as a hero who wants to help. I even got him to give you the suit back when you were 15. And it was my idea to put the warmers in because you told me you’re always cold.”

“Really? You were rooting for me this whole time?” He cracked a smile in surprise.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Always.”

“Then how come you act like…” Peter trailed off in fear of insulting you.

“Like what?” You asked, sounding like you already knew what was coming.

“Like you hate me.” He admitted. You felt your face burn in embarrassment and shook your head.

“I don’t hate you.” You said sheepishly.

“You don’t?” He asked in genuine surprise. You looked at him and he could see the guilt in your eyes even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“No. I don’t. I never did.”

“Then how come we don’t get along anymore?” He asked. He had only gone along with all the teasing since you began it, but he had always wondered why it started.

“One of the things we had talked about that night was how my one regret about being homeschooled was never getting to experience a prom. I told you had dreamed of it since I was a little girl and it broke my heart to know I’d never have one. So then you said…” You trailed off, thinking he’d remember what he told you. His face showed no sign of remembering it but he racked his brain anyway.

“I said what?” He asked, breaking your heart just a little more.

“You promised to take me. To yours.” You told him. You and Peter stood in silence for a moment before he burst out laughing. Your sadness immediately hardened into anger at the sound of him laughing at you.

“Wait, you’ve been pissy towards me for the last few years because I broke a promise I made at 15 years old and didn’t take you to a stupid school dance?” Peter asked through a laugh. You glared at him for his reaction and he immediately stopped when he noticed you weren’t laughing too.

“Oh. We’re not laughing?” He asked.

“Why is that funny to you?” You snapped. Peter saw the moment slipping away from him and started to panic.

“Well I was- I was a kid.” He said simply. “I had a huge crush on this girl Liz and we were finally becoming friends so I asked her and she said yes. That was years after I promised you that. I’m sorry but I didn’t remember.”

Peter thought you were going to yell at him and hurl a parade of insults his way, but you just nodded your head and looked down at the ground.

“You’re right. We were just kids. Forget I said anything.” You mumbled and started walking towards the door to leave. Peter knew he had messed up big time and possibly just killed any and all chances of the two of you becoming friends.

“Wait.” He said desperately just as the kitchen timer went off. You stopped walking and watched him haphazardly take the cake out of the oven and throw it in the stove top as he blew on it.

“You should stay. We have to frost it.” He said with a weak smile and an even weaker attempt for you for stay.

“You can’t frost it while it’s hot. It’ll slip right off.” You said without looking at him.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Well then do you want to talk some more or-“

“I have to go.” You cut him off and swiftly left the kitchen.

You went back to your room to resume the pouting you had started earlier. You felt guilty about walking out on Peter but it had hurt you to know that a promise that had meant a lot to you didn’t even stay in his memory. You stared out the window and sulked as you thought yourself into a deep rut. It didn’t take long for Peter to start making noise in the kitchen, interrupting your thought spiral. You heard things falling out of cabinets followed by Peter swearing. He bumbled around for a while and slowly drove you crazy with all the noise he was making until you couldn’t take it anymore. Just when you were about to text him and tell him the knock it off, you heard the dulcet sounds of “The Dancing Queen” coming from downstairs. You groaned in frustration and got out of bed to go downstairs and see what was happening.

When you got to the living room, Peter was standing there in one of your dad’s suits that hugged him a little too tightly around his muscles. The room looked like it had been decorated by a child with poorly hung streamers, ripped up construction paper to act as confetti, and bunches of webs that Peter had tried to shape into stars and moons. He had dimmed the lights and put a single bowl of chips on the counter, which he proudly stood beside.

“What the hell is this?” You asked him.

“Will you go to prom with me?” He asked with a huge smile.

“No.” You said immediately. “Please kill yourself.”

“I will.” He promised. “After one dance.”

“I’m not dancing with you. I’m not doing any of this.” You told him and turned to leave. You heard a “pst” right before feeling a web hit your back. Before you knew it, Peter tugged on the web and sent you stumbling back into Peter’s arms. He caught you with ease and winked when you landed in his arms. You rolled your eyes at him but felt a smile tugged at your lips.

“Please? Just one dance? Then I’ll let you go and hate me for the rest of your life.” He pleaded as he stared into your eyes. He looked so desperate that you found yourself nodding before you knew what you were agreeing to. He smiled in excitement and twirled you around before slowly swaying to the beat. You begrudgingly sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck while his stayed in a respectable place on your hips. You could feel his eyes on you but you kept yours on the ceiling.

“You can look at me, you know.” He teased, making you begrudgingly look him in the eyes.

“Oh. I almost forgot.” He smiled and pulled something out of his pocket. You looked down and saw a few poorly drawn flowers webbed to a rubber band.

“Your corsage, my lady.” He said as he slipped it onto your wrist.

“This is so stupid.” You laughed but secretly loved the thought he put into everything.

“It’s about to get even more stupid. Wait here.” He asked and quickly ran into the kitchen. He returned with one of Morgan’s plastic tiaras with a big fake gem in the center.

“Every prom needs its queen.” He said as he placed the crown on your head. You made eye contact as he stepped forward to adjust it and you felt your breath catch in your throat from how close he was.

“You didn’t have to do this.” You said quietly.

“Yes I did. I owed you a prom experience. I’m sorry I didn’t take you the first time. And I’m sorry for laughing at you. You just caught me off guard. I have spent many nights thinking of all the things I could have done to make you hate me. I genuinely forgot about that promise. I had no idea this entire time that you hated me because of prom.” He said as the two of you started swaying to the music again. You felt a feeling rise up in your chest, a feeling you hadn’t felt for Peter in many years.

“It wasn’t just the prom.” You admitted before you could think about it.

“It wasn’t? What else did I do? Did I hotbox the elevator with you in it or something?” He asked. “I did that to Wanda once and now she’ll show up in my dreams sometimes and make me pee the bed.”

“That’s disgusting.” You said flatly. “But no. It wasn’t that.”

“Then what?” He wondered.

“It’s stupid. You’ll just laugh again.”

“No I won’t.” He assured you. “Probably. I’ll definitely try really hard not to.

“Come on. Please tell me.” He pleaded and gave your hip a gentle squeeze. “You have to tell me now or I’ll become so annoying so quickly. I’ll be worse than those people who try to describe SNL skits to you and keep explaining even when it’s clearly only funny if you’re watching it.”

“I can’t tell you. It’s dumb anyway. Forget I said anything.” You said and hoped he’d drop it.

“It can’t be that dumb if it stood between us all these years. What, did you have a crush on me or something?” He laughed through his question. You went quiet and Peters eyes went wide.

“Oh shit. Did you have a crush on me?” He asked in a soft voice. You looked down at the ground to avoid having to look him in the eyes now that you were caught.

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “You were my age and had these cool powers and muscles and unexpected sense of humor. I was homeschooled and had swiped to the end of Tinder. You were my only option.”

“Oh. I see. So you only liked me because I was the only choice?” He said through a laugh but it hurt him. You could sense in his voice that you had just hurt his feelings and for once, that wasn’t what you wanted.

“I mean, not the only choice.” You added. “Cap used to hang around a lot more and he’s not the worst looking. But he’s like 500 so I never really had a chance.”

“Why me, then?” He wondered. You finally looked in to his eyes and shrugged a little.

“Because you were kind.” You admitted. “You didn’t need to take on as much as what you did at such a young age but you refused to do the easy stuff. You used to drive my dad crazy with how for you begged for assignments. You were so determined to get out there and save people, it was almost obnoxious. You were never content getting back stolen bikes. You always wanted to protect people from the big things. Even when you were just a kid. I liked that about you. I still do.”

“Still?” He gulped. “Even now?”

Before you could respond, the slow music that was playing ended and “Munch” started to blast from Peter phone. He scrambled to change the song but the moment had already been ruined.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know who put that on my playlist.” He quickly lied.

“It was you.”

“It was me, yeah.” He admitted and hung his head in shame. You stopped dancing and slowly withdrew your arms from him, making his heart sink.

“This was really sweet. Thank you, Peter.” You said genuinely. “I should probably get to bed now. I just want this day to end.”

“But we haven’t frosted the cake yet. It’s still your birthday. You can’t go to bed without any cake.” He said in a desperate attempt to get you to stay.

“I don’t know. It’s late.”

“Come on. It’ll be fast. That’s one of my powers. Spider can frost cake really fast and so can I.” He said and rushed over to the cake. He held it up and gave you a lopsided smile, convincing you to stay.

“Fine. Let’s make it fast.” You agreed and walked over to him. He smiled at you joining him and got out the frosting. He handed you a spatula and you started to frost the cake.

“You don’t have to keep wearing that if you don’t want.” Peter chuckled and went to take your crown off. You quickly swatted his hand and adjusted your crown.

“Back off. It’s mine.” You said and stepped away from him. He chuckled again and you laughed too.

“I really do appreciate everything you did for me tonight. I hope I can make it up to you one day.” You told him.

“You can make it up to me right now if we clear off this counter top and-“

“No.” You cut him off.

“Worth a try.” He mumbled.

“Really, though. You cheered me up tonight and I didn’t think that was possible.”

“In a way, I’m glad your stupid friends cancelled on you. It gave us an opportunity to spend time together. And this was the least I could do for not taking you to my real prom. Which was total buns, by the way. I missed most of it because I was putting my dates dad in jail.”

“Well I’m glad that didn’t happen tonight.” You laughed softly.

“Me either. I wish I took you to the first one. We could have been friends this whole time if I had just remembered my promise.” He sighed.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I’m done moping about it. I’m ready to eat this cake and be friends from now on.”

“I’m ready for that too.” He smiled at you. “Especially the part about us being friends. But also for this cake because it’s kinda giving me a boner from how good it smells.”

“It does smell really good. I can’t even blame your boner. But if that thing even looks at me you’re getting impromptu gender reassignment surgery with this spatula.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled and looked over at you. He didn’t stop looking at you until you felt his eyes on you.

“What?” You laughed shyly.

“I can’t believe you ever liked me. And that this whole time, I had no idea. I am so not cool enough for a girl like you to like.”

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t like I dropped any hints.”

“Maybe not. It just doesn’t feel real. I wouldn’t believe it even if you weren’t always mean to me. You reciprocating my feelings was not something I ever thought would happen.”

“Reciprocating? You liked me too?” You asked as your mouth went dry.

“Are you kidding? You’re my mentors insanely hot and totally off limits daughter. Of course I liked you. Not to mention you’re funny, smart, good with a screwdriver and the apparently my biggest supporter. Though you did it in secret. Make no mistake, birthday girl. I had the biggest crush on you for years. Even when you were being mean to me.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” You said quietly. You had your back to him as you washed your hands but you could feel his eyes on you. You peaked over your shoulder and sure enough, Peter’s eyes were locked on you. You gulped and turned back around when you heard him walking over to you.

“You know, as mean as your insults were, they were always clever. And you always looked good saying them. How could I not fall for you?” He said as he came up behind you. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne, along with a scent that was just distinctly Peter, making your heart pound in your ears. You turned around and leaned against the counter as you looked into his eyes.

“Well how do you feel now?” You asked with unwavering eye contact.

“I feel like those feelings never left.” He admitted. You had never heard such confidence in his voice and it was just the thing to tip the scales back in his favor.

“Hm. Interesting.” You shrugged and turned back around. It was almost like you could hear the disappointment in the air once you had your back to him again. You decided not to torture him forever and give in to what you both wanted.

“Peter?” You asked and looked over your shoulder at him.

“Yeah?”

“Clear the countertop.”

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

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@pandaxnienke

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@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep

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@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[reidrum]

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k

Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.

This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.

And it ended with you being held hostage.

It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.

You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 

Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.

With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”

“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.

Shit.

He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.

“Drop it.”

You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.

“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”

Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.

Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”

Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.

“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 

Sour gummy worms were your favorite.

A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.

“He took her.”

___

The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.

Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.

“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”

He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“

“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”

“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.

JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”

He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.

He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.

“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 

An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”

The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”

Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 

After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.

Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—

“Reid. Are you even listening?”

“What?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a shit liar, man.”

“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Spencer—“

“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.

Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”

“I know that, Morg—“

“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”

Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.

——

A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 

Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.

Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.

He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”

You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”

The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.

He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”

All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 

The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.

To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.

And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“

“FBI, Drop your weapon!”

A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.

“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.

“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.

“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.

He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.

You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”

Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.

He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”

You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 

It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 

That’s what worried his Unit Chief.

He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.

Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.

If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.

He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.

——

You were a fighter.

At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.

“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”

He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.

“Hi, Spence.”

His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.

“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”

“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”

He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”

Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”

“You could have.”

“Spencer—“

“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”

“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 

Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”

“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”

He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”

Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”

He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”

Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.

“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.

“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”

“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.

You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”

Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 

You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.

——

Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.

You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 

The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.

Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”

A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.

He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.

“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.

He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”

“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”

He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”

Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.

“I told you, I came to check on you.”

“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”

He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”

“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”

“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”

“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.

“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.

His eyes steel over, “That was different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You know why I left.”

“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”

“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”

Tobias. Mexico. Cat.

A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”

He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.

“Cat had details about your family.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”

His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”

You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.

“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”

“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.

“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.

It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.

You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.

Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”

He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”

“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”

His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.

“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”

He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.

“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”

The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.

“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”

He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.

Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”

“I’m here, honey.”

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[gghostwriter]

Level-One Intruder

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 1.8k a/n: I'm a liar. I said I was going to post once I get over this flu but I couldn't help myself, not at all. I just really really wanted to share this cute cute fic I wrote with you all. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The brown tweed coat on Spencer’s shoulders threaten to droop down his arms as he wrangled his keys to unlock his apartment door.

There was little light on the hallway, something that could be attributed to the late hour of twelve midnight. Muffled noises could be heard from next door—a new tenant must have moved in while he was away. 

The FBI agent could feel himself coming apart at the seams from the lack of proper sleep. The latest case took eight long grueling days to solve and the team had to make do with what the small town could offer as arrangements.

His back felt stiff from curling on the squeaky sofa bed, trying his best to make himself comfortable and now, all he wanted to do was decompress with a totem of a book and sleep like the dead until his alarm clock rang for the next day. 

Dropping his satchel on the ground, silently assuring himself to get the laundry going the next day, a tiny scuffle echoed through his heavily darkened apartment.

Spencer tensed, unsure if his overtly exhausted mind conjured up the noise or if someone else found their way into his haven while it was otherwise unoccupied.

Another sound confirmed the reality causing him to draw his gun from his holster, ends pointing down, as he slowly made his way around the sofa to the first bedroom, minding his steps to avoid the sections with creaking floorboards.

He rounded the corner, eyes straining to adjust to the minimal light the outposts provide him—and nothing. 

The room was stale from lack of use and everything looked to be in the right place. The stripped spare bed looked untouched and all the windows were sealed shut. Exactly how he left it.

Another noise caught his attention.

Spencer tightened his hold on the gun and tiptoe’d to the next room—the bathroom and in there, the first real evidence was uncovered. 

His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle as he took in the unspooled tissue roll hanging from its holder. The unused sheets of paper now sat on the green titled floor, no doubt flooded with organisms and bacteria that the naked eye couldn’t see. 

He shuddered from the thought.

Quickly moving on, he shuffled his way to the open kitchen. Right away he spotted something amiss—rather a few items amiss.

First, the lower cabinet was ajar. It was where Spencer stored his cleaning supplies and it was rarely opened as it was.

Second, his favorite Star Trek mug that he left out to dry near the sink was now precariously near the edge, threatening to break into a thousand pieces.

And lastly, the empty plastic bag of bread on the counter that he was sure had two more slices before he went away for the case.

There was an intruder and it seemed like he was hungry.

Weapon still in his hands, he slowly he crept his towards the slightly opened mahogany door of the main bedroom. He took a deep breath before rounding up to the room, pistol pointing forward to the unsuspecting guest. 

Except there was no one.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself, holstering back the revolver to his belt and to his surprise, someone answered or rather, meow-ed back. A fluffy orange cat with a collar on his neck.

The agent smiled. “You must be my intruder—”

Meow.

“—Now, who are you and how did you get in here?”

The cat was silent, content with rubbing his body on his black pant legs, leaving behind stray hairs that Spencer would have to lint away before laundry.

He bent down to see if there was any information hanging from the cat’s green collar. 

“Mr. Chewie. Is that your name?”

Feline eyes stared into his and blinked once. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you could understand me but actually according to studies, cats lack the cognitive skills to interpret human language so I still don’t know why I’m explaining that to you.”

Meow.

“Nope, I’m sure you’re just responding to the fact that I am talking to you and my rambling is clearly brought by my lack of proper sleep—” a knock on his front door interrupted his musings. “—one second,” he called out, swiftly unbuckling his holster belt and placing it on top of the dresser. There was no need to frighten the knocking neighbor with a gun. 

Spencer turned back to the cat inquisitively sitting next to his feet. “Don’t move.”

As he made his way back to the entrance, opening lights as he went, he could hear the click clack of the feline’s claws against the wooden floorboards. It clearly didn’t take his order to consideration.

Spencer swung the door open as the stranger was poised for a mid-knock.

“Uh—hi,” the woman breathed out. 

“Hi,” Spencer drawled out in reply. “Can I help you?”

You rocked on your heels, fingers pulling down the ends of your oversized sweater as if it could lessen your state of undress. Spencer didn’t judge, it was early into the morning after all, nor did he stare long at your navy blue shorts and pink fluffy socks adorning your feet. 

“I’m your new neighbor and it’s not really the time to introduce myself but by any chance is there—”

“An adorable intruder in my apartment?” 

You nod, sweetly smiling. The glint in your eyes filled with apologies.

“Yes actually, I was trying to ask him where he came from but I don’t actually speak cat and neither does he understand human.” 

You laugh sheepishly, fingers gently rubbing at the side of your neck. “I’m so sorry. I hope he didn’t make a mess or bother you at all. I left my fire escape window open for a little bit to let the breeze in and he must have explored out while I wasn’t looking. So sorry again, let me just get him out of the way—”

A rustle from behind made him turn, not before he caught your eyes widening to the scene inside his apartment. Your cat kneading on his brown throw blanket before settling on the sofa.

“Mr. Chewie, what are you doing?” You squeaked out.

Spencer laughed at the outrageous tone coating your voice. It reminded him of Garcia swatting the other agents away from her tech equipments.

The cat answered back with a meow.

“No, mister. You cannot sleep here, this isn’t our home! It belongs to this lovely gentleman over here—” you flashed Spencer a smile. “Now, please get your butt off the sofa and back to our apartment.”

The feline seemingly rolled his eyes and turned his back on you.

“Huh,” Spencer observed. “The studies might be wrong after all. I think he understands you.”

You laughed, shoulders shaking from the absurdity of his comment. “Mr. Chewie might be special or at least that’s what every pet owner believe to be. I never introduced myself have I? I’m Y/N. I moved next door a couple of nights ago.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied back. 

You tilted your head to the side. “Oh, is that why I haven’t seen you around, Doctor? Busy saving lives?”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. In a way, you weren’t wrong per se. His title did let people assume his career to be in the medical industry instead of having three PhD’s under his belt. The former was more plausible given how young he looked.

The sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall caught both your attention. Your eyes flashed back to his, twinkling. “So, Doctor. Will it be alright if I step inside and grabbed my cat?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh—yeah, yeah. Sure, come right in.”

You sheepishly smiled before entering his sanctuary. Eyes soaking in any piece of information that represented who he was.

Spencer felt your warmth as you passed his body. The smell of warm cookies wafting to his nose, dissipating the anxiety that threatened to creep up his spine from letting a stranger into his home. 

“Nice apartment,” you complimented. “There seems to be a lot of books.”

He tucks his hands inside his pant pockets. “I like to read.”

“Me too. It’s a great hobby to pass the time.”

You sweetly smiled before swiftly scooping up the lounging cat in your arms with little protest. “Again, I’m so sorry if he disturbed you in any way and please, let me know if he made a mess. I’d like to make it up to you—as a thank you and apology, I mean.”

“It’s no problem,” Spencer watched your cheeks match the color of your socks under the fluorescent light. It suited you, he thought. “Actually, can I just ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Why is he—” his calloused hands reaching to pet the orange feline nestled on your chest. “—named Mr. Chewie?” 

You giggled, the sound similar to wind chimes being rustled by a gentle breeze. It settled the ache caused by his lack of proper rest. It was fascinating, intriguing, and a little bit frightening if he had to be honest.

“Well, I actually named him after Star Wars, Chewbacca, because of how fluffy he is and the name just shortened itself once I found out how perpetually famished he is.”

“He’s named well,” Spencer surmised, the empty plastic of bread flashing in his mind.

“Well, I shouldn’t be bothering you any longer,” you slowly backed away from his space. “Thank you, Doctor, and have a good night.”

With a sleepy smile on his face, Spencer watched you push open your apartment door. “Good night.”

You flashed your saccharine smile one last time before closing it behind you, leaving him feeling light and bemused for the first time in a long while.

And as he woke up to the gentle streams of the sun on his face, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the paperwork on his desk, the emotion still lingered causing the corners of his mouth to rise up into a soft smile. An after effect of your encounter that he didn’t mind experiencing. 

It was a certain type of high. 

It was something bright and puzzling.

A note and a batch of cookies taped to his door caught his eye as he exited the apartment. The  treats were in this clear, non-labelled package. Handmade then, Spencer noted.

His smile stretched his warming cheeks wide as he took in the scripted letters written on the pink post it that reminded him of your blush and your fluffy socks.

See you around, Doctor! 

Have a great day saving lives! 

- Your Nurse neighbor & Mr. Chewie xx 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[vantedaes]

cry, cry, cry

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader tags: porn with little plot, dacryphilia (or an attempt at it at least) soft dom nanami, slight breathplay, fingering, alcohol use, body fluids mentions, unprotected sex, manhandling, slight objectivization, passing out, hair pulling, pussy spanking, slight breeding kink, reader does not talk but because of the context no because she can't. NO PROOFREAD. an: English is not my first language, there might be mistakes that would be addressed,,, someday, for now I just want this to be posted it has been sitting on my drafts like forever. Inspired by this tiktok of my lovely bbh

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT +18 ONLY!!!

!Husband Kento was not a stranger to being enraged when working overtime, however, he didn't make a habit of taking that rage home, where his lovely wife was waiting for him. Unfortunately for him, today was one of those days he couldn´t stop the bubbling wrath when returning home after insufferable overtime hours cleaning everyone´s messes.

Of course, he had sent you a text beforehand letting you know that it was for the best to allow him time to cool down before talking to him, and thankfully you've been supporting and understanding as ever telling him that he shouldn´t worry and that a glass of his favorite bourbon was already served in his study.

You knew exactly that your lovely husband had an especially rough day, you could tell by the sound of the door opening an abrasive almost like the FBI was breaking into your house, you could hear from your shared room the loud slamming of the door, so strong it made you flinch, your cat scaping your blanket running into hiding somewhere in the closet.

Closing your book you put it on your nightstand and heard how the heavy steps of your husband made their way to your home, you could listen to the rustling of his clothing and another slam of what you could guess was his suitcase, oh, he was real upset, Not long after that you hear him opening the door of his study. Standing up you got out of your shared room, you didn't want to bother him at all knowing he had to blow some steam, so you just went to the drawing room to assess the situation, with soft steps you saw how his coat was thrown under the hanger and his suitcase a few steps from the coat, open, revealing what you could only assume was red numbers and some other reports he had to deal with, you did your best to accommodate everything in its place hearing your husband going slamming things in his office.

You knew it was better to just go to sleep and wait for him to come to bed whenever he felt like it, but, you were also curious, you´d never seen him this upset, so after getting his things together you made your way silently to his study, almost on tiptoes, the door was wide open which made your little espionage easier. Only the light of his desk was on, you leaned in the doorframe like a child trying not to get busted when they know were being naughty, your breath caught into your throat when you saw him, his back to you pouring even more of the bourbon and gulping it in just one quick motion, his muscles evidently tense making him look even bigger, menacing even, his big hands gripping the glass and the movement of his throat working that burning alcohol down like it was nothing.

And dear lord, you could feel your pajama shorts getting soaked.

Your skin burned like it had caught on fire, you weren't unfamiliar with how insanely hot and attractive your husband was, but this was different, this was the first time you'd seen him, this, this enraged, his whole demeanor changing in a drastic form that you've never experimented and your eyes were glazing for just the sight, your fingers itching to help you relieve some of that tension desire building in the pit of your stomach. Your husband then sits on his chair, his strong tights expanding, and his crotch more prominent, his hair like a full mess, golden locks falling into his gorgeous face that was contorted into a hostile expression that only made you press your tights even closer to each other, you could feel yourself trembling with a raw need that was taking over every grain of your sanity.

But then in a swift motion, after struggling to take off his tie he simply opted for tearing the damn thing apart, the buttons of his shirt flying to different parts of the room, allowing his massive chest to breathe and with that sinful sight you couldn't help but gasp. Still, in reality, it was more like a pitiful whimper that was capable of getting your very angry husband´s attention to you.

The moment your eyes connected with his dark eyes you didn´t move an inch, something like fear and excitement creeping into you, like a fear of a beast that found the most helpless prey on its own lair, which was accurately what was happening.

Your husband stood up and gulped the whisky quickly, licking his lips as he addressed you.

"C´me here" His voice was raspy, like going through your whole body, it made you quiver even more, made your whole being more intoxicated.

Slowly you approached him, his eyes never leaving you for a second, and you were used to Kento´s eyes on you, his attentive and longing gaze every time he looked at you, but the way he was looking at you now was something else, like drinking the sight of you, like devouring your whole image, resembling a madman that has been starved. When you got close enough you stopped, just a few centimeters separating you, he smirked cockily his lips glazed with the bourbon, and your nostrils were filled with the scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol it roamed through your figure and you find yourself inhaling it, fueling even more the heat that was about to explode inside your body. Your husband looked amused at how you were paralyzed in front of him like you were asking permission to touch him, your own husband, it was ridiculous, and yet it was what his good girl knew had to do.

"Look at you, shamelessly spying on me when I perfectly told you to give me space" His hand gripped your chin with a strength that made you part your lips in surprise "Now that you got what you wanted...you´re all shaky, angel"

You wanted to answer sure, it wasn´t your nature to stay quiet, you were always quick with a comeback but just like in a trance, you were just mute and so fucking needy, he, your husband, was not a man who loses his calm like ever, one year of marriage and you've never seen him this deranged.

He could hardly blame you for how your body reacted, you yourself didn't know you could find him even hotter.

Quivering, you tried to speak "I—"

And without any kind of warning, he grabbed your waist with a strength that made you gasp in surprise, the sound of shattering glass stealing your attention for a quick second —he really threw his glass on the floor—, but as soon as you felt your frame pressed tightly at the body of Kento your mind went to a fucking blank again, contemplating how his normally hazel color eyes were totally pitch black. His arm was like an iron band around your waist and your hands posed on his big chest trying to hold onto something, his closeness making you quiver like a leaf and you could just read in his expression how much he liked all of your wretched reactions.

"Shh...it´s alright angel" he whispered hotly upon your lips "I already know what you want"

Before you could process any of his words he took you and bent you over his desk, your hips pressed against the edge of it and all of the stuff on top of it falling down, the bottle of whiskey spilling over the wood surface where your face was now pressed against wetting your cheek and lips, you were never a fan of whiskey —or any strong alcohol really—, but right now you welcomed it eagerly with your mouth hanging open when you felt the hot and rough hands of your husband stripping you off your pajama shorts, your cunt being met with the breeze of the room, soaked, you felt how your juices were already trailing your tights. You moaned pitifully, your hole clenching into nothing.

Nanami laughed in a vibrato that made your knees buckle, "Look at that, so fucking wet..." his fingers trailed your dampness pressing over your wet swollen lips gathering all the liquid before entering your entrance in a quick movement, you let out a high pitched moan at the sudden intermission "That´s right angel, you will take it"

He kept moving his fingers inside your cunt quickly while his other hand kept your head firmly pressed into his desk, the whisky fusing with your saliva as you kept loudly moaning, your body going into shambles quickly, Nanami was like a feral beast fucking you with his fingers letting out the hottest low grunts that were making your orgasm approach in a tidal wave in just mere seconds of his fingers inside you.

"Yes yes yes" you chanted in ecstasy, your legs fully trembling as your orgasm hit you with an intensity that would almost make you fall if it wasn't for the firm hand of your husband keeping you still on the surface of his desk, a loud moaning of his name leaving your mouth.

"made a mess of my fingers angel, so needy you came so fast" his fingers leaving your leaky entrance and trailing through your cunt greedily. you were panting with the aftermath of your orgasm, the whiskey now soaking the whole table and part of your hair "Filthy, filthy girl, looking like a used whore after just taking my fingers"

He roamed a chuckle, then you heard him sucking his fingers nastily, sounding richly across the room, and in a quick moment he slapped your pussy making you scream your already shaky legs buckling and almost falling to the floor only to be grabbed by your wrists and manhandled to your position on the table.

Another smack on your pussy made you yelp, "Come on now, don't act like this cunt doesn't like it rough" You felt him pressing against your ass, fully clothed, and yet you felt the big bulge twitching against your bare cunt, soaking his pants, it was unbearable to have his cock still on his pants when you wanted it so so so bad.

However, you could only mutter pathetic whimpers, so clouded and drunk on his cock that wasn't even inside you. "Stay put" Your husband demanded and you immediately went still, excitement filling your body as you heard him unfast his belt followed by his zipper and a delicious groan as his cock was fully out

You couldn't quite see but you knew he didn't take off his pants by the way you could feel the fabric on your tights and fuck, you could come just right there again.

"I believe you know I have no intend of going soft with you tonight," He remarked while tracing his cock on your swollen lips, his precum fusing with your juices "Oh, but look at you angel... so fucked up looking like you could die if I don't give you this cock"

"I—" A slap to your asscheek cut you off to a pathetic moan, and soon you felt the hard body of your husband pressing on your back to whisper in your ear.

"I don´t want to hear anything that is not those pathetic little moans you made" His hot breath against your neck had you shivering, with his hard cock nestled between your folds you could do nothing but behave, tears escaping your eyes betraying how much you wanted it, how much you need it, Nanami trailed your neck inhaling your scent like he needed it more than air, getting drunk on it and leaving wet open mouth kisses on your boiling hot skin. Despite the twitching of his cock against your folds he did nothing more than tease your skin with his hot breath on your most sensible zones, driving you into absolute madness, your hole clenching, hungry, and desperate.

His hands gripping your waist tightly, you were sure tomorrow it'll have a mark. "Nothing more than a slut for this cock hm?" he teased leaving your back, standing again he took your jaw turning your face to him, when you looked at his handsome face his eyes looked like a deep endless void of how black and dilated they were, not a trace of his usual hazel like eyes, he looked at you with ravenousness, his eyes darting through your face that was now covered in tears

His cock twitched at the sight of your whipping face, you started sobbing, your lips trembling in a way of begging him to fuck you.

"Oh fuck" He moaned leaving your jaw to tug on your hair and grabbing the base of his cock he finally directed his tip to your needy entrance, you moaned even more between tears feeling how the length of your husband's cock stretched you.

Fuuuuck, your husband was big and, oh, he did not intend to go soft with you, remember? So you should have expected when his full-length slammed into your cunt in a strong thrust, making you cry loud, your hands grabbing the edge of the table, you could feel his cock molding your insides, his veins popping through your walls and if you were already not intoxicated you surely were now.

Nanami moaned feeling your pussy tightening around him like you want to cut him off, he pulled your hair into his fist harder and looking straight at your eyes he hissed, "Put your fucking hands were they where"

Looking at him with big tearful eyes you clasped your hands together behind your back, your whole stability now depending on how your husband had your hair pulled into his fist. "Such an obedient girl... Now keep sobbing like a dumb slut while I feed you this cock"

And with that, you could only hiccup pathetically, Nanami's thrusts were erratic and fast, kissing every bit of your insides, he looked at you with a deranged look, enjoying how you were drooling and crying while taking his cock so harshly, he fucking loved it, having you go all fucking stupid on his big cock and have you reduced to a needy little thing.

"Yes, fuck—that's right, so fucking tight around me" his sloppy thrust was making you dizzy on how deep he was reaching into you, your orgasm already in the making ready to burst with the warning of being even bigger than the last one and your husband knew it completely, that smirk of his adorning his lips, with that your second orgasm erupt shaking your whole body, your husband groaned pulling on your hair harder making you stare at him while you creamed his cock and your eyes rolled, tears trailing down your face to your throat disappearing on your breasts, your husband's depraved eyes look at it and soon you had him turning you around without leaving your sloppy hole to now have you laying down the desk in a more comfortably position

A position that allowed you to look upon your very disheveled husband, through your teary and hazy eyes you could see and drink at the sight of Nanami just fucking into you like a mad man, like a fucking wild animal, his hands now gripping your jaw playing with it like you were a useless doll, his fingers entering your hot mouth pressing on your tongue while he kept pounding that fat cock into you, you whimper so cockdrunk you were about to pass out feeling his hard cock kiss your cervix every time, he was ruthless in the way he was fucking you and you were obsessed with it.

"Fuck, I'm going to fill you up so fucking good" he left your jaw and slapped your tits before rubbing your clit in a maniac rhythm that pull you out of your drowsy state and soon you were filling up another orgasm approaching, "come for me sweetheart, I know you can, fuck—do it"

His thrusts were, even more, sloppier, erratic, and quick you felt like you were about to explode, it was way too much, you were pushing the limits of your oversensitive body, but oh, how you loved it especially when you felt his hard cock stiffen even more inside you and warm cum filling your insides and soon you were cumming a third time, this time even more intense than the previous ones and your whole body shudder at the immense pleasure and the fullness of the cum inside you, your husband moans in the background of your nirvana, it was as you where losing your hold on reality and soon everything went blank.

!Husband Kento was heavily panting rolling off the immense orgasm he had, only to find his lovely wife passed out on his desk, and even though his first response was to get worried that he indeed had been too rough with you, but, the happiness on your —very fucked up— face told him everything he needed to know.

Taking his dick out of you he put himself together and took your limp body in his arms to carry you into the bathroom, somewhere along the way you regained consciousness, your pretty confused eyes looked at him and soon your cheeks turned red "Hello beautiful, I'm going to take care of you now"

Simply he assured you with a smile and a kiss to your damped forehead, you smelled like sweat and whiskey.

"..." You looked like you wanted to speak and Nanami could only chuckle affectionately at your uncertainty.

"You can speak now angel"

[rynbutt]

pierced. | spencer reid.

Moving into a new apartment in a new city is stressful, what's even more stressful is when there's a fucking murder in the apartment across from yours... at least the fbi agent is cute.

you can find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, 18+ piercing, fluffyish, reader has pierced tiddies, flirting, wondering if i should do a part 2 fr

a/n: coming from a pierced nipple girly who wants a cute boy to knock on her door. also enjoy <3 and follow >:) also yay for the first thing i've posted :3

You let out an exasperated sigh as you collapsed another cardboard box.

Moving into a new apartment was fun in theory, but the practice of filtering through everything you own and finding a neat little spot for it? not so much. You took a long sip from your now cold cup of coffee before glancing across the room at the looming pile of cardboard boxes that just stood there and mocked you.

You picked up the next box of what was probably clothes and took a box cutter to the almost twenty layers of tape across the seam (it wouldn't stay closed, in retrospect you should have made up another box but you were really determined to make it fit at the time).

You ripped the rest of the tape off and put your hands on your hips, glancing at your cat Tofu on the couch.

"Care to help?" you asked... the cat. Tofu proceeded to curl into herself and begin grooming tubby belly. "I guess not."

There was an abrupt knock on your apartment door, Tofu scattering to the wind at the sudden sound. You furrowed your brows, confused as to why anyone would be knocking on your door.

You had moved here a matter of days ago, knew no one and were far too broke for doordash. You ignored it for a moment, thinking whoever resided on the other side of the door had the wrong apartment. When the knock came again, you thought you'd better answer this time.

You opened the door ajar, just in case it was someone who wanted to steal any of the maybe four things you'd managed to unpack. A tall darker skinned man looked down at you, "Yes?"

"Hi ma'am, I'm Agent Morgan and this is Dr. Reid, we're with the FBI," he introduced himself, holding up his credentials for you to peek at. You opened the door the rest of the way, glancing at the second tall man standing in your door way. He had messy hair just below his ears and was wearing a collared shirt with two black pens tucked into the pocket over his chest, he was cute. He pulled his lips into a tight line and held his hand up in a wave.

Spencer's eyes glanced down your body briefly. He has certainly seen some strange outfits when people answer their doors but none that made his skin run hot like this.

You wore a baby blue tank top and grey adidas shorts, he could see a small sliver of skin between your two garments but that's not what caught his eye. You had your nipples pierced.

Now, Spencer really didn't mean to stare but they were right there. The air of your apartment was clearly chilly given how your nipples pressed against the fabric. He could see the little studs on either side of your hardened nipples and he felt like a Victorian boy seeing an ankle for the first time.

"Oh no, you found me," you joked, laughing at yourself lightly. They didn't laugh. Your smile dropped, "I'm joking. Uh, come in, please." You stood aside, letting the two men into your basically bare apartment.

"Just move in?" Morgan asked, looking around your small living room.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I'm starting a new job in a week," You replied, trying to make small talk. "What exactly are you here for?"

"There was a murder in the apartment across from yours," Dr. Reid said abruptly, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your eyes were blown wide, "What?"

"Young woman like you, stabbed to death-"

"Reid," Morgan warned, shaking his head softly at the younger man.

"Shit, that sucks," you replied, glancing between the two men. "I assume you're talking to me because I live close by, huh?"

"It's just procedure," Morgan replied. "Can you tell me where you were around 11pm last night?"

"Uh, yeah. I was here, I had a lot to unpack, you know?" You replied honestly, wondering how you didn't hear that someone was being murdered across the hall.

"And you didn't hear anything?" Morgan asked, eyebrows furrowed as he stood to face you.

"No, no I honestly didn't. I had my headphones on while I was unpacking, I went to bed around midnight." Were you incriminating yourself? Maybe you should make some friends so you don't get caught up in this kind of stuff.

"The UnSub we're looking for is white male, mid 20s to 30s, seems out of place. Have you seen anyone like that around?" Dr. Reid asked.

"No, I mean, I just moved here, I don't know anyone. I haven't left my apartment since I got here," you replied, looking Dr. Reid in the eye. You caught him glancing down at your boobs for a moment before he caught himself, clearing his throat.

It was only then that you realised what you were wearing. Fuck. Two FBI agents, one of whom was your type to a T came to question you about a murder and your nipples were gazing upon the world like a deer in headlights.

You quickly crossed your arms across your chest before scampering across the room to grab your hoodie off your couch. You pulled it over your head before staring at the two men awkwardly, your skin feeling hot.

"I'm sorry about... my attire, I didn't even-"

Morgan smiled, chucking softly, "Please, this is your home, sweetheart." Morgan glanced at Spencer, who suddenly found the ceiling utterly fascinating. "You mind if I have a look around? We suspect he used the fire escape."

"Of course, yeah. You can see it from the bedroom," you replied, being left alone with the cute doctor. "You seem young to be a doctor," you said softly, trying to make small talk.

"Scarring, tearing and nerve damage is possible when you get your," he coughed, "nipples pierced... infections and bleeding are also common," he quickly said, lips pulled into a tight line.

"Mm, cute and smart... well, I've had them for five years so... I think I'm safe, Dr. Reid," you replied with a chuckle.

"Spencer," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Spencer, it's my name. Spencer Reid," he said, hands clutched tightly around the strap of his leather satchel.

"Spencer," you smiled, "I'm Y/N."

"Well, we better get out of your hair," Morgan returned from your room, glancing between you and Spencer for a moment. "Let's go, Reid."

You opened the door for them, Morgan thanked you as he left and started down the hall to the elevator. Spencer paused for a moment, glancing at you for briefly before walking out the door.

"Hey," you called softly. Spencer spun around to look at you and you definitely couldn't let him escape without your number. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uh, girlfriend? I, uhm-"

"He doesn't!" Morgan called from down the hall, making you smile.

"You don't know that!" Spencer retorted, making a face at Morgan who was grinning.

"So... you do?" You asked.

"...No, I don't." He muttered.

"Okay, well," you laughed, plucking the pen from the pocket of Spencer's shirt. "Call me sometime," you scribbled your name and number with a little heart onto a scrap piece of paper that once wrapped your toaster.

"Yes... Okay, I will," he replied nervously, holding your number in his hands gently. He glanced at it, a smile beaming across his handsome face.

"You, uh, might wanna go before your partner loses it," you giggled after a beat. Spencer muttered a quick 'oh' before walking quickly toward the elevators.

"Bye," Spencer said softly, waving at you with a little smile.

"Bye, Dr. Reid!"

Spencer stepped into the elevator with Morgan, the silence palpable in the tiny mental container.

"'Bye, Dr. Reid~'," Morgan raised his voice an octave, planning to tease Spencer relentlessly and text the group chat as soon as they got to the car.

"Shut up!"

reblog and follow me :3 also come chat, i love to yap.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover - dbf!hotch x reader

for @hotchnerholic who requested: your dad went out of town so you’re staying at aaron’s place because you don’t like being alone <3

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Honey?” a warm voice whispered in your ear, and a hand shook your shoulder softly.

Your eyes were way too heavy for you to care, so you buried your head further in the sofa cushions and tried to fall back asleep.

The voice insisted. “Sweetie? Let me take you to bed.”

“Let me take you to bed.”

The Aaron Hotchner just offered to take you to bed and you were sleeping?

Using your hand to cover up a yawn, you opened your eyes and found his beautiful brown ones already looking at you. You blinked at him slowly as if you were a cat trying to communicate that you loved him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the side of your face. “Your back is gonna hurt in the morning if you spend the night on the couch.”

“Yeah…I…I fell asleep watching TV.”

“It’s admiring that you managed to fall asleep while a thriller is playing,” he joked, and offered you a pretty smile.

You turned your head towards the TV, and caught a glimpse of a guy in a mask sharpening a knife. “Now that is exactly the reason why I didn’t wanna stay home alone.”

Aaron chuckled and placed his hand on top of yours. “You’re safe here.”

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he was this close to you, so you tried to change the subject.

“I fell asleep while watching Shrek. I guess the thriller started after that.”

“Hm…You wanna watch it with me? Or do you wanna go to bed?”

Yes to the bed option, but only if it’s with you, you thought. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen so watching a movie with him was the next best thing.

“Sure, let’s watch it.” You smiled, and he smiled back. “Only, I’m warning you, I get scared very easily.”

“You don’t say.”

“Don’t make fun.” You pointed at his face.

“I would never,” he said, and leaned back on the couch stretching out his arm.

The space next to him looked so inviting. You could just curl up in his arms and not worry about anything else.

The fact that you were staying at his house was heavenly in the first place. But watching a movie with him? That was beyond your wildest dreams. You expected him to be gone all day at work. This? This felt like staying over at your boyfriend’s house and having a movie night with him.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I have popcorn.”

“Oh…yes please!”

You followed him to the kitchen, and observed him while he was filling a big bowl with popcorn.

His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough for his forearms to drive you crazy. A man his age shouldn’t get this type of reactions from you, but he did anyway. As your father’s best friend he was forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to want him in secret.

“How was work?”

“Could’ve been better,” he sighed. And then he looked at you with a grin that made him more irresistible than you could’ve ever imagined. “But I have you here so it’s not too bad.”

What was breathing? “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe,” he said, and signaled you with a head movement to follow him back to the living room.

“I mean…you’re an FBI agent. Who would have been better for the job?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The movie had started for a while now, so it was hard to follow the plot. Not that you necessarily cared about it – the only thing that was occupying your head the entire time was Aaron sitting next to you, his cologne, and how your fingers brushed a couple of times while you were getting popcorn.

Zoned out as you were, a loud sound coming from the movie made your heart almost stop and you hid behind your hands with a squeal. “Shit!”

Things only got worse, as the killer on the screen seemed to be unstoppable, chasing one character after the other. You curled up in the corner of the couch, grabbing a cushion to protect yourself.

“Hey…” Aaron said, looking certainly amused. “Come here.”

Careful not to look too eager, you went close to him and let yourself into his embrace. His arm rested around your shoulders, and he pulled you in close enough for your head to rest against his.

“Better now?”

“Mhm…” you could only say, as your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear. “I won’t let him get to you.”

“Promise?” you whispered back and looked up at him.

“Promise,” he said and kissed your forehead.

part 2

[ddejavvu]

this is cheesy but when spencer and reader start getting more comfortable in their relationship and they exchange keys to each others places, reader starts going over while hes away. just to chill because she misses him or borrow something or get something she left. but then dhe notices his apartment is a little messy and he doesnt have a lot of food in the fridge.

the first time he comes home to a full fridge and clean apartment he's a little confused, but when he brings it up and she confesses hes just sooooo touched and appreciative.

the first time he comes home and shes asleep on the bed or couch or wherever he just MELTS. like an actual puddle on the floor kinda melting bc hes just so overwhelmed with love 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Spencer Reid is, quite possibly, the smartest motherfucker in the FBI. As an esteemed profiler, he notices right away that you've been in his apartment, from the post-it note grocery list sitting on the top of what's in his trash can, and a lack of dust over his kitchen counter like there typically is after he's gone on a case for a few days.

He spots 'donuts' on the list, and when he pulls the fridge open, lo and behold, there's a bag of mini chocolate donuts on the top shelf. He smiles to himself, giddily so, more than elated that you'd remembered an offhanded comment he'd made about liking them so much, especially when they're chilled.

He remembers everything anyone tells him, but people rarely stop to listen to his own words. So often it can be cast aside as nerd babble, so knowing that you'd picked up on the small tidbits of personal information he'd given you makes his seldom-fluttering heart do just that.

He feels a little bad that you'd stocked his fridge and ran, but he doesn't have to for long, because when he heads to the living room to drop his messenger bag there, and restock it with a different book, you're snoozing in his chair.

It's a recliner, one he'd splurged on so that late-night reading would be more comfortable. You've popped the footrest up, but your feet barely touch it, because you're curled up closer to the seat. Your head rests on one of the arms and is dangerously close to slipping off, so he kneels by the armrest, joints cracking.

His face hovers millimeters away from your own, your breath hitting his cheek and vice versa. He smooths a stray wisp of hair away from your face, leaning in to kiss the skin it had been covering.

"Hi, angel," He croons, keeping his voice as soft as humanly possible. He doesn't want to ruin this, whatever heavenly moment that the seldom-kind universe has decided to grant him.

Your lashes flutter at the feel of his lips on your skin, and you turn your face to lean into the touch you don't yet know is there. He can't help but laugh at the way you arch like a cat to be closer to him, and the breathy huffs fan out against your forehead.

His slender hand comes up to hover beneath your head, because when you worm closer to him, it slips off of the armrest. He holds your head up but you're finally starting to stir from the movement, and you lift it to blink groggily up at him.

"Spence?" You ask, like you're verifying his identity and not asking why he's home.

"That's me," He smiles, dimples puncturing his cheeks. His hair is slightly sloppy, frizzed and out of place from the day's hectic activities. At his confirmation you hum sleepily, resuming your cat-like activities by shutting your eyes again, leading with your nose as you nudge your face into his own. From the angle you're at his lips can only pucker to hit an awkward spot between your cheek and your nose, but the skin there is warm and soft from a facial mask he knows you used last night.

"Morning," You grumble, and he won't inform you that it's 7 at night.

"Hi, sweetheart." He croons, unable to stand up straight before you decide you want a hug. It means his butt hits the floor when you lunge for him, and he laughs as he tries maintaining an upright position.

"Oh- ah!" He laughs, eyes scrunching in a gleeful smile-turned-laugh when you knock into him. He cradles the back of your head, feeling you settle into his embrace like he's your new reclining chair.

"'Missed you, Spence." You mumble against the fabric of his jacket that's covering his shoulder. He curls his fingers into your hair at your admission, stroking briefly through the strands.

"I missed you too," He agrees, "I saw you bought me donuts."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I did." You recall, eyes already drooping again, "We can have some for- for dessert later."

"That sounds like a good plan," Spencer grins, but you can't see it where you're nestled into his shoulder. He's waiting for you to get up, not because he doesn't want to hug you anymore but because he wants to stand and move, but when you stay firmly in place he realizes you're sleeping again, and that there's no way he's getting off the floor in the meantime.

He could wake you, tell you it's time for a late dinner and ask you to work on the eggs so that he can chop up the add-ins for an omelet. He could corral you back into the chair and take the bed for himself, read for a bit after getting changed. He could do any number of things to make himself just a bit more comfortable, but instead he chooses to commit his butt to the floor, surely flattening it for all eternity. He scoots back carefully until his back is up against the couch, so that his less-than-perfect core strength isn't relied upon as much.

From there he rests, disinterested in using his phone and too far away from his bookshelf to read. But he finds just as much meaningful entertainment in counting the breaths that you release against his shoulder, as well as counting the different possessions of yours he can see scattered around his apartment.

Your shoes, one. Your water bottle, two. Your sweatshirt, three. Your snack, four. Your keys, perhaps the most meaningful possession of all, the spare that he'll never regret giving you, five.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Ghost Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: You were trying to move on with your life and clear your head about Spencer from a safe distance, but the whole plan goes out the window when you hear his screams.

Words: 5,8k (I went crazy).

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail, gun, violence, alcohol. the reader is wearing a dress, and is slightly injured (nothing serious, just a bruise). nightmares. hurt/comfort. so bittersweet. painter!reader. post prison reid. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm finally back! This chapter cost me quite a bit due to lack of time (I'm now officially a college student) and my obsession with making it raw, emotional, and coherent with everything that has happened to Spencer. Really, one of my biggest fears is falling into caricature and making it all seem very out of character, so again, I hope this makes sense to you.

You weren’t the type to go out partying. Nights spent under the haze of neon lights and thumping bass didn’t appeal to you—especially in a city like this one, where shadows stretched long and secrets whispered from every corner. You had your reasons, too. Spending time with an FBI agent who was far too eager to spill the sordid details of his cases left you carrying a permanent thread of suspicion, the kind that made you eye even the janitor’s mop bucket a little too long. But, despite all that, you knew there were moments when you had to relent. When your best friend practically dragged you from your own isolation, insisting on a night out, you could dust off an old dress, slip into heels that pinched just enough to remind you you were still human, and survive the night.

Tonight had been one of those moments.

As you stepped into your apartment, you closed the door carefully behind you, mindful not to wake your cat. The faint jingle of your keys hitting the small table near the door sounded unusually loud in the early morning stillness. The clock on the wall read half past three, and a wave of exhaustion began to creep in, though your mind was too restless to fully embrace it. You glanced toward the worn armchair in the corner, where your cat lay curled in a contented ball. She stirred briefly, opened one green eye, and then decided you weren’t worth the effort of waking up in that moment.

You let out a soft breath and looked around the room. Memories of the night played back in your head as you took off your shoes and went to the kitchen for a glass of water to make you feel a little alive again.

It had all started as an attempt by your friend to pull you out of the orbit of your own misery. “You need this,” she’d said earlier that evening, tugging you out of your chair and into the kind of outfit that made you glance at yourself twice in the mirror, unsure if you still recognized the person staring back.

“Just this time,” you’d agreed.

But, surprisingly, all the dancing and drinking in the bar had been weak against the power of your emotions. Maybe that was because you barely paid attention to the songs they played or the fact that you hadn't even touched the drinks the bartender served you. You had spent most of the night with your chin in your palm, staring into your glass and telling your friend how much you missed Spencer, how the silence in the hallway felt heavier now. And she listened to you patiently, even as the music boomed around you, offering soft, soothing words that you only half heard.

Now, in the stillness of your home, it felt a little foolish and even pathetic. You leaned against the counter, the cold granite grounding you. The sudden and soft shuffle of Mittens broke the silence, and you glanced down to see your cat staring up at you, her green eyes luminous in the dim light. She yawned, then rubbed against your leg, as if to remind you that you weren’t entirely alone. A pretty nice gesture.

You leaned down to scratch her behind the ears, and your thoughts went back to your neighbor. You thought about how he used to smile at you, just barely. You thought about the low timbre of his voice when he greeted you in the hallway, as if he wasn't used to never being heard. He always seemed to carry the weight of something unsaid, something you were afraid to ask. Maybe that's why you were so fascinated by him since the first day. Or maybe it's just because he never looked at you like you were trying too hard, not even on the rare nights you went out in a dress and heels.

As you straightened and turned toward the living room, your eyes caught the faint outline of his window through your own. The blinds were down, but the light was on. It was late, much later than usual for him. It tugged at something inside you, a curiosity laced with longing.

Your cat leapt onto the couch, curling into a soft ball of fur, and you sat beside her. Pulling a blanket over your legs, you let your gaze linger on his window. Was he pacing again, restless like you? He was thinking about what happened between you two yesterday? Could he be regretting everything?

You certainly didn’t know what possessed you, but your phone was in your hand before you could stop yourself and think more than a second about it.

Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was just the weight of wanting someone you couldn’t seem to reach, no matter how close you were. Maybe it was because he was supposed to be your nice and honest Spencer after all. But whatever it was, the message was already halfway typed before you could stop it.

“Are you awake?”

You stared at the screen for a moment, the question hanging there like a fragile thread, one tug away from unraveling everything. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips, the weight of the message sinking into your chest. With a shaky exhale, you pressed send and regretted it instantly.

But he didn’t respond. Not instantly.

You leaned back against the couch, letting your head tip against the cushion. The blanket pooled around your waist, your cat purring softly beside you, oblivious to your unease. You told yourself to stop looking, to let it go. Maybe he wasn’t near his phone. Maybe he’d seen it and didn’t know what to say. Or maybe—your stomach tightened—maybe he didn’t want to talk to you at all.

But the light in his room was still on. It has to mean something. Please let it mean something.

It felt completely ridiculous to fixate on that tiny detail, but you couldn’t help it. You kept wondering what he was doing in there. Was he working on something, hunched over a desk with his brows furrowed in concentration? Was he pacing the room, thinking of everything, just like you? Or was he simply lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, as lost in his thoughts as you were now?

The longer you stared, the more you started to imagine him there and wishing to be there like you used to do, running your fingers through his hair and just enjoying the silence. Now, you could almost see him, the faint silhouette of his figure moving behind the blinds, like a ghost that refused to stay hidden.

Your phone suddenly buzzed in your hand, and your breath caught, but it wasn’t him. Just a notification from some app you’d forgotten to turn off, and in that moment you hate it completely. You let out a shaky laugh, half at your own foolishness and half to fill the silence.

Outside, the city was starting to move and advance again. A car passed by, and its headlights cut through the darkness. In the distance, a siren wailed, high and short. It was a reminder of how small you were in the big picture, of how trivial your problems might seem compared to everyone else's. But still, your eyes drifted back to his window, making that the biggest problem in the world.

The light hadn’t flickered again, but it was steady, constant. You told yourself to stop watching, to turn off your own light, and just continue your way to your bed. But something rooted you there, some stubborn hope that he’d notice you watching, or that he’d respond to your message, even with something small.

But yet, nothing came, and all your hope started to disappear slowly.

Maybe it was time to let him go, to stop acting like a lovesick puppy following in his footsteps, and most of all, to stop trying to give him a coherent reason for being distant. Maybe you weren't welcome in his life anymore. Maybe the gun incident was just what he would do for any neighbor he thought was in danger. Maybe you weren't as important as you thought you were.

After a moment, you decided it was best to go to bed, so you pulled the blanket up to your chin, the weight of the day slowly slipping away. But then it began. At first it was so faint you might have thought it was part of your imagination, just a murmur, a low sound carried by the stillness of the night. But it didn't fade. It grew louder, sharp, jagged, and unmistakable. A choked scream broke the silence of your apartment, raw and desperate, like someone drowning in their own breath.

Your heart jolted in your chest. The sound was different this time—familiar, but more frantic. It was a chorus of broken sobs and harsh, muffled shouts, followed by a sound you couldn’t quite place but which churned something so dark in your stomach.

And then, the scream.

It wasn’t just a noise. It was a cry born of suffering, guttural and aching, twisting in ways that made your blood run cold. Your eyes snapped open, wide and alert, and your body froze in place. The world around you seemed to fade, the hum of the city outside distant, irrelevant. There was only that sound. That scream.

It came again. Another strangled, desperate cry echoed through the walls. And this time, you knew.

Spencer.

Without thinking, you grabbed your keys from the bedside table and moved quickly toward the door. You weren’t sure why you were doing it, why you were stepping into the unknown at this hour, but it felt like the only thing to do to make sure he was okay. You’d heard him through the tiny walls before—quiet murmurs, little things, but nothing like this. This felt like he was caught in something bigger, something that worried you immensely.

The hallway was dark, empty, and your footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence to wake up all the neighbors. Every sound felt amplified, like the whole apartment was holding its breath with you. You didn’t knock. You didn’t stop to think. You just shoved the key into the lock, the cold metal pressing into your palm as you twisted it, your breath caught in your throat.

You stepped inside.

The apartment was bathed in the pale glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor. Everything felt unnervingly still, too still, the silence almost suffocating in its weight, amplifying every sound that dared break it. His door was slightly ajar, the sliver of light spilling out like a silent invitation, beckoning you in. Drawn by the echoes of his suffering, you moved toward his bedroom, your body moving almost on instinct. The door opened just wide enough to allow you a glimpse.

What you saw made your heart stutter in your chest.

Spencer was tangled in his sheets, his body thrashing violently beneath them, his movements frantic and desperate as if he were trying to escape some invisible force. His face was contorted in agony, his brow furrowed so tightly it seemed the pain had etched itself into his very skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged breaths, the effort so intense it seemed to burn through him, his body quivering with every painful inhalation. He was caught in the grip of some terrible nightmare, one so vicious it stole his ability to breathe, to think, to fight.

You could see the whiteness of his knuckles, his fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the bed, the skin stretched taut and trembling with the strain. His whole body was rigid, muscles locked in a battle against the unseen terrors his mind had conjured. Tears streaked down his face, mingling with the sweat that had gathered along his brow, the rawness of his cries reverberating in the stillness, thickening the air around you.

“Spencer?” You whispered, barely recognizing your own voice as it trembled in the room. You reached toward him, your heart pounding in your chest, but he didn’t respond. He was lost—completely lost—in whatever dark place his mind had pulled him into, and you didn’t know what to do. “Spencer, wake up,” you tried again, your voice desperate, thick with the urgency of the situation.

His eyes were squeezed shut, the lines of his face tight with tension, his lips trembling with the words that came next, words broken and heavy with pain.

“Please…don’t do it…” he gasped, his voice breaking on the words, filled with so much pain that it made your chest tighten. His hands reached out, grasping at the empty air in frantic, helpless motions. Like he was trying to hold onto something—anything—that could pull him out of the darkness.

You felt the heaviness of his plea in your bones. The torment in his voice was unbearable.

“No, no, no…” he whispered, the words barely audible, but they hit you with the weight of something deep, something far beyond just a nightmare. He was begging, pleading for something that you couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. His body jerked, still trying to pull away from something that wasn’t really there. “Leave me, please, leave me.”

“Spencer!” You called again, louder this time, your hand on his shoulder, your voice trembling with urgency. You shook him, trying to pull him back from wherever his mind had taken him.

In the heat of your panic, you thought it was the right thing to do, thought you could snap him out of it. You thought you could reach him.

But then, in an instant, everything went wrong.

The second your hand touched his shoulder, his body jerked violently, more forceful than before, and without warning, his fist shot out. It connected with your left cheek with such brutal force that your head snapped back, the sting of the blow exploding across your face. For a moment, everything went dark, the pain so sudden and sharp that it left you breathless and disoriented, your body instinctively reeling from the shock. A whimper escaped your throat involuntarily, as the world around you tilted, your vision blurring as you pressed your hand to your cheek, the sting still radiating across your skin.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He continued to thrash beneath the sheets, his body trembling violently, his cries still trapped in that nightmare. You gasped for air, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. You’d been trying to help, trying to pull him from his terror—and instead, you’d been struck.

For a heartbeat, there was only the harsh rhythm of your breathing. And then, Spencer’s eyes snapped open, wide and wild, and it was as if the world around him collapsed into focus. His breath hitched in his throat, still shallow, but the frantic terror began to give way to confusion. His eyes flickered across the room, distant and unfocused, and then they landed on you.

In that instant, everything seemed to slow. He blinked, his eyes glazing over in disbelief as they locked on your face, lingering for a moment on the red mark blooming on your cheek. His lips parted, his voice catching in his throat, his expression morphing from confusion to something far worse—horror.

“Oh my God…” He whispered, his voice trembling with fear and guilt, his whole body shaking. “Oh my God—did I—?”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to reassure him, not in that moment.

He pushed himself up from the bed, his body unsteady, shaky with the tremors of both fear and guilt. His eyes never left your face, locked onto the evidence of his panic etched across your skin. “No. No, no, no,” he stammered, his words coming faster, more frantic, as if trying to deny the reality of what had just happened. “I hit you—I—”

“Spencer,” you started, but your voice was soft, almost hesitant, the lingering sting in your cheek making it hard to speak.

He didn’t hear you. He was already out of bed, nearly tripping over himself as he scrambled toward you. His hands hovered in the air, trembling with the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t mean to! I swear! I—I didn’t know—” His voice cracked, and his hands hovered near your face, but he didn’t touch you, not yet, too afraid that his very presence would cause you more harm. His eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the ache in your chest. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

But he wasn’t listening. He backed away from you, running a shaky hand through his hair, pacing in agitation, his whole body wracked with guilt. “No, it’s not okay. I—” His voice broke, the words dying in his throat.

You stepped closer to him, ignoring the throbbing in your cheek, reaching out to take his hand, hoping that this simple touch might anchor him in the midst of his storm. At first, he flinched, his body reacting to the contact as though it burned, but then he froze, and his gaze locked with yours.

“Listen to me, please,” you said softly, gently forcing him to meet your eyes, to hold your gaze. His bloodshot eyes were filled with shame, his face a mask of regret. “Look at me. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

His brow furrowed, his gaze flicking to your cheek once more, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re not okay. I can see it—I did that.” His hands trembled as he pointed to the mark on your skin. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You were having a nightmare,” you interrupted gently, your voice tender, yet firm. “You didn’t know what you were doing. It wasn’t your fault…I shouldn’t have touched you like that when you were in that state.”

“No, it’s all in me…I’m the one who did this.” He choked on his own words, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to break free. “I’m the reason you’re hurting.”

You felt the weight of his guilt like a crushing force. It felt suffocating, like the walls around him were closing in, and you couldn’t stand seeing him like this—lost in his own self-loathing. You wanted to reach him, to show him that it wasn’t his fault, that his nightmare had taken hold of him, not his own hands.

But it wasn’t just the nightmare that had gripped him; it was the way he saw himself now. A man who hurt others without meaning to, a man who couldn’t escape the damage he had caused. You had been there before, watching him battle his inner demons, and you knew how much this guilt could eat away at him if left unchecked.

You watched him struggle, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his head bowed like he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. The weight of his guilt was tangible, suffocating, and you had to do something—anything—to stop it from consuming him.

“If it were me,” you murmured, searching his face, “if I had been the one thrashing, if I had been the one to hit you, would you be standing here telling me I was a terrible person?”

Spencer blinked. His lips parted, his breath shaky, and you could see the internal war waging behind his eyes.

“I—” He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching in yours. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what’s inside my head. I know what I’ve seen, and I—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, his entire body shuddering. “I don’t trust myself not to hurt people.”

That was the most honest thing he'd said to you in three months, and he instantly regretted it. The look in your eyes says too much, and almost all was pity.

“That’s not fair,” you told him, voice steady. “And you know it.”

He didn’t respond. He can’t because you were right.

Instead, he turned abruptly, running a shaking hand through his hair, muttering, “Wait here. Just—just stay.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the kitchen. You heard the faint sound of running water, the clink of something being opened, and then the hurried shuffle of his footsteps as he returned, a small hand towel in one hand and a plastic bag filled with ice in the other.

Without a word, Spencer knelt in front of you, his movements careful, deliberate, as if afraid you might flinch. He gently wrapped the ice in the towel, his hands trembling slightly, and looked up at you, his expression unreadable.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Slowly, he raised the makeshift ice pack to your cheek, his movements tender, almost hesitant, as though he feared he might hurt you again. The coolness of the ice was a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand, which hovered just beneath your jaw, steadying you.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“No,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

He exhaled shakily, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, but his gaze remained fixed on your face. His thumb brushed against your skin absentmindedly, just below where the ice rested, and the gentleness of the touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“God,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s really not that bad.” You spoke softly, trying to cut through his panic. “If I’m being honest, Mittens has scratched me more times than I can count.” You lifted your arm, showing the faint, nearly invisible white lines crisscrossing your skin. “She’s a little terror sometimes, but I love her anyway.”

His eyes flickered to the marks, but the tension in his expression didn’t ease. His brows furrowed, the crease between them deepening with uncertainty. “But that’s different,” he murmured, his voice hesitant, like he was afraid to argue but couldn’t stop himself. “A cat scratching you isn’t the same as—” He swallowed hard. “As hitting you.”

You smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more weight than it should—small, knowing, resigned. “It is the same,” you said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Because I love her no matter what she does by accident. And I…”

The words got stuck in your throat. I love you.

But you couldn’t say them. Not now. Not when he was looking at you like he was the monster under your bed, the thing you should fear, when all you could see was the boy who had once held your hand in the dark just to make sure you weren’t afraid.

You just watched him.

Watched the way his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter. Watched the way his hands still trembled, despite his best efforts. Watched the way his brows furrowed in that deep, pained way that made your chest ache.

And then, in the silence, you spoke.

“You do realize that when we used to sleep together, I kicked you, like…constantly, right?”

That startled him. His eyes widened, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What?”

A small, tired smile ghosted across your lips. “You don’t complain much, but I know I do. I kick in my sleep. I shift around. I always end up tangled in the blankets, stealing all the covers.” You let out a soft, almost self-conscious chuckle. “There was one night you woke up because I kneed you in the ribs. Hard.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and you saw it—the moment he obviously remembered.

His lips parted, his breath hitching slightly. “You—yeah.” His voice was barely audible, but it had lost some of its sharp edges. “You kicked me so hard I nearly fell off the bed.”

You nodded. “And did you get mad at me?”

His brows furrowed. “Of course not. You were asleep.”

“Exactly.” You tilted your head, ignoring the way the ice sent another sharp pulse of cold through your skin. “I never meant to hurt you, but I still did. Just like you never meant to hurt me.”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes flicking between yours, something raw and hesitant creeping into his expression.

“It’s different,” he said, but the conviction in his voice was weaker now.

“Is it?” you challenged softly. “I know you, Spencer. I know who you are.”

Oh no, you didn’t know him. Not really. Not anymore.

His breath shuddered, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for something—proof, maybe, or forgiveness. Maybe both.

Slowly, carefully, you reached for him again, this time taking his hand in both of yours. He let you. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re not a violent person,” you whispered. “You are not the things that have happened to you years ago. You are not the things you’ve had to do to see in your work. You are not the nightmares that try to tell you otherwise.”

His fingers twitched beneath yours, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly.

For the first time since he had woken up, his shoulders sagged—just slightly, but enough for you to see the weight of his guilt beginning to lift, piece by piece. Even though he knew that if you knew what had happened in the last three months, those words would not have come out of your mouth.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered, like a prayer.

“I know,” you whispered back. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them.

Without thinking, your fingers lifted, brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. The warmth of his skin seeped into your fingertips, grounding you both. You had done this before—when the weight of the world had pressed too heavily on his shoulders, when the ghosts in his mind grew too loud to ignore. You had kissed his tears away in the past, stolen moments of comfort from the chaos.

And so, you did it again.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips gently against the corner of his eye, where a fresh tear lingered. The warmth of his skin felt almost feverish beneath your touch, as though his entire body was caught in the grip of a storm. Your lips brushed the salty trail of his tear, and another followed almost instantly. Without thinking, you kissed it too, your lips lingering a moment longer, offering a tenderness that neither of you had allowed yourselves in so long. The sweetness of the moment almost made you forget the ache in your chest and the bruise on your cheek.

He shuddered beneath your touch, a sharp breath catching in his throat. You felt the tension ripple through him, the way he stiffened for just a second—caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to collapse into you.

And then, as if it were inevitable, your lips brushed against his, just a breath away. You could feel the heat of his skin, the pulse of his heartbeat under your fingers. You were so close, closer than you’d been in so long, closer than you’d dared to let yourself believe was possible.

Your heart pounded. His did too.

His lashes fluttered, his gaze locked onto yours, searching, hesitant.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. The words were barely audible, spoken like they might break if said any louder. “Tell me to get away from you.”

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

And for a fleeting second, he was just a boy, and you were just the girl next door. No past, no pain, no history—just this.

Or maybe not.

The reality crashed back in, and all the things you didn’t know came back to his mind.

The ice pack in his hand had started to burn from how tightly he was gripping it, and the cold sting jolted him back to the truth he was trying so hard to ignore. His gaze darted to the bruise on your cheek, and in an instant, everything shifted.

He wasn’t just a boy.

He was an ex-convict. Someone dangerous. Someone broken. A liar.

And the only thing he could give the girl next door was more pain.

Spencer flinched as though struck, his entire body going rigid as he ripped himself away from you. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest rising and falling too fast, as if he were surfacing from deep water. The ice pack slipped slightly in his grip, like it had suddenly become too heavy to hold.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice trembling, the words choked with anguish. His eyes darted to the mark on your cheek, his expression twisted with guilt. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have even—God, what am I doing?”

“Wait—” You reached for him again, but he was already retreating, shaking his head in frantic, jerky motions.

“No,” he muttered, his voice fraying at the edges. “No, I can’t—I shouldn’t even be near you.” His fingers tightened around the ice pack like it was a lifeline, like it could somehow build a wall between you. “You shouldn’t let me touch you. Not after what I just did. What I did yesterday. What I might do.”

“You were dreaming,” you tried again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, but there was no anger in it. Just raw, unfiltered pain. His whole body seemed to sag under the weight of it. He turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It doesn’t matter why it happened. What matters is that it did. I hurt you.”

He did it even when he was so afraid that someone else would do it.

“It was an accident.”

“But it was me.” His voice rose in despair, his hands clenching at his sides. “I did it. My hands. I can’t—” He gestured wildly at your cheek, his breath hitching. “I can’t undo that.”

You didn't say anything.

The room felt impossibly small, as if the walls were closing in with every passing second. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of something neither of you had the strength to name. The air was thick with the faint scent of coffee—bitter, stale, clinging to the space around you. Your gaze drifted past him, landing on the nightstand beside his bed.

Coffee cups. So many of them.

You didn’t count them, but the number didn’t matter. It was the stains at the bottom that told the real story—the dark rings of dried coffee, layer upon layer, marking the passage of sleepless nights. Some of the cups were only half-empty, abandoned mid-drink, as if exhaustion had finally won for a brief moment before panic dragged him back into consciousness. Others were drained completely, the last dregs of caffeine clinging stubbornly, as if trying to hold on to something already lost.

It wasn’t just coffee, though.

Books stacked haphazardly, some opened and left facedown, pages creased from where his shaking hands had clutched them too tightly. Papers covered in his cramped, hurried handwriting, words scrawled over and over as though writing them down might keep the memories from slipping through the cracks. A pen, its tip snapped, the ink dried into a small, angry blotch on a forgotten page.

And then, at the edge of it all, the only thing untouched—the single glass of water, still full, still waiting. Like it had been set aside with the intention of being drunk but never was. Because he hadn’t stopped long enough to remember he needed it, even with his wonderful memory.

He had been trying not to sleep.

The realization struck like a blade slipping between your ribs, slow and deliberate, the pain blooming in your chest before you had time to brace for it. You inhaled sharply, the sound barely audible over the steady hum of your own heartbeat. When you looked back at him, you saw it—the exhaustion carved into his features like cracks in porcelain, the dark circles beneath his eyes deep enough to tell their own stories. His hands were trembling, his fingers curled into fists at his sides as if he were trying to hold himself together, piece by piece, before he shattered completely.

This wasn’t just sleeplessness. This was obsession. This was someone running from something, from himself.

And you hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Spencer…” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but everything felt too small, too inadequate for the storm raging inside him. “What’s going on with you?”

He flinched, like you’d struck him, but didn’t answer. His fingers curled around the ice pack again, knuckles white with tension. His jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt.

You stepped closer, your heart hammering in your chest, but you didn’t move to touch him. Not yet. Not until he let you in. “This isn’t just about tonight, is it?”

Still, nothing. No answer, no hint of recognition. His eyes remained fixed somewhere just beyond you, a million miles away, a stranger in his own skin.

You tried again, your voice softer this time, as though the gentleness might coax him out of his silence. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

That got a reaction. His gaze flickered to you, but only for a second, before he tore it away, staring somewhere over your shoulder like he could pretend he wasn’t here at all. His silence spoke volumes.

Your chest ached. “Spence.”

“I can handle it,” he murmured, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“You’re not handling it,” you countered softly. “You’re barely holding yourself together.”

His lips twisted into something bitter, the words tasting like acid as they spilled out. “That’s nothing new.”

The bitterness in his tone made your stomach twist. You took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Talk to me,” you pleaded, voice gentle but firm. “Please. Whatever it is—whatever’s been keeping you up at night, whatever’s making you pull away—I want to know.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t.”

“I do.”

“No, you really don’t.” His voice cracked, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were haunted. “Because if you knew—if you really knew—you wouldn’t be standing here.”

Your heart stopped.

“What does that mean?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He didn't answer, he just kept looking at you like you were made of glass, as if one wrong word would break you entirely. But that wasn’t it, was it? No—there was something deeper, something raw and frayed at the edges, something desperate.

He wasn’t looking at you like you might break.

He was looking at you like he might.

Then you understand something: Spencer Reid wasn’t someone to be afraid of, because he was afraid.

Just like you had been since he left you in his bed three months ago, with a promise that felt more like a lie with every passing day.

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: I finally made this! So send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW  SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.  

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.” 

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text. 

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame. 

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress. 

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk. 

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation. 

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble. 

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine. 

“Cash or charge?” 

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement. 

“400 euros.” 

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it. 

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room. 

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself. 

The golden door opens after a moment. 

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips. 

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand. 

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.” 

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody. 

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him. 

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding. 

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she  opens the book and pushes it towards him. 

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page. 

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page. 

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman. 

“This is Almond Blossom.” 

He turns the page. 

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous 

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work. 

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.” 

He braces himself as he turns the page. 

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. 

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.” 

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.” 

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans. 

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you. 

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity. 

The door opens. Pieter appears. 

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room. 

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing. 

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you. 

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate. 

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?” 

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.” 

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason. 

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation. 

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted. 

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery. 

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat. 

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. 

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear. 

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins. 

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you” 

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs. 

“Y-yes,” he huffs. 

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song. 

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity. 

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others. 

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting. 

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair. 

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his. 

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast. 

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you. 

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans. 

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands. 

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman. 

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client. 

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements. 

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.” 

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds. 

You got, you got the cinema

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat. 

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes. 

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays. 

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers. 

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs. 

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him. 

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly. 

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door. 

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.  

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth. 

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you. 

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen. 

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile. 

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen. 

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 1)

Masterlist No choice TW: Neglect, mentions of blood, mental illness

10 days later...

"So who is she?", Duke asks.

"She's a criminal now." Tim replies, he gets up just to drink a beer.

"No she isn't" Jason retorts.

"Then what is she?" Duke asks.

"She's a child, or should I say was a child", Jason interjects.

"She's just being temperamental and probably just throwing a tantrum." Damian jibes.

"She killed all yakuza leaders with a katana," Jason retorts.

"She's definitely not Bruce's child, because there's no way that Bruce could do that." Duke jokes.

"She is. I took a paternity test." Bruce replies.

"She's getting smarter and better. She was supposed to be in the fortress where we keep the people who are too mentally insane to go to Arkham." Cassandra adds.

"I checked the security cameras of all the places she's been in and she has the ability to manipulate a person in to doing her malicious acts. Must be why she's able to escape every time by using someone else for her bidding. " Tim reveals.

Asylum, 10/11/2017,

"Hello, my name is chief Lawson, FBI. I'm here to ask you where you hid the bodies."

"Rotting apples with wasps feasting. Brown bananas with flies retreating. A fox in the night is ripping black bin bags open. Cats are eating a chicken casket after Sunday dinner. A white owl is gobbling a slaughtered mouse, happy, sitting on the evening fence. The brown rat is running for the bushes after stealing bread. A giant cow jawbone is found in the dirty ground. The tired young man died on the motorway bridge and was found. Zombied humans are eating out of plastic bins. Death is everywhere! Take a look inside – don’t be ignorant about what you find." She sings but keeps her back faced to the FBI.

"You're not really helping here lady." Lawson said.

"It's in the song, but if you don't listen then I can't help you." Eurus said.

She starts to stand up and go towards the glass.

"Step forward and touch the glass officer." Eurus feints.

"No, you give me answers lady."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? This is bullet-proof glass sweetheart." Eurus replies, "I'll touch it if you want."

The officer steps forward and touches the glass on for her to grab his neck and choke him to death.

End of recording...

"Lawson was supposed to be one of the best FBI detectives." Bruce says.

"He was. She's evolving and the longer we let her evolve, the more people will die." Stephanie adds.

"Why would she do this?" Bruce wonders

10 years ago...

Love can come from many forms and languages. It follows the same rules with hate, negligence, toxicity, and jealousy. It may not be shown all in one go, so it will gradually grow until it could eat you alive whole. Let's list what each has demonstrated.

Unintentional negligence: Bruce proves as a simple embodiment of this action. He found you to be insignificant and mediocre. When really your true colours were just about to shine.

Negligence based on superiority: Dick has quite the experience in that area. He always thought that people would look up to him and he would be the role model of the family. He never meant for his negligence to go as far.

Love relying on sufferings: Jason truly knew how broken you were and wanted to fix it. It took him too long to realise that you may be able to fix and broken mirror, but it would never be as it was.

Hate relying on significance: Tim is the obvious answer since he never truly cared for you. Until now. He hated the fact on how you were so 'naive' and 'helpless', that you don't deserve to live like them.

Hate and jealousy based on blood: Since you were the child of a common whore, Damian thinks of you as a whore and never a Wayne. He has a perfect assassin of a mother and a rich vigilante for a father to add up. You on the other hand, have nothing, and are nothing to him.

Toxic and fake interest: All the girls, Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie has a bond with you. They pretend to be interested and all ears when they really plan to hurt you and shut you up. They'd do anything just for you to back off. It was never true with them.

Love of a sibling and of keen interest: Duke has always wanted a sister who was normal. So far he assumes that you're the closest thing to normal that wasn't as fake as Cassandra, talkative as Steph, or as busy as Barbara. He understands your pain and wants to be the sibling you never had.

Present...

Each had their own description of their 'bond' with you. But things have changed, they changed. Why wouldn't you wanna go home for them?

Don't you see how much they treasure you now?

Come home little robin.

A/N: I kinda like this chapter because I'm basing it off from the BBC Sherlock Holmes Series and I hope you'd like it!

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[starkeven]

first writing ever <3 this is a quick os, maybe will turn it into a series later.

psychologist!reader x fbi agent!rafe cameron.

warning : mention of death, HEAVY smut, mention of argument, p in v, unprotected sex, uniform kink, consumption of alcohol, slight degradation dom!ready x sub!rafe for like 3 seconds before switching, use of petnames + insults, thigh riding, restraining at some point. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE. english isn't my first language so sorry if this is badly done.

Rafe knew he messed up the moment he walked in, late again. He didn't need to see you to know—he could already feel it. When he opened the door and saw the glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched, it confirmed everything. You never drank alone unless he had really screwed up. Red wine meant trouble, and tonight, he knew he was in deep.

Lately, things had been rough on both of you. Rafe was always working, consumed by a case that seemed never-ending. It had taken over his life, and he often found himself wondering if they'd ever catch the bastard. It was a cat-and-mouse game, with the guy always two steps ahead—shattering families, killing girls. Always, girls. Each new victim weighed heavily on him, and it was starting to tear at the seams of your relationship. The distance between you grew wider with every late night and every unanswered call.

That’s when Rafe became fiercely protective of you. The idea of you wandering alone at night made his skin crawl. You fit the exact profile of the girls this killer preyed on, and the thought of something happening to you drove him mad. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone getting near his sweet, innocent girl, so he tried to keep you close, refusing to let you go out. Not that you ever listened. You hated being cooped up, and the more he tightened his grip, the more you pushed back.

Rafe took a deep breath, trying to summon the patience to finally step inside. He didn't even bother taking his shoes off as he slowly pushed the door open. That's when he saw you-just as he expected, a glass of wine in hand.

You sat there, glasses up your nose, wearing nothing but your work shirt, unbuttoned, the soft fabric falling open to reveal the curve of your breasts, sending a shiver down his spine. Your bottoms were carelessly tossed a few meters away. He could feel the tension radiating off you even before you looked his way.

But you didn't even look at him. He raised an eyebrow, feeling the weight of your silence. “ Hello, ” he muttered, his voice low. No response. You didn't even flinch. He sighed, already defeated, and walked over to the couch, sitting next to you. His eyes flicked to the TV, then to you, and inevitably, to your exposed chest.

For a moment, he wondered if you did it on purpose— sitting there like that, with your shirt barely hanging on, hair tousled, panties on display, and your breasts visible only for him. It was the kind of sight that would drive him insane, and he knew you were aware of that. His suit suddenly felt too tight as the thought sank in, desire and frustration mixing dangerously in his mind.

You sat there, your anger barely contained beneath your calm exterior. Did you put yourself in such a suggestive position realizing what it would do to him? Maybe. Even if you were angry at how he constantly came home late, how he tried to control everything, and how he barely talked to you anymore—you couldn’t ignore the fact that you were also needy. You missed him. He barely touched you these days, too consumed by work or exhaustion to give you the attention you craved.

Tonight felt different, though. You both had the day off tomorrow, meaning no early alarms, no rushing to sleep. The entire night stretched ahead of you, and for once, it felt like there was space to reconnect. Even if you were mad, there was an undeniable part of you that wanted him —needed him — just as much as you were angry at him. And by the way he kept glancing at you, you could tell the tension between you wasn’t lost on him either.

You couldn’t help but glance down, noticing the obvious restrain in his pants. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips—he didn’t even bother to hide it. Yet, here he was, pretending like he didn’t care, eyes fixed on the TV as if he wasn’t completely distracted by you. You watched him for a moment longer, taking in the way his suit clung to him, crisp and sharp, the perfect contrast to the messy situation between you two. He looked undeniably hot, and it drove you crazy.

You couldn't hold back anymore. Stretching out slightly, your breasts fully revealed themselves to him, and you watched as his gaze darkened instantly. He didn't need any more of a signal to understand. You could see how he braced himself, how his eyes locked onto your chest, and just as his hand extended toward you, you slapped it away.

“ No touching,” you warned, your voice low, passing a hand over your hardened nipple. “ See what you do to me? How ignored l've been feeling? ”

The frustration was clear in your tone, but so was the need. You weren't going to make it easy for him-not after all the nights you'd spent feeling invisible, desperate for his attention. Now, it was his turn to feel just as needy.

And needy he felt, especially when you straddled him, your body pressing against his as if taunting him. His hands hovered in the air, waiting for permission he wasn't used to asking for. Normally, he was the one in charge, the one who set the pace. But tonight felt different-like everything had shifted.

‘ Do you know how many nights I had to do this myself? ’ you whispered, your voice low, a playful pout on your lips as you teased him, your hips pressing ever so slightly against his hardness. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched, desperate for your touch yet unable to move, completely at your mercy. The power dynamic had changed, and it thrilled you both.

You raised an eyebrow at his silence, a smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted your hips slightly, sliding your panties off with deliberate ease. The cool air hit your skin just as you settled your wet cunt against his clothed thigh, the friction making him groan softly.

‘ Do you want me to show you? ’ you teased, your voice a dangerous whisper as you watched him. He nodded instinctively, but that wasn't enough. You needed more-needed him to say it. Your fingers trailed up his lips, teasing the edge of his mouth before slipping between them, pressing against his tongue. ‘ Words,’ you commanded softly, your eyes dark with expectation.

‘ Y-yes,’ he mumbled around your fingers, licking and sucking at them in desperation.

‘ Yes, who? ’ you asked, your voice taking on a new edge, the question cutting through the haze of his desire. The words ignited something inside him, something primal. He knew what you wanted, what you demanded. but he refused.

He looked up at you, his gaze shifting from submission to something more primal, almost animalistic. The realization of how tiny you were compared to him seemed to spark a flicker of amusement in his eyes. A smirk crept across his lips as he challenged you, ‘ Who? ’ His voice was cold, teasing, and he laughed, ‘ You're practically humping my thighs like a bitch in heat and you're asking who? ’

The playful taunt sent a jolt through you, and you felt your pussy clench involuntarily at his words. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the sting making you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you could contain it.

As if that wasn't enough, he began to untie his tie, the smooth fabric slipping from around his neck with ease. With a swift motion, he looped it around your throat, holding it firmly yet not painfully, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his presence consumed you.

‘ Move, ma'am, ’ he commanded, his tone low and filled with authority. The mixture of dominance in his words and the grip on your throat ignited a fire deep within you, urging you to obey and grind against him with fervor.

That's exactly what you did. You ground against him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he took your glass of wine, setting it aside to fully appreciate the show before him. Each movement of your body sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your wetness staining his pants, yet he didn't seem to care in the slightest.

His expression remained nonchalant, almost amused, while you became increasingly unraveled. Your moans grew louder, filling the room as you lost yourself in the sensations. It was as if he were savoring every moment, enjoying the way you squirmed under his control.

Then, he lifted his thigh just right, the pressure hitting your clit perfectly, sending a surge of pleasure that made your back arch. The feeling was electric, and you could hardly keep your composure, the sounds escaping your lips betraying the bliss you were experiencing. Each rub against his thigh intensified your arousal, and you could tell he was relishing in your desperation, enjoying the sight of you coming undone before him.

After a few minutes of blissful torture, he suddenly gripped your waist, halting your movements. You mumbled in protest, frustrated at the sudden stop, but all that escaped your lips was a string of needy whines. He chuckled, the sound deep and teasing, ‘ Jesus Christ, ’ as he began to unzip his pants.

That's when it hit you: you were completely bare, exposed, while he remained fully clothed-from his polished shoes to his tailored jacket. The contrast between your nakedness and his attire only heightened your frustration, making you pout, but deep down, you understood you weren't in any position to protest.

Slowly, he freed himself from the confines of his pants, revealing his cock, standing tall and curved, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He smirked at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

‘ It's a little dry, don't you think? ’ Before you could formulate a response, he wasted no time, pushing you down onto your knees. The urgency in his actions sent a thrill of excitement through you as he tapped his cock against your lips, urging you to open up for him.

You complied without hesitation, opening your mouth wide to accommodate him. As you took his tip at first, you felt the warmth of his skin against your tongue, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. He gripped your hair tightly in his hands, guiding your movements as he slowly pushed his hips forward, making you gag around him. What started as just the tip quickly turned into him sliding deeper, filling your mouth completely.

With a smirk, he pulled out his phone and positioned the camera to capture the scene unfolding before him. ‘ Say hello to the camera, baby, ’ he chuckled, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

‘ Fuck-this is going to help me during work. ’ He caressed your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the rawness of the moment, making you melt further around him as you did your best to take him fully.

As he began to groan, showering you with praise, you felt a surge of pride at how well you were pleasing him. But just as the pleasure peaked, his phone rang, cutting through the atmosphere.

He groaned in annoyance, looking down at you with a mix of desire and frustration. ‘ Don't you dare fucking stop, ’ he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience, before putting the phone to his ear, attempting to balance his work and the overwhelming pleasure you were giving him.

You looked up at him, noticing the way his brows were furrowed in concentration, though you weren't focused on his words at all. Your mouth moved faster, wanting to draw every sound of pleasure from him. But he quickly stopped you, yanking your hair back, a shock of arousal shooting through you at the sudden intensity. He pulled you up to his lap, his body still on the phone, and you were a complete mess, a mix of urgency and desire.

He glanced down at the sight before him, taking in the view of your exposed cunt, glistening with need. With a smirk, he took his cock in hand, pressing it against your clit slowly, teasingly.

‘ Busy? Nah. Just taking care of my cat, ’ he said nonchalantly, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he continued to talk on the phone.

Without warning, he slid into you, the suddenness of it making you gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His eyes locked onto yours, dark with lust as he relished the moment. His hand moved up your throat, a firm grip that sent shivers down your spine. Then, he took his tie and pulled it up to your mouth, tightening it around you, constraining you just enough to heighten the thrill of the moment.

He tilted his head to the side, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear as he continued his conversation, his voice steady and composed. Both of his hands moved to her waist, feeling the way she instinctively tried to contain her noises, muffled breaths escaping her lips.

He started off slow, guiding her movements with his hands, feeling the heat radiating between them. But it didn't take long for him to pick up the pace, thrusting into her with a quick intensity that left her reeling. The sensations were overwhelming, each deep thrust sending shockwaves through her body, making it hard for her to keep quiet.

She wanted to let out a moan, to express the pleasure that was building inside her, but she knew better. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him filling her, the way everything inside her kept buckling under the force of his movements. Each thrust was a delicious torment, and even as she struggled to keep her sounds contained, the pleasure surged through her, threatening to spill over.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, ‘ Yeah, alright. See ya, ’ and threw his phone aside, discarding it carelessly. As soon as the device hit the floor, he pulled the tie away from your mouth, releasing you from the makeshift gag. That's when the dam broke.

You became a real mess, your muffled moans escalating into desperate cries that filled the room with unrestrained pleasure. He groaned at the sound, his focus shifting as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and biting it before giving equal attention to the other. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, and your body reacted instinctively, arching toward him.

His free hand moved to your clit, working it with a skill that made your head spin. The roughness of his touch, the way he twitched it between his fingers, brought you to the very edge.

You could feel the tension building, the pressure coiling tightly within you. His moans echoed your own, signaling that he was reaching his peak as well. With every flick and caress, he pushed you closer to the edge, both of you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, ready to tumble into that sweet release together.

But what truly sent you over the edge was when he pinched your clit sharply, the unexpected shock sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. You tightened around him in waves, your body trembling as a delicious heat surged through you. For the first time, you felt yourself dripping around him, the slickness mixing with the urgency of the moment.

At that precise instant, he reached his climax as well. You could feel his cock twitching deep inside you, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled you, his release igniting your own. The two of you were lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, bodies moving together in perfect synchrony, until the world outside faded away, leaving nothing but the heat and connection between you.

You both lingered in that intimate moment for a few minutes, sharing heavy breaths and gentle displays of affection. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a comforting cocoon. Eventually, he pulled himself out of you, and you felt an undeniable sense of loss at the absence of his warmth.

Without saying a word, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you through the house, cradling you against his chest like you were the most precious thing in his world. When you reached the bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the covers around you with the utmost care. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

However, instead of joining you, he walked over to the closet, pulling out a fresh pair of pants. Your heart sank at the sight, and you frowned, an unspoken question hanging in the air. It was as if he could sense your unease because he turned to face you, his expression serious yet tender.

“They found him, baby. I gotta go,” he said, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. With a final kiss, one that lingered as if he were trying to imprint the moment into your memory, he slipped back into his suit, and left the room.

sorry that was actually sooo long.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Erotomania

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer discovers that his girlfriend has a stalker

Warning: Stalking, obsession, creepy basement, weapons, cursing

Word Count: 3.6K

Masterlist

“Thanks,” I smiled at the barista as she handed me mine and Spencer’s coffee. Well… while my drink was coffee his was just cream and sugar with a little bit of caffeine.

“Have a nice day,” she wished before turning her attention to another customer.

As I headed for the door a fellow customer on their way to work held it open for me. I gave him the same thanks with a smile as the barista, heading for my car.

Arriving at the office I delivered Spencer’s drink to him. “One milkshake for you,” I announced teasingly.

“Actually a milkshake is characterized by it’s mixing process when it is whipped until it’s frothy,” he informed, taking mild offense to my comment.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I dismissed, taking my seat at my desk across from him. “Oh, by the way, I made reservations at Francesco's for Friday but if we aren’t able to make that we have a reservation at Town Kitchen for Sunday.”

“Sounds good but our anniversary is on Saturday,” Spencer informed gently.

“Yeah but I don’t want either of us to be upset if we have to miss the reservation on our actual anniversary.”

Spencer smiled to himself. While Y/N wasn’t like him in the way that he had millions of facts spanning thousands of subjects memorized, she always thought of everything. “That’s why I love you. You always think of everything.”

“And I love you because you know everything,” she smiled.

“Ugh, love,” Emily gagged as she approached.

“Aw, did Sergio not want to cuddle last night?” I teased her about her cat.

“Shut up,” she scoffed.

I laughed, reaching into my bag for the case files I was working on last night. As I pulled the stack out I noticed a bright blue post-it note sticking out of one of the files as if it had fallen in. Pulling it out and flipping it, I noticed some words written on it.

Have a nice day, Y/N

My first thought was that maybe it was something Spencer slipped into my bag last night but the handwriting didn’t match. This was messily scrawled while Spence’s handwriting was neat. Still, it seemed like the most logical conclusion. “Spence, did you leave this?” I asked casually, sliding it over to his desk.

Upon just glancing at the note his brows furrowed. “No, where’d you find it?”

“In my bag. I know that’s not your handwriting— or anyone else’s on the team— but you seemed to be the most logical explanation.”

“Maybe it was a cop on the last case who had a crush on you,” Spencer shrugged, trying to dismiss any jealousy.

“Maybe,” I mused, thinking back to the behavior of the officers from Utah. Nothing seemed to stick out but my attention wasn’t exactly focused on any of the police there. Shrugging I crumpled it up, tossing it into the trash bin under my desk.

“Conference room,” Hotch announced from his little balcony, tearing me from my thoughts about the note.

~

Three days later we landed back in Virginia just in time for Spencer and I to make our anniversary dinner. “L/N for two,” I told the hostess at Town Kitchen. Our reservation was at 7:00 and we had arrived at 7:06.

“Just in time,” she commented, grabbing us our menus and leading us to our table. We sat down graciously, thankful that they hadn’t given away our table.

“I know it’s not the most romantic to be doing this in the clothes we just spent three days in but I’m glad we could do this,” Spencer smiled, reaching his hand across the table.

I placed my hand in his. “Me too.” As much as I loved our impromptu date nights that consisted of takeout and whatever was on TV of the station we were working out of, it was special to be able to have a proper date. “It’s almost like we’re a normal couple right now and not two FBI agents.”

“Do you wish we were normal?” he asks.

“Not in the slightest,” I smiled.

~

“I’m like 99% sure I have all your Dr. Who DVDs in a drawer in my living room,” I said, unlocking my apartment door. “Grab a bottle of wine and some glasses from the kitchen and I’ll start the DVDs?”

“Sure,” Spencer agreed with a smile. “Assuming you can find them,” he teased.

“They’re more than likely there,” I defended, finally getting the door unlocked. “Go,” I laughed, pushing him towards my kitchen. I went towards my TV stand, starting to go through my drawers. By the time I concluded that they weren’t in there Spencer was already sat on the couch with two glasses of wine. He had an amused look as I turned around to face him. “Let me check in my room.”

As I walked in I stopped abruptly, finding the floor covered in photos and post-it notes. Horror filled my chest. “What the fuck?” I must have yelled it because Spencer was running to my side. Upon seeing all the photos, he was immediately dragging me out of the apartment.

Once we were out in the hallway, Spencer kept pushing me towards the stairs while pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as he ushered me out into the parking garage.

“I’m texting the team to come to your apartment but we’re leaving for now,” he explained, opening the passenger door to my car. “We can’t just wait in the apartment. Your stalker may have been waiting around.”

“Okay, yeah, good idea,” I agreed through my hyperventilation. Reaching into the glove compartment I grabbed our guns. We had stashed them there for dinner.

Spencer sped out of the parking lot, parking on the street two blocks away before sending our location to the team. “Okay they’ll be here in a few minutes and then we can go investigate the apartment,” he explained. I only nodded along. Normally I’d be much more rational than this but I was in so much shock in terror I couldn’t think straight. “Hey, hey it’ll be okay. No one’s going to hurt you. The team will be here soon and we’ll find this person. We’ve dealt with erotomaniacs before.”

“You think this is an erotomaniac?” I asked, scared.

“Based on the note I saw earlier and I didn’t notice any threatening imagery in your room. We’ll know more when we get a proper look,” Spencer tried to soothe.

Soon enough the others were pulling up to our location, Hotch and Morgan wearing their bulletproof vests. “Morgan and I will go in and clear the place. Then we can call CSI and have them collect any forensic evidence,” Hotch explained. His gaze and tone then softened as he looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “just a little shaken up.”

He pursed his lips, nodding and unsure what to say. He looked back up at Morgan, nodding as they both walked towards my apartment.

JJ and Emily were both fretting over me as Morgan and Hotch searched the apartment. To my relief they called soon saying there was no one in my home.

Entering again, I made a beeline for my bedroom, wanting to see the photos. As I entered, Hotch was already there, observing the photos and notes spread out on the floor. They were all of me taken from a distance away with a zoomed in lens. There were several of me just going about my life in various stores and coffee places. But the most horrifying ones were of me and Spencer. If he was able to, it looked like the unsub just cut my boyfriend out of the pictures but the ones where Spencer was too close, his face was angrily scribbled over. Among the photos were notes ranging from I miss you, to I’m going to kill him.

By now Spence had entered my bedroom with the rest of the team. “I think we’re dealing with an erotomaniac.”

“Looks like it,” Derek agreed. “I assume you haven’t noticed anyone lurking around?” he asked me.

“No, nothing. The first thing I noticed was as a note in my bag that said Have a nice day, Y/N. We just assumed it was from a cop in Utah but this?”

“You definitely have a stalker,” Hotch concluded. “The question is how did he manage to avoid detection of seven FBI agents and why now?”

“Maybe Y/N and I’s anniversary?” Spencer suggested.

“Well that’s the best we’ve got for now. We’ll let CSI search for forensic evidence, meanwhile let’s all head to the office so we can start forming the profile.”

Back at the office everyone was treating me like well… a victim. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I felt of their lingering gazes. “We need to work on our bedside manner because I hate this.”

I got a few muttered sorry’s until Spencer came and sat in front of me. “Okay Y/N we’re going to try a cognitive interview.” I nodded, closing my eyes, allowing myself to be open to Spencer’s words. “Okay, go back to the day you found the note, what were you doing before you found it?”

“I was getting us coffee,” I answered, bringing the coffee shop to mind.

“Okay, describe it for me. What do you see, smell, and hear?”

“It’s crowded- and loud. The machines are whirring and people are talking.”

“Okay, does anyone get close to you? Close enough to put something in your bag?”

As I’m standing in line I feel a guy brush up against my bag. I hadn’t thought much of it because it was crowded and I thought he was moving to let someone pass. “Yeah, I’m getting in line, I’m near the door, and this guy brushes against my bag behind me.”

“Can you see his face or give any description?”

I strained hard in my memories, essentially begging myself to be able to turn around enough to see him. I open my eyes, looking into Spencer’s hazel ones. “I can’t see his face but based on his body… he’s white, roughly middle aged, medium build.”

Spencer smiles, taking my hand. “You did good. C’mon, let’s go tell the team.” I let him help me off the seat as we headed towards the conference room where the others were discussing theory. “He’s a white male, middle aged, with a medium build,” Spencer informed. “He slipped the note into Y/N’s bag Thursday morning.”

“Okay so average guy, probably feels too average and therefore inferior since erotomaniacs tend to be obsessed with those perceived to be above them,” Derek pieced together.

“So maybe a working class or blue collar guy?” JJ suggested. “Store clerk, janitor, any mechanic, plumber, electrician you’ve interacted with in the past few weeks?”

Before I could answer Rossi jumped in. “Or months, possibly within the last year? There were a lot of photos.”

“Nothing significant I can think of but I know it doesn’t have to be significant to me for it to flip the switch for them,” I explained.

“Garcia, start compiling a list of middle aged white men who work here as janitors, live in L/N’s building, work at shops she frequents,” Hotch looked at me expectantly for a list. I nodded, silently agreeing to write one up. “I know it’ll be a broad list but it’s a place we can start.”

“That’s not even covering all the places we traveled in the last year,” Emily added. “This is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Ooh report from CSI. There were no finger prints and absolutely no sign of a break in or picked locks—and I know an FBI agent isn’t leaving her windows or doors unlocked—leading them to believe that the stalker somehow got ahold of a copy of your key.” I felt nauseous at that news. “As for the notes, they’re currently working on handwriting analysis for any other stalking cases in the area, so far nothing. As for the photos, they were shot on real film and developed in like a darkroom so I’ve already cross referenced photographers and frequent buyers of darkroom supplies with the list I have so far. When Y/N gets me that list of frequent stores I will cross reference those as well.” Penelope took a big breath, having not breathed the entire time she was talking.

“Y/N get started on that list, Reid and I will head to the coffee shop to see if they have any security footage of this guy,” Hotch ordered.

~

It was hard for Spencer to watch the security camera footage. He and Hotch watched as the shady looking man slipped the note into Y/N bag and proceeded to hover around her as she waited for her coffee. It was a busy morning in the already cramped coffee shop explaining why Y/N hadn’t noticed his too-close for comfort presence.

~

I shuddered watching the man follow me around the coffee shop. I’m a highly trained FBI agent, how did I not notice him?

Sensing my unease, Spencer stepped closer, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “Have you ever seen or noticed this man before?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can remember,” I confessed shyly, feeling like a failure for never noticing him.

“Garcia’s running his picture through facial recognition software. If he has a criminal record, we’ll find him,” Hotch assured.

I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I need some air.” Everyone looked after me, hesitant. “I’ll stay in the building I just can’t be around this,” I gestured to my pictures, “anymore.”

They all looked hesitant but no one stopped me as I exited the office, heading to nowhere. I had no specific destination, I just wanted to walk around.

~

Upstairs, Garcia ran into the BAU conference room. “Guys, guys, I got a hit on facial recognition. Our stalker’s name is Michael Garrison and the reason he didn’t show up in my initial search is because his juvenile criminal record is sealed. When he was 15 he got a restraining order against him from a senior at his high school and when he was 18 he got another one from a teacher also at his high school. During these trials it came out that he was also stalking middle school girls while in high school. As for him now… he works as a janitor here. Now, he’s not scheduled to come in today but I have a feeling he’s not sticking to that schedule,” she said nervously.

“No he is not, babygirl,” Derek confirmed. “Reid, call Y/N.”

“Already on it,” he confirmed, holding the phone up to his ear. But when her phone began to ring on the very table they were standing around, every heart rate in the room spiked.

“Everyone, split up,” Hotch ordered, everyone already headed for the door.

~

I pressed the elevator call button, ready to head back upstairs when a custodian came up beside me, also waiting for the elevator. I have him a soft smile of acknowledgment before looking back at the elevator call button. Once the door opened I stepped in first, followed shortly by him. Before I could reach to press the button, he was already pressing his floor, the basement. “Where to?” he asked.

“Seven, thanks,” I answered as the doors closed. But once they closed he made no move to press the button. Confused and hesitant I stepped forward to press it, only for him to step towards me as well. “Wha-”

“Finally, we’re alone,” he said with a big smile.

“What are you-” I began to ask, backing away as far as I could, cursing myself for not bringing my phone or gun.

“I knew you’d come find me once I left those notes.” The elevator dinged and opened to the basement, I just hoped someone else would be down here. I looked out into the dark basement hesitantly. His face fell seeing my hesitation. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a government issue gun, one he had probably swiped from an agent. “Go on,” he urged, carelessly waving the gun around.

I hesitantly walked past him, never taking my eyes off of him. “Where are we going?”

He followed me out of the elevator, gun pressed against my back, making me shudder. “I have a space down here,” he answered. We walked down a very long, very dark corridor until we reached a maze of stairs and pipes. Continuing down we reached what looked like an old, forgotten broom closet. Inside was a single dingy lightbulb which he tugged on, illuminating the repulsive room. The walls were covered in mysterious grime and scattered around the walls were pictures of me. I shuddered before looking at the absolutely repulsive mattress on the floor.

Scared but curious about how I got here. What set him off? How did I catch his attention? But I’d need to do this subtly. I pretended to look at all the photos in awe, as if touched by his infatuation. “You did all this, and the stuff in my apartment for me?”

If he was a cartoon I’m sure the hearts in his eyes would double in size. “Yes, yes, of course!” he confessed excitedly. “When I saw your picture on his desk, I knew you were the one.” Based on the way he said ‘his,’ I knew he was referring to the picture of Spence and I at the beach on his desk. “You’re so pretty,” he mused, stroking a finger down my face. It took everything in me not to slap his hand away. “And your notes… I knew you loved me too.” Against my will, a look of confusion must have crossed over my face. His eyebrows furrowed a little. “You know, the ones you left on your desk for me to find! In that glittery ink.” He rushed over to a box, pulling out half a dozen notes. I recognized Penelope’s handwriting and glitter gel pens. The messages came from a time when she was teasing Reid and trying to steal me away from him as a joke.

You should be with me

I love you <3

I’m leaving him for you, do the same for me?

I looked up at my stalker nervously, completely unsure what to say. Seeing how unstable this guy was, I knew the safest thing would be to agree. “Oh yeah, I forgot about these.” It took me swallowing my every ounce of pride to say the next words. “It had been so long I was scared you wouldn’t do anything. Like… I’d be stuck with Spencer forever.” The man visibly melted at my words.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry you felt that way.”

Before he could say anything, the door burst open, revealing Emily with her gun. I nearly sobbed in relief seeing her but before I could react, the stalker’s arm was around my neck, pointing the gun at my head. “I found Y/N, Garrison has a gun!”

Soon enough the rest of the team showed up, including Spencer. “She’s safe with me!” Garrison insisted.

“Then why are you pointing a gun at her head,” Emily countered.

He lowered the gun, pointing it at my teammates who weren’t wearing their vests. I nearly screamed when he pointed it at Spencer. “Tell them we’re fine, that you’d rather be here with me!” Garrison demanded like a child.

“Come on Garrison, you know this isn’t rational,” Derek interrupted. “Look at her, she’s terrified.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, moving the gun towards Derek. “Tell them!”

“I’m fine guys!” I told them. Grabbing at his arm that was wrapped around my throat, I began to plea. “Please let me go. I can’t breathe, we can talk about this. We just need to settle some things so we can be together.”

But he only tightened his grip, I began to feel a little lightheaded. “No, he’ll just steal you away from me.” The gun was once again trained on Spencer.

“I won’t, I swear,” Spence promised, putting his gun away. “We were never really a couple. It was all just a ruse to make you jealous and catch your attention.”

Suddenly his grip loosened and I fell into a coughing fit. “Really?” he asked. Realizing I had fallen at his feet he dropped the gun, crouching down. Next thing I knew Garrison was being pushed back by Derek while Emily pulled me away.

I was immediately pulled up into my boyfriend’s arms. “Thank god,” I heard him whisper as I sobbed into his shoulder. I clung to his shoulders, a sobbing mess as he hugged me tightly, nuzzling his face into my neck.

Behind me I could hear Garrison’s shouts. “No! I trusted you! I loved you! You lying bitch!” he continued to scream profanities at the top of his lungs as Derek dragged him out, not shy about roughing him up a bit.

“Reid, take L/N home. Take the night off too,” Hotch ordered. “Glad you’re okay,” he said to me before following the others upstairs.

That night I couldn’t stand the idea of being alone but fortunately Spencer didn’t mind. He stuck by me all night, whispering assurances and sweet nothings whenever I got scared.

Masterlist

[sandersontheside]

What Your Favorite Sanders Sides Ship Says About You

Inspired by Eldena Doubleca5t's excellent series!

Prinxiety: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of getting dunked on. Also, you probably watched BBC Merlin at some point.

Analogical: Your ideal relationship dynamic is two cats on opposite ends of the same couch.

Anxceit: Your addiction to edgy boys got so bad that one day you decided: [spongebob meme] What’s better than ONE edgy boy? TWO edgy boys!

Dukexiety: I’m not saying you for sure see a therapist, but I am saying with as much love as possible, that maybe you should.

Moxiety: You are touch starved. You don't want to be hugged, you want to use another human being as a weighted blanket.

Logicality: Your ideal relationship dynamic is sitcom wife x sitcom husband.

Intruality: Either "I can fix him" or "I can make him worse" depending on which side you're projecting on

Royality: Your ideal relationship dynamic is himbo x himbo, and you have so much ADHD.

Remrom: 🚨 FBI OPEN UP 🚨

Logince: How's that crush on your much more extroverted best friend going?

Intrulogical: Looking back on your childhood, you can pinpoint The Master from Doctor Who as the beginning of your crippling addiction to the most unhinged characters known to fiction.

Lociet: Half of you came here from shipping L and Light in Death Note, and half of you came here from shipping Sherlock and Moriarty in BBC Sherlock.

Dukeciet: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of committing arson together.

Roceit: Your ideal relationship dynamic is just that tumblr post that's like "go fuck yourself" "fuck me yourself, coward."

Mociet: I'm not saying you for sure have daddy issues, but I am saying I would be surprised if you didn't

LAMP/DLAMP(polycule): You don’t like to make decisions.

Nicomas: And, finally, you are a firm believer in keeping things canon and keeping things wholesome. You just want good things for Thomas, and really, who wouldn't?

[benevolentbones]

as i lay bleeding | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!!!!!! character death, mentions of injury. gender neutral reader

word count: 1.1k

summary: risks in the field suddenly become very real

a/n: hope you enjoy:) i love writing angst. reblogs & comments appreciated <3 requests open

it was a given statistic that those who worked for the fbi had a lower mortality rate, they would often get injured on the field, times those injuries would result in death.

you had seen deaths occur on the field, you had heard the news of other members in different departments passing during active cases. but you never thought you’d be lumped in with the large sum of losses the fbi had each year, well, until now.

all you could see was the grey sky, murky clouds floating across the monotone heavens. you laid flat on your back, when you tried to move your whole body felt like it was lit aflame.

you let out a breathy wince, hastily trying to find the source of this pain. you shifted your left arm, dragging it against the concrete to move it over your abdomen.

as your soft fingers reached your wound you let out a pained gasp, feeling something large jutting out of your left side. you pulled your hand back, every movement aching, lifting it up to your line of vision.

bright red stained your fingers, dripping down your forearm and staining your, now torn, white shirt sleeve. a jagged breath escaped your lips as you tried to move, once again not succeeding.

so you laid there in a pile of broken glass, on the concrete staring up at the moody sky, bleeding out.

within seconds a lean figure was by your side, you shifted your gaze from the sky to meet big brown eyes. he cradled your head in his hand, moving his other down to your injury, his hand hovered shakily over the large piece of glass soaked in your blood.

“spencer…” you mumbled out, your eyes going in and out of focus, he turned his attention back to your face, he was clear he was trying to mask his panic, you could always see right through his façade.

“hey- you’re okay- you’ll be okay.” his voice was laced with concern, his head quickly whipping around his surroundings for anyone to come to your aid.

“i need a medic! agent down-“ he yelled out, his voice strained. you couldn’t hear much else going on around you, a few distant voices calling back.

you reached your left hand up to rest against his cheek, his eyes glued on you. as your strength weakened, your hand slipped, leaving a red stain on his face.

“sorry..” you mumbled out, making an attempt to wipe away the blood but making it worse in the process,which spencer replied with a choked out chuckle.

even as you lay there bleeding, of course you would find something to be apologetic about. that was just how you were, and he loved that about you.

“you’re okay- hold on. the medics are on the way-“ he couldn’t hold back the wobble in his voice, you knew by how he acted, that he was struggling to maintain his composure. you could feel his hands trembling as he applied pressure to your wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

"spencer" you whispered, your voice barely audible, "i'm so tired."

his eyes widened, panic evident. "no, don't say that. stay with me. hey- keep talking to me."

your vision started to blur, and the world around you seemed to fade away. "it's okay, spence. i'm- i'm glad you're here."

the panic that you once felt about dying slowly slipping away, being replaced by a comforting feeling, but maybe that was just because spencer was with you.

tears streamed down his face as he shook his head, refusing to accept what was happening. "no, you're going to be fine. just hold on a little longer." he chewed on his lip, letting out a breathy gasp “please.” he whispered out.

you tried to muster a smile, but it came out as a grimace. "promise me something."

"anything," he replied instantly, his voice cracking.

"promise me...you’ll look after kevin- i know you don’t like him but.." you referenced the cat you brought into your relationship with spencer, that little ginger fur ball was your absolute baby, you needed to make sure he would be taken care of.

spencer let out a low chuckle, of course you would bring up that dumb cat of yours. “yes- but i won’t need to- you’re going to be okay..” his voice breaking completely. "please, just stay with me. the medics are almost here. you can't leave me."

your eyelids grew heavier, and you could barely keep them open. "i love you, spencer." you managed to mutter out, your eyes fluttering shut for the last time.

spencer's heart shattered as he felt your body go limp in his arms. he clung to you, sobbing uncontrollably, praying for a miracle that he knew deep down wouldn't come. the sounds of approaching medics and shouting voices faded into the background as his world centered on the devastating reality that he was losing you. that he lost you.

morgan ran over, skidding to a halt beside spencer. he took in the scene quickly, seeing the blood, the glass, and the lifeless body in spencer's arms. he knelt down, placing a firm hand on spencer's shoulder.

"spencer," morgan said, his voice gentle but urgent, "we have to let the medics do their job."

spencer shook his head violently, his grip on you tightening. "no, no, they can't help now. they’re gone, morgan. they’re gone." his voice broke completely, and he buried his face against your shoulder, sobbing harder.

morgan's heart ached at the sight. he pulled spencer into a rough embrace, feeling the younger man shake with grief. "i know, man, i know," he said quietly, his own voice thick with emotion. "but you need to let them take them. you can't stay here."

spencer resisted for a moment longer, then finally, reluctantly, let go. the medics moved in swiftly, but spencer didn't watch them. he couldn't. instead, he clung to morgan, who held him up, supporting him as his legs threatened to give out.

"they asked me to look after kevin," spencer whispered, his voice barely audible. "they were worried about the cat."

morgan managed a small, sad smile. "that sounds like y/n. we'll make sure kevin is okay. right now, we need to get you out of here."

spencer nodded numbly, allowing morgan to lead him away. as they walked, he glanced back one last time, seeing the medics covering your body. his heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.

"i loved them so much," spencer said, his voice breaking.

"i know you did," morgan replied, his grip on spencer tightening. "and they knew it too. they loved you just as much. remember that."

together, they walked away from the scene, spencer's sobs mingling with the sounds of the bustling crime scene, his clothes stained crimson, one of the last reminders of you.

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