#fbi x blue bloods

[penwieldingdreamer]

A Shot in the Dark ~ Prologue

Well, welcome to my latest obsession - FBI and OA Zidan. This is a crossover between FBI, FBI: Most Wanted & Blue Bloods. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged in any future chapters.

I do not own any of the characters of the FBI Franchise and Blue Bloods, they belong to their respective owners

Summary It's said, you'll always meet twice in life. But you never thought it be in a hostage situation with a gun pressed against your head.

Warnings: hostage situation, canon typical violence, coarse language, smut in later chapters

The human mind is really the scariest thing of all.

Life in general is scary, and yet you step out of your home each day and face it. You imagine how a situation might turn out if you just changed one thing in your day to day life. Sometimes it’s the sandwich they didn’t have at the bakery and sometimes it’s the choice you make on the job.

“Andrew, drop the gun and let my sister go!” Detective Danny Reagan called, his own weapon trained on the former NYPD officer, voice shaking as he looked at you, seeing his own fear mirrored in your eyes. “She’s got nothing to do with this. You want me. Let the kids and her go.”

Shaking his head, former police officer Andrew O'Sullivan pushed the muzzle of his gun harder against your temple. "They are all the leverage I need to get you to do what I want."

"O'Sullivan! This is Agent Scott and Agent Bell with the FBI. Surrender your weapons and let the hostages go. We will make sure that your demands are met, but you need to let the kids and Miss Reagan go."

You could feel the tears running down your cheeks, but you knew you had to be strong for the children. Their parents put you in charge and you, as their teacher, needed to make sure they'd get out safe. “Please Mister O’Sullivan, you got me, let the children go home. They don’t have anything to do with this.”

Your heart was hammering in your throat watching your brother desperately trying to get Andrew to drop the weapon, the ground feeling like it was going to be pulled from underneath you. And here you thought it was going to be a good day today.

Five hours earlier, 9:15 Bluestone Lane Tribeca Café

"So, heard anything from tall, dark and handsome? You looked cute together."  

“Erin!”

“Mom! You’re embarrassing her.”

The lawyer grinned into her coffee mug as the three of you sat together for breakfast. "What!? I saw pictures from way back when. It's been more than four years now, just thought maybe you'd have a run in with him again."

"Nope, haven't seen him since before he started training at Quantico and you would know that. I'm practically living with dad and pop again after those idiots living above me wouldn't have smoked weed and forgot to shut off the water."

Nicky only rolled her eyes at her mother trying to play matchmaker – as always. “You should leave Y/N alone. Danny would have a field day if she came home with him.”

“Thank you, Nicky, I knew why you were my favorite niece.” You took a bite from your chocolate croissant. Usually you’d be getting the breakfast sandwich the café was famous for but today they were all out.

“I’m your only niece, so that’s not a hard feat to do.”

“Yet.” You pointed a finger at the younger woman. “And I don’t even know where he is. I’ll not be running after him and use dads resources to find him.”

“All I’m saying is that you should get laid, you can’t just stay a single workaholic forever." 

Sending your sister a disapproving look, you could see the disgust on your nieces face. She was old enough to be part of that conversation and already had one boyfriend, yet you knew she was absolutely embarrassed by her mother's choice of breakfast conversation.

"Mom! God! I'll be heading off to work or you'll start talking about dad and yourself." Nicky, so much like Erin grabbed her purse and to-go cup, leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek before she moved next to you. With her arm draped over your shoulder, she leaned in as if to whisper into your ear but still spoke at normal volume. "Don't let her bully you into looking him up. You do you, Auntie, but she's right, you need to get laid."

Slack jawed at her gall, you turned accusatory eyes on the lawyer. "That's definitely on you, Erin. You taught her to be like that."

"Well, she's definitely got that from me and she'd make a great lawyer like that."

Letting out a sigh, you leaned back in your chair.

Damn, they were right.

Quickly apologizing to God under your breath, you try to anchor yourself to your mug. It had been years since you had seen Omar. You had met him outside a bar in the Financial District, after a date had dumped her right before dessert, telling her she wasn’t worth his time.

“He’s a dick, he wasn’t going to know what to do with you anyway.”

You sat together at the bar and talked about random stuff – friends, hobbies, only things that wouldn’t compromise him as you later found out he was undercover for the DEA.

“You’re quiet, what are you thinking about?”

Blinking, you watched your sister with a small, wistful smile, something she had seen so often when you had gone out to have breakfast with Nicky and her every Saturday morning. “Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders, but the secret smile that barely turned up the corners of your mouth was still there and the lawyer knew that one, she had seen it often enough.

Erin took a sip from her coffee, narrowing her eyes at you. “Don’t give me that shit, Y/N. It’s Tall, Dark and Handsome isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” You admitted quietly, looking down at your fingers, busy playing with the white napkin under your croissant.

“You should get Eddie to look for him, maybe he’s in town.”

Shaking your head vigorously. “No, I’ll not be looking for him. We would have seen each other, probably...maybe.”

“New York is huge, you think you’d just walk down Broadway and bam! There he is? Y/N, I can assure you, that’s not how it works.” She laughs, knowing all about it with her ex-husband Jack. “You want him, you need to look for him, he’s not just going to turn up if you snap your fingers.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to look for him, maybe it wasn’t meant to be if I haven’t run into him by now. Or maybe he’s somewhere in D.C., happily married with 1.93 kids, living in the suburbs and chasing the bad guys.”

Chuckling, the lawyer shook her head at you. “You got it all figured out now, huh? Maybe he’s still single, thinking about that maybe with you. He was really nice when he came around for lunch that day.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, Eddie wouldn’t shut up about him for a week straight.” Just then your phone chimed, letting you know that you needed to get ready to get to your Junior High class for their field trip to the museum. You would meet them together with their parents right in front of the museum. “Shit, I’m late! Sorry Erin, I got to head off.”

“We’re not done talking about him!” She called after you as you raced out of the cafe to the next Metro station.

An hour and a half later you remind your seventh grade students to be nice and listen closely to the lady showing you around the National History Museum. “There’s going to be a test on Monday next week, so you guys should take notes on all of this.”

A groan ripped through the hall and I knew they hated me for this. “But Miss Reagan, you said we could have fun today.” Jimmy calls from the back, a frown on his cute face. 

Giggling, you shook your head. They were still thinking it was just going to stay easier from there on out. “I did, but it doesn’t mean you guys can slack off on your school work. This is going to help you with your Science project.”

Groans, followed by sighs from your students were the end of that conversation. You and the group of thirteen-year-olds followed Mrs. Langdon as she talked about the museum, which exhibitions had already been part of the building and what was waiting for the boys and girls of Lower Manhattan Middle School. They were in the Early Adolescence stage and it was absolutely normal for them to act like that. With Nicky, Jack and Sean you had been exposed to that stage early on and you loved them for it.

You entered the Saurichian Hall of the museum, awed by the skeletons, the hairs on your arms starting to raise from the goosebumps at the imagination of having lived back in time, 66 millennia’s ago. But somehow, it wasn’t the only thing that gave you the shivers. At the entrance of the museum you had seen a guy, dressed like everyone else. But you had been around police your whole life and listened to your bothers to know that something was definitely wrong with him. His head was down but you saw his eyes darting about like he was searching for something – or someone.

Getting to the next section, you slightly turned your head away from your students excitingly listening to the tales of each dinosaur exhibited at the museum.

There he was again, the backpack slung low on his shoulders and it looked like he was sweating. Was he sick and needed help? If so, wouldn’t he have asked the people at the front desk or even stayed at home.

Danny had always told you to be vigilant about suspicious people roaming about and this guy fit the description. Should you text Danny or Jamie? They were probably busy with their cases and if he was just a creep you’d make a fool out of yourself and maybe your dad in extension.

Police Commissioner’s daughter accuses visitor at the National History Museum to be a creep and makes a laughing stock out of the Reagan family.

Now that would be the headline of the week.

Turning back to listen to Mrs. Langdon and your students with a sigh you missed him pulling out a gun from under his jacket, pointing it at your back before slightly lifting it up and pulling the trigger.

11:40, Joint Operations Center

“Alright guys, we've got a hostage situation at the National History Museum. Twenty-two students from LoMa Middle School and their teacher. This is high profile. Detective Reagan with the NYPD called it in about fifteen minutes ago.” ASAC Jubal Valentine’s voice rang out through the JOC. He motioned to Elise, one of the Analysts to put every information on the screens. “This is Y/N Reagan, she’s a teacher at the school and also the daughter of New York City Police Commissioner Frank Reagan.”

Your picture popped up on the screens, a happy smile on your face as you sat together with your father and your brother Jamie at a city function.

“You know, now that I’m done with my trainee-ship as teacher, we could make it official. Dad wants me to tag along at this function or other and I’d like to take you as my plus one.” You smiled at him, your arms slung around his neck as you lounged together on his bed.

Omar ran his fingers from your shoulder to your elbow and up again. He loved the feeling of your soft skin under his hands, slightly roughed from the army. “It would be nice, I’d love to finally show you off to my family as well. Erin has been nagging me like a hen to know who the guy is making me smile all day.” He smiled, nuzzling her neck and listening to her giggles as his nose and beard rubbed up and down against that point where her neck met her shoulder.

"I'd like that. I bet your sister isn't the only one nagging." He chuckled, burrowing closer and pushing his lower half against yours earning a soft groan from you.

Your fingers raked over his head, feeling the short cropped hair tickle the palm of your hands. “Pop and dad are already giving me those penetrative looks, you know the ones where they are acting like cops and trying to read a suspects thoughts.”

Closing his eyes, the former army ranger breathed in your scent. It was the one thing that grounded him on days his mind sent him back to Iraq. “From what you told me I’m more afraid of your brother, not your father and grandpa.”

Omar moved next to Maggie, a soft Shit leaving his lips as his eyes swept over the screens. It had been a few years since he’d last seen you, only a few days short of leaving for his training at Quantico. Seeing your face, tear track staining your cheeks with the suspect pressing his gun to your head.

The brunette watched her partner, the fingers of his left hand anxiously playing with his ring. A sign that he was nervous. A sign Maggie had learned in the beginning when they first were partnered up.

“You know her?”

He sighed, “We, ugh, we dated for a while before, before I went into training. I...broke it off, because I thought she’d be better off without me.”

“Gosh, OA.” Maggie murmured, scratching a fingernail along her eyebrow thoughtfully. She knew her partner had been in relationships before – he was Muslim, not a virginal saint, but she had never seen him this distraught or anxious. 

It was clear as day that you were still important to him and it took everything in him to not run out the door and drive off toward the museum.

"What do we have on the suspect?" Isobel questioned, coming to stand next to her 2nd in charge. 

"Suspect is 40 year old Andrew O'Sullivan, former police officer with the NYPD, 54th Precinct and bomb specialist with the Marines. Detective Daniel Reagan, Y/N’s older brother was part of the investigation against him.” Kelly Moran, an analyst at the JOC spoke up, tapping hastily on his keyboard and sending the pictures of their suspect to the bigger screens. “He took drugs from evidence and tried to sell it on the street. O’Sullivan needed it for his daughter, she has leukemia and he was going to take the money to pay for her treatments.”

The analyst pressed a key to show the picture of a little girl, maybe ten years old, grinning at the camera. “Lena O’Sullivan, she”

“His daughter died two days ago, that’s why he’s doing it. He wanted to save her from it and we took the money that would pay for her treatment. Andrew has been angry with me for a while and called me after Lena died.” A new voice sounded from behind them, strong and authoritative, yet they could all hear the pain laced into his words. “He has my sister and if you guys don’t get a move on, Andrew is going to kill them all.” Detective Daniel Reagan had made his way to the JOC, knowing he couldn’t make a move against O’Sullivan without the people of the FBI. You were his little sister and he’d be damned just sitting around at the precinct when he needed to get you to safety. More so when Erin would have his head for being the reason the former officer had you and your kids as hostages.

[forhappysake]

Never Forget a Face

A/N - Why is titling fics so hard? I used a Hunger Games quote because it fit so well so lmk if you can pick it out. Nearly 5K words, not proofread.

Summary - After the end of a bloody case, Emily tasks a begrudging Spencer with checking in on the newbie. Warnings - Spencer x fem!reader, typical BAU-level violence, murder, kn!ves, season 12/13 spoilers, extensive handwashing (?), a bitter post-prison reid with a grumpy x sunshine plot

My hands are stained red.

That was your first coherent thought as you stared in the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent lighting cast a pale glow over your face, making you look more ghostly than you already did. Your once blue shirt was covered in splotches. Your hands, dangling over the sink, were the color of burnt rust. 

As you turned on the faucet and applied soap to your hands, your brain replayed the events that brought you here. 

This was only your second case with the team. Hell, it was only your fourth case with the bureau. All you wanted to do was fit in. You’d heard great things about the BAU: the highly decorated Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, the face of the FBI - Jennifer Jareau, and the sought-after genius of Dr. Spencer Reid. 

The first case with the BAU had gone well. You’d done a lot of the grunt work, putting in an intense number of hours in a dingy police precinct pouring over paperwork with Dr. Reid, who kept telling you to call him Spencer. Despite this faux friendliness, you couldn’t help but get the feeling he was tired of working with you. 

Not that you could blame him. You were, by all definitions, a newbie. He had over a decade of experience and a serious reputation. A genius to boot, his sighs and looks often made you feel like you were in his way more than you were actually helping. Hence why, when Emily had asked for two volunteers to tail a suspect for the day, you’d quickly volunteered to go with the charming Luke Alvez. 

Six hours later, Luke, along with yourself, had tracked an unsub while he was taking his latest victim back to his home in a rural area. Back-up, which was supposed to be on the way, wouldn’t be there for at least twenty minutes. When the first blood-curdling scream rang out from the house, the two of you knew you had no choice but to act alone. 

Luke went in through the front door, making his presence known as you tiptoed around the side of the house to enter undetected. When you found a cracked window, you were able to slip inside without much issue. 

In that moment, you remembered hearing Luke attempting to talk down the unsub. You approached their voices, careful not to let anyone know you were inside. 

“How do you think this is going to end?” Luke asked the unsub, his voice firm. 

The unsub had laughed and the muffled cries of his victim could be heard from your spot. You tucked yourself quietly behind a hallway entrance into the room Luke was in. You peeked around the corner to let him know you were there. His only acknowledgment of you was a brief glance, but that was all you needed to know that he wanted you to stay in place. 

“I think,” the unsub started, with more cries coming from his captive, “that she’ll probably die before this is all over.” 

You tried to recall the profile. Emily’s voice replayed in your mind. 

“He kills with a knife and dumps the body in a secondary location, meaning he gets the women alone and gets close to them before he kills them. Based on the demographics of this region, he’s probably a white man. Likely in his 30s. Attractive but single, most definitely living alone. That’s his selling point. That’s how he’s managed to lure all these women into his vehicle.”

Nothing stuck out to you about him. There was nothing you could think to do to help in this situation besides hide behind the wall. You were waiting for a signal from Luke or the sound of backup approaching. 

Luke cleared his throat and you could picture him shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be like this, man. Let her go and I can help you.”

The unsub laughed again and you cringed. There was something so unsettling about his voice and his laughter. 

The unsub started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. This was your moment. 

You whirled around the corner, gun drawn. “FBI, don’t move,” you warned. The unsub turned to look at you. His cold blue eyes bore a hole in your head. A shiver ran through your spine. “Drop the knife.” 

He appeared irritated, rolling his neck as if trying to work out a kink. He glanced down at his victim. Her eyes were wide and frantic, tears streaming down her face. She was bound and a piece of cloth was tied around her face as a makeshift gag. He pulled her up to his height by her hair, eliciting more cries.

 “Well sweetheart, this isn’t how I pictured this ending for us. I hope you’ll forgive me,” he said as he raised the knife to her throat. 

“Wait!” Luke shouted. 

It was too late. What followed next was nothing short of chaos. 

Luke let off two shots, both of which connected with the unsub. His body cascaded to the floor. You lunged forward at the poor victim. Her throat, now cut, was bleeding at an alarming rate. However, her eyes remained open and the gasps coming from her mouth told you she was still breathing. 

You threw yourself on the floor next to her, removing the gag from her mouth and placing it over her neck as a makeshift tourniquet. 

“Do you hear that?” you asked, the sirens were right outside the house. “Help is almost here, okay? You have to keep your eyes on me.” Her glassy eyes were locked on yours, but the panic was fading from them with the little life she had left. The cloth in your hands was soaked with blood and your hands were turning a deep shade of crimson. 

You shook your head. “No, no. Come on. Look at me,” you tried to encourage her to hold on just for another moment. 

In the midst of your mumbling, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around to see Luke crouched behind you. 

“She’s gone, Y/N,” he said gently. His eyes were locked on her lifeless body. You furrowed your brow, denial coursing through your veins. 

Just as you were about to protest, the EMTs burst through the door with Emily and Dr. Reid in tow. Luke pulled you out of the way as they tended to both the victim and the unsub. 

The four of you watched helplessly from the corner of the room. You felt your body shake gently, adrenaline getting the best of you. You could feel Reid’s eyes on you. His judgement making you more anxious. 

You watched as one of the EMTs working on the victim turned to look at you. He shook his head gently, a sign that she really was gone. 

You'd never forget her face.

A sigh of defeat left your lips and tears welled up in your eyes. In a moment driven by pure emotion, you shot out of the house and back towards the SUV.

Luke sprinted out the front door after you. “Where are you going?” he shouted, clearly confused by your sudden burst of determination. 

“Back to the hotel,” you said matter-of-factly, sliding into the driver’s seat of the car. He rushed over to the driver’s door, holding it open so you couldn’t slam it shut. 

He looked incredulous. “And who am I supposed to ride with?”

You rolled your eyes. “Luke, two people just died and you’re worried about who your chauffeur is going to be.” 

Luke seemed to get the message he pulled back from the door, allowing you to shut it. You started the SUV, cracking the window just enough to shout, “Catch a ride with Reid and Emily.”

You pulled out onto the highway, foot heavy on the pedal as adrenaline still run through you. 

Nearly half an hour later and still covered in blood, you stumbled into the hotel lobby. The desk lady, panicked, quickly rushed in front of you. The lady, presumably Linda based on her nametag, asked you if she needed to call the police. You’d shown her your badge with a bitter laugh, explaining that you were the police. The smell of her floral perfume was making your head spin more than it already was. Thankfully, with a sympathetic smile, she’d moved out of your way and allowed you to proceed to your room. 

Which was how you ended up here, trying to scrub blood off of your still-shaky hands. You weren’t sure how long you’d been at this, but you couldn’t quit now. The dark evidence was still embedded deep beneath your fingernails. 

-SPENCER’S POV-

Walking into the house behind Emily, I could already see the mess that had unraveled. There was blood on the wall, where the unsub lay propped up but clearly dead as if he’d landed sitting up. There was blood on the floor, covering the lifeless body of the last victim. 

And there was blood all over her, the new girl, who was standing in the corner. Her eyes stared off into the distance, and she looked like she could faint at any moment. 

She was nice. Too innocent for the job, clearly. If I hadn’t been sure about that from the other case we worked together, it was evident now. 

Emily and I walked over to the corner, standing beside Y/N and Luke as the EMTs worked on both the unsub and the victim on the other side of the room. Despite the gory scene before us, I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off Y/N yet. Thoughts laced with sympathy crept into my mind and I resisted the urge to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. 

Just as I was about to do just that, the closest EMT turned to her and shook his head. The victim, as the unsub, was dead. She let out a sound that I could only describe as a shudder before she raced out the front door. 

“What the hell?” Luke asked, following her out. 

Emily sighed, staring at the two bodies before us as the EMTs packed up their things. “Kind of a harsh second case for the kid, huh?” she asked. 

I thought for a moment and shrugged, pushing sympathy away. “It’s not like it gets any easier from here on out, she might as well get used to it now.” I turned and started to walk out of the house, just in time to watch the new girl whip the SUV out of the driveway and hightail it back towards town. Though I wasn’t looking at her, I felt Emily shoot me a look. 

“You’d have never said a thing like that before you went away, Spencer,” she scolded. 

I took a deep breath. She was probably right. “No, I wouldn’t have, but things are different now,” I said plainly. 

I walked down the front porch steps and out on to the lawn where Luke was waiting for us, impatiently resting a hand on the handle of the SUV’s door. 

“Where’s your ride?” I quipped sarcastically. 

He shook his head. “Don’t start. It’s been a long day for all of us.” 

Emily caught up to me, pulling the SUV keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door so Luke could climb inside. As he did, she turned to me. 

“When we get back to the hotel, I want you to go check on Y/N.”

I felt my face contort in a scoff. “Why would I be the one to do that?” 

“Because,” Emily said, staring at the SUV before us, “someone needs to.” 

“So why don’t you?” I challenged, growing more exasperated by the second. 

Emily snapped her head to the side, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Spencer,” she said sharply. I looked at her, trying to read her microexpressions. “I worry about you. Do you get that?” 

That wasn’t the reply I was expecting. 

I averted my eyes to the ground, somewhat ashamed of my previous attitude. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I want you to check on her because she needs someone who has seen bad things to explain to her that those bad things are survivable,” she started, eyes still locked on my face. I glanced up at her as she continued. 

“And, I want you to check on her because I think it would be good for you,” she finished. 

“Good for me?” I asked, with less attitude and more curiosity this time. 

Emily sensed the shift in my demeanor and I could see her shoulders relax. “Yes, good for you. Ever since you came back, you never stay out after cases anymore. Remember how we all used to go out together? Have a couple drinks? Relax?”��

I nodded because I did remember.  Those were some of the best memories of my life. 

“All you do anymore is go home or back to the hotels and hide in your room until the next morning, reading Vigotsky or Tarkovsky or whatever you do.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was reading the works of Dostoyevsky, so I let her continue uninterrupted. 

“It’s time for you to do some socializing. I think talking about yourself might do you some good for once. Besides, Y/N really is a ray of sunshine once you get to know her. I think her company will be good for you.” 

I thought about what she said for a moment. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Alright,” I said, “I’ll stop by her room before I go to bed for the night.”

Satisfied with my answer, Emily proceeded to the SUV. 

Soon enough, we were back at the hotel. I thought about how to proceed. Should I go to her room immediately? Should I wait and change out of my work clothes first? 

Absolutely not. Talking is one thing. Wearing my pajamas in front of her? That’s too personal. 

I decided to head straight to her room. Ripping the bandaid off seemed like the best option. 

I strolled down the hall and stopped in front of her door. I placed three quick knocks on the door and waited. And waited. I knocked again. Nothing. 

Maybe she’d gone out for the evening, I reasoned. Or, maybe she was asleep. Regardless, I was ready to turn and go back to my room when I heard the faintest sound of running water coming from inside. 

My mind raced. She was surely just in the shower, right? Or maybe running a bath? The FBI agent in me freaked out. What if she’d went off the deep end and was trying to drown herself? Or what if-

I tried to run through my options, the first obvious one being to try the door handle, which was miraculously unlocked. Who the hell leaves their door unlocked in a cheap hotel like this?

“Y/N?” I called out as I stepped into the room. The bathroom door was wide open to the left of the main door I just entered, and I peered around the corner. 

She stood before the sink, eyes locked on her hands which appeared to be scrubbed nearly raw. I walked inside, concern building by the moment. “What are you doing?” I asked. 

She didn’t hear me - or she ignored me if she did. She continued scrubbing her hands diligently. I leaned forward to get a better look. A few red streaks ran off her hand and down the sink, but I wasn’t so sure what she was washing off was the victim’s blood anymore. 

“Y/N, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” I scolded. Her motions continued. She seemed dazed and unaware of my presence. She was surely in some kind of shock. 

As I stood behind her, I felt as though the scrubbing intensified. I made a snap decision. Stepping forward, I placed my arms on either side of her body, caging her in around the sink as I firmly grabbed her forearms and separated her hands. 

She jumped violently, enough for me to release her arms from my grip and back away quickly. 

“My god, Dr. Reid. How long have you been here?” she asked as her voice shook. She looked exhausted and her hands were bright red. Red lines where she’d repeatedly used her nails to scrape at the skin caught my eye. I pulled my gaze away from her hands, making eye contact with her for the first time. “I came to check on you, after everything. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

She looked down at her hands, the realization of what she had done became apparent as she flexed her fingers and winced. 

“Looks like I came at the right time,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her. 

She shook her head incredulously before she began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. I have no idea why I was doing that. You shouldn’t have had to-” 

I shrugged. “It happens.”

Silence filled the room as I noticed she was still in her blood-soaked clothes. Thoughts whirled through my mind, but I couldn’t form a coherent thought. Words were pouring out of my mouth without my approval. 

 “Here’s what I purpose,” I said before I could stop myself. “Take a shower, get changed, and meet me in my room for a few minutes. I just want to talk to you about a some things.”

 She stared at the floor. I almost thought she was going to say no. 

“Okay,” she whispered. 

I nodded, heading for the bathroom door. “Room 91A. And please, call me Spencer,” I stated. Not waiting for her response, I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked her hotel door on my way out.

-READER POV-

You felt like you were in trouble. 

You know when you’re merely a child and you get in trouble in the middle of class? You know the feeling of your stomach sinking as you walk to the principal’s office?

That was the only way you could describe walking to Dr. Reid’s - Spencer’s - room. 

After a shower that stung your hands and brought tears to your eyes, you slipped into some comfy clothes and wrapped gauze around the rawest parts of your palms, before heading to his room. 

Room 91A. You tapped your knuckles on the door twice. You heard shuffling from inside the room. Spencer stood before you, also showered, also in his pajamas. 

This caught you by surprise. He could tell by the way your eyebrows shot up at his appearance. “I figured we might as well be comfortable with one another,” he said before stepping out of the way. “Come in.”

You brushed past him as you walked inside. Though it was just a hotel room, something about the stack of books on the side table and paperwork scattered on the desk brought a small smile to your face. 

One book in particular laid face up on the edge of the bed. “Dostoyevsky?” you asked. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your question. “Yes. Have you read his work?” 

You nodded, glancing up at him as you ran your hand over the cover of the book, tracing the engraving on the cover of the antique copy. “Everybody knows Crime and Punishment, but I prefer White Nights.” 

You’d caught him off guard. “I didn’t know you were interested in Russian literature,” he said, walking to the other side of the room and taking a seat in one of the two armchairs positioned in the corner, “or any literature, for that matter.” 

You shrugged. “We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I’m not sure why you’d have any idea.” 

His stare faltered, and you caught him averting his eyes to the floor as he leaned back in the chair. “I should have asked. I haven’t been very kind to you. I haven’t done a very good job of making you feel welcome here,” he started cautiously. 

That caught your attention. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, but your first response was to reassure him. “It’s no problem, Spencer. It’s been so busy that I haven’t had time to get to know anyone very well.” You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, watching him carefully. 

“That isn’t true,” he said matter of factly. 

“Excuse me?” you asked, genuinely confused as to if you heard him right. 

Spencer cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tops of his thighs. His hands folded and he used them as a rest for his chin. You could see the gears turning in his head. 

“I said that it isn’t true. You have gotten to know everyone quite well, from what I gather,” Spencer said. 

Before you could respond, he started in again. “I’ve seen pictures of you with Luke and Penelope at the club after the last case. I know you went to lunch with Will and JJ. She says you’re fantastic with Henry and Michael. Tara told me you helped Rossi finish the thousand piece puzzle he’s had splayed out on his office table for two months. All this while Emily claims you’re a ray of sunshine.” 

Your mouth had fallen open a bit in the midst of his confession. You tried to think of an appropriate response. “Well, yes. That’s all true. But I don’t expect you to go out of your way to get to know me. I’m a people person.” You pointed to the books on his side table. “You, on the other hand, seem to prefer quiet time alone. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The room was silent for a moment. The sound of Spencer’s foot tapping quietly against the floor kept the time. One, two, three… 

“I didn’t used to be this way,” he said frankly. 

You glanced at him, trying to read his expression. His face was stoic. He didn’t look particularly upset, though he surely wasn’t happy either. He ran a lone hand through his hair and brushed a few solitary curls from his eyes. 

“I know,” you responded. 

He furrowed his brow at you, confusion written all over his face. You rose from the bed and approached him before plopping down in the armchair next to his. 

“You know how, for us normal people, we spend a few years in training before we actually get a real assignment?” you asked. 

He nodded. 

“I’ve been with the Bureau in that capacity going on four years,” you started, eyes locked on the wall across from you. “My third year, there were rumors about an FBI agent spending time in prison for some high-level crime. People theorized it was connected to drug running, treason, even murder.”

Spencer cringed. 

“For the longest time, I thought it was a rumor. I forgot about it and I got an internship in Internal Affairs,” you continued. “One day, my boss handed me this huge file, full of reports going back over a decade.”

He was curious now, staring at you intensely as you did your best not to melt under his gaze. 

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that was your file. One section was full of every report you’d ever written. The other section was what the Department of Justice had collected in an attempt to convict you in the fall.” 

This was new information to Spencer, who felt himself let out a bitter laugh. You paused to look at him. 

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that,” he said sourly. “I knew then they would want to be as far away from the case as possible. No wonder it was easier for them to try to keep me in there.” 

You shrugged, continuing. “I guess Emily had called in a favor with Internal Affairs. I was tasked with finding proof of innocence.” 

“And?” Spencer asked. 

“I couldn’t find any,” you stated simply. He nodded. “But I never forgot the file, especially the pictures inside. I never forget a face. Reading through your life with the Bureau, seeing the sequence of ID images each year as you got older, maybe even colder. That stuck with me for some reason.”

He appeared intrigued and was clearly doing his best not to interrupt. 

“When I woke up one morning and saw this huge CBS headline about the DOJ dropping the charges against a wrongly accused agent, I felt a strange kind of vindication,” you admitted. “Nine months later I got a call from Emily, asking me to come in for an interview. Two months later, now we’re here.”  

“Now we’re here,” he repeated. 

You cleared your throat. “What I didn’t bank on when I joined the BAU, was the same face from that file would be across from me at the table every day.”

You turned to him to find he was already looking at you, and you offered him a small smile. “All this to say,” you whispered, “I think you have every reason not to be friendly with the new hire.” 

The room was silent once more, the two of you sneaking glances at each other. Spencer was the first to break the silence. 

“Emily sent me to check on you because she thought it would be good for both of us,” he confessed. “She said you should see me as an example that people can get through bad things, and that I needed to get out of my head and into the real world.” 

You were quiet for a moment before shifting in the chair. You thought of everything you’d seen over the last twelve hours.

“I never forget a face,” you whispered again, thinking back to the victim on the floor. Her glassy eyes staring up at your own. 

Spencer nodded. “Me either.” 

“So how do you do it?” you asked him. 

He turned to you. You swore you could see tears forming in his eyes. 

“I find that there's always that little moment right when you wake up in the morning, when everything's good, because your mind has temporarily forgotten the bad stuff.”

You smiled as he continued. “At night, when I can’t sleep, I make a list in my head of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game.”

You tried to think about every good thing you’d ever seen someone do and tears welled in your eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you said. 

“It works sometimes,” Spencer smiled. He moved forward, placing a hand on your knee. You looked up at him. The two of you stared at each other. 

“You have to know that you’ll never fully forget these things, but we get through it as a team,” he finished. 

The tears welled up in your eyes spilled over, and you noticed that a few of his own had to. The hand on your knee moved up, wiping the fallen tears from your cheeks.

After a moment of letting the tears dry, you rose from the chair. “I really appreciate this, Spencer. I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way to help me, but I am very grateful.” 

He stood, towering over you. “It’s not a problem. I enjoyed talking to you.” 

“I enjoyed talking to you too,” you said with a smile. You stood next to him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his close proximity before you snapped out of it. “Well, I should probably go back to my room and let you get back to your work.”

You turned from him and walked towards the door, pausing only when you heard his voice call after you. 

“Y/N,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction to where you’d crossed the room. 

“Yeah, Spencer?” you said, turning to face him. 

He faltered, his eyes finding the floor again. “I just,” Spencer stuttered for a moment, trying to regain his cool. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay. Stay and talk, of course. I-” he paused a moment more. Spencer took a deep breath. “I think Emily was right. I do enjoy your company and I’d like you to stay for a while,” he said firmly. 

You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. Spencer saw it, too, quickly rushing to give you an out. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” he rushed. His cheeks burned red. 

“No, I don’t have to,” you said. “But I’d like to.” 

You saw his shoulders relax as the tension left his body. 

“Great,” Spencer nodded. He sounded relieved. 

You walked over to the armchair, plopping back down next to him. “Right, so,” you started, “What’s your topic of choice, Spence?” 

The use of his nickname brought the blush back to his cheeks as he scurried back into the chair next to you. 

He glanced at the books on the side table, the topic of conversation coming to him quickly. “Tell me,” Spencer started, “What resonates with you about the White Lady?”

You smiled before diving into a summary that not only analyzed the text but connected it to your own life. You thought your heart skipped a beat when you caught a glimpse of Spencer smiling warmly at you as you rambled. 

It was a long, interesting, conversation-filled night. 

[prentissluvr]

forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours. 

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just… i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm. 

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

Seeing Blind - DBH Connor x reader

This is not a request but I watched a play through recently and it reignited my love for the android sent by Cyberlife ❤️

Warnings: Some language, mentions of blue blood

Word count: 4423 🤪

The broadcasting tower was buzzing with law enforcement. Much to the chagrin of Hank Anderson, the FBI had been called in to look at the case. Detective (Y/N) (L/N) could not have cared less about the FBI presence. Was she a fan of how they treated her and her colleagues? Absolutely not. However, it’s not like her dislike will change anything and it’s not worth the added tension. Hank, (Y/N), and Connor walked out of the elevator and were greeted by a DPD officer. He gave them the run down: 4 androids hijacked the tower and broadcasted a live message before escaping from the roof. 

(Y/N) eyebrows furrowed as she followed slightly behind her partners. The deviants had organized, She thought. It was becoming more and more clear that these android are no longer just machines. (Y/N) shook her head. That didn’t change what happened. People were killed in this highjacking and, alive or not, what the androids did was a crime. 

The three of them entered the main control room and were introduced to Special Agent Perkins - the head of the case for the FBI. (Y/N) could tell that Hank made an effort to hide his disdain, but not a huge one. Perkins regarded both of them with a condescending glance before moving his gaze over to Connor. 

“What’s that?”

Before either of his human companions could answer, “I’m Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” 

“Android investigating androids, huh?” He scoffed, “Are you sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that’s happened?” 

(Y/N) glared, grinding her teeth together to stay silent, while Hank gave a sardonic smile. 

“Whatever. The FBI will be taking over soon and you’ll soon be off the case-”

“Nice meeting you, have a nice day,” Hank cut him off and started walking away when Perkins stopped him, 

“And you watch your step,” Hank and (Y/N) glared at him and he looked directly into (Y/N)’s eyes as he continued, “Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to reply, but a hand on her shoulder gave her pause. She glanced over to see Hank shaking his head. It’s not worth the trouble. She huffed and moved away to talk to a group of officers closer to the door. 

Connor watched for a moment as (Y/N) walked away. Her steps were heavier than normal and her right hand clenched and unclenched in time with her stride. 

“Detective (L/N) is upset.” He said. The android continued to watch the detective as she took in information from the officers.  

“Yeah, people tend to get upset when they feel insulted.” Hank quipped as he started looking around the control panel. 

“Detective Reed insults Detective (L/N) often, yet she doesn’t get upset with him.” 

“That’s cause Reed is irrelevant.” 

Connor’s LED circled yellow for a moment as he processed Hank’s answer but before he could ask him to elaborate, he began to walk away. 

“Alright, enough fuckin’ around. Let’s look around the place. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Ok, Lieutenant.”

(Y/N) had been looking around on her own for a few minutes. She had watched the message that the deviants had broadcast and found herself unable to ignore the reality that was fast approaching. Revelations about life aside, she hadn’t been able to find anything useful. Just as she began to walk out into the hallway, there was a loud crash from one of the other rooms. Confusion settled over her features as she jogged over. Suddenly, a figure rushed out of the door as she was going in, knocking straight into her and sending her to the ground with a grunt. It was a deviant! As she hurried to recover from the impact, she happened to see into the room the android ran out of, and what she saw made her stomach wrench. It was Connor, but he was leaking thirium from a hole in his chest and was attempting to haul himself across the floor with one hand. 

“Connor!” (Y/N) shouted as she rushed over to him. His brown eyes flitted over to her as she slid to her knees beside him. “Connor, can you hear me? What happened? What do you need?” She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto his back. He let out a groan that made it seem like he was in pain. Androids can’t feel pain. Right?

Connor attempted to speak but the words came out in garbled static. He vaguely pointed a few feet in front of them and (Y/N) 's frantic eyes looked in that direction to see some kind of cylindrical biocomponent. She reached out with a shaking hand and snatched up the piece. When she looked back at Connor, he was blurry. She blinked back the tears she hadn’t realized were building up and took a deep breath. 

“What do I do? Where does this go?” 

This time Connor didn’t try to speak at all. He grabbed (Y/N) 's hand and helped guide the biocomponent into place. She twisted it in and it clicked. Connor blinked rapidly before standing up as quickly as a flash. He was out of the door before (Y/N) could even stand. She quickly followed him out and into the hallway leading to the broadcasting room. She skidded to a stop beside Connor and stared at the scene in front of her. The android had been grabbed by a few officers but had just managed to break free and steal a gun. He shot one of the officers holding him and then swung his aim down the hallway: directly at Detective (L/N). 

||Software Instability ^^||

The moment Connor saw the barrel of that gun aimed at (Y/N) he could feel his software going into overdrive. His LED circled red as several options popped up in his predictive software- 

|Take cover| - Hank’s survival probability: 60% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 5%

|Attempt negotiation| - Hank’s survival probability: 50% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 10%

|Take officer’s gun| - Hank’s survival probability: 40% - (Y/N)’s survival probability: 40%

Connor turned and practically ripped the gun off of the officer beside him before quickly landing three shots in the android’s head. As the android fell to its knees everyone turned to look at Connor, including Hank and (Y/N). Connor handed the gun back to its owner without taking his eyes off the lifeless deviant. His face wore a hard, unreadable expression. His LED flickered yellow then back to the steady blue.

“Nice shot, Connor,” Hank said as he helped an officer to his feet. 

“I wanted it alive.” 

“You saved human lives. You saved mine and (Y/N)’s  lives.” 

||Hank ^^||

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took in a deep breath. When she opened them she saw that Connor was already looking at her. He still had his own thirium splattered all over him. Seeing that reminded her that his thirium was also all over her hands which both folded into fists unconsciously. 

“I’m sorry, Connor. I know that probably wasn’t the best outcome for your mission.” 

Connor’s LED flashed yellow. Even after almost being shot, she was being considerate of his mission. 

||Software Instability ^^||

||(Y/N)^^||

Connor remained silent and walked away, leaving Hank and (Y/N) to stare after him.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke in a cold sweat from a nightmare that felt so real its hazy images were still sinking their claws into her mind. Images of Connor’s lifeless body lying in a pool of his own blue blood. The feeling of helplessness as she kneels over him, the hot trail of tears carving through the skin of her cheek. (Y/N) shook her head and shoved the covers off before swiping her hands down her face. A firm knock at her front door caused her to groan and slowly make her way out of her bedroom. 

Connor could faintly hear (Y/N) 's feet shuffle across the floor as she came closer. He briefly cast a look over his shoulder to Hank, who was sitting in the car with his head leaned back and his mouth slightly agape - sleeping. The sound of the deadbolt sliding open pulled his attention back to the door. The door swung open to reveal a very tired-looking (Y/N). Connor noted the sweat that dampened the neck of her shirt and the light bags beneath her eyes. 

“Good morning, Detective,” he greeted. “Lieutenant Anderson thinks it would be beneficial to meet with Elijah Kamski, founder of Cyberlife, to learn more about the deviants.” 

(Y/N) blinked blearily at Connor. Her face was softly scrunched in sleepy confusion and she huffed a sigh. 

“Okay,” She said as she turned and walked back into her house, “Just gimme a minute to get myself together.” 

She hadn’t bothered to close the door, so Connor took that as an invitation to come inside. He walked further into the small house, shutting the door behind him, and took note of decorations and pictures that seemed to give the house life. Pictures of (Y/N) with friends, family, and even one of her and Hank. Hank was not smiling in the photo, in fact, it seemed as though the photo was taken against his will but here it sat: framed on the living room end table. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out,” (Y/N) grumbled as she disappeared around a corner. 

The house smelled faintly of vanilla as well as the perfume (Y/N) often wears. Connor liked that smell. It made him feel nice. 

“Detective?” 

“Hm?” 

Connor picked up a picture of (Y/N) holding a child who looked to be around four or five. “I did not thank you for your help yesterday. In the tower I mean.” When you saved my life, is what he wanted to say but life felt like the wrong word in his mind. There was a long stretch of silence before (Y/N) answered, 

“Anyone would have done the same.”

Liar.

Both of them knew that was not true. There were plenty of people in that room alone that wouldn’t have cared less if Connor had bled out and shut down right in that room as long as they didn’t have to clean up the mess. Just as Connor placed the picture back where he found it, (Y/N) emerged from what he had assumed to be her bedroom. Her eyes widened a fraction when she saw the picture Connor was looking at but didn’t mention it. 

“Come on, don’t want to keep Hank waiting.” She nodded her head toward the front door but made no move to leave. Connor’s LED twitched yellow, then returned to its natural blue. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked. 

“Do what?” She glanced away. She already knew the answer. 

“Save me. If I had shut down I would have just been replaced. It’s happened before.” 

(Y/N) knew it had happened before. She was there when he was shot in the head by that deviant. It rattled her and upon seeing him walk in the next morning completely unscathed she realized that she had been sad that he was gone. 

“It was just instinct. I guess I wasn’t really thinking about the fact that you could just…come back.”

Connor thought about this for a moment. Her statement made it seem like she had forgotten he was just a machine. A piece of equipment that can be replaced. She was saying that at that moment she thought of him as a person.

||Software Instability^^||

“Now, let’s go. I don’t want Hank banging on my door yelling about us wasting his time.” This time she turned around and headed for the door with Connor not far behind. 

The ride out to Kamski’s estate was a quiet one. Hank had grumbled about how long (Y/N) and Connor had taken when they first got in the car, then turned the radio on and fell into silence. (Y/N) stared out of the back window watching a snow-covered Detroit blur past her. Connor sat with his eyes shut in the front seat. He had originally been making a report to Cyberlife but now he was thinking about (Y/N). She was a question he couldn’t quite answer. In his research for the mission he had focused on Hank since, technically, he was his superior officer. However, now he wishes he had looked a little deeper into (Y/N)’s file as well. As he thought about her more, he could feel his internal processors heating up more than normal. He noticed that happening around the female detective more and more. He didn’t understand why. All his systems are running as they should be and his diagnostic program detects no issues yet his body temperature has noticeably increased. His thoughts were interrupted by Hank's car door slamming shut. 

“Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) asked. Connor opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Yes. I was making a report to Cyberlife.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “No, you weren’t”

Connor tilted his head.

“When you ‘make a report to Cyberlife’,” she used her fingers as air quotes, “your little light blinks yellow. It stopped doing that about ten minutes ago.”

“You are very observant.” Connor didn’t know what to say in response to being caught in a lie. He was feeling uncomfortable. If he didn’t know better he would think he was feeling embarrassed. 

“And you are not a good liar,” (Y/N) chuckled as she exited the vehicle. 

Hank rolled his eyes as he watched the two talk in the car. Something was going on between them that made Hank’s skin crawl. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Connor himself was becoming a deviant and even more obvious that it was all (Y/N)’s fault. Cyberlife had taken everything into account in Connor’s design except for the idea that genuine human connection could reach across wiring. The older man crossed his arms and fought off a shiver. If these two don’t hurry it up, he thought just as (Y/N) stepped out of the car. 

“God damn, it’s fucking cold!” She said as she vigorously rubbed her hands up and down her arms. 

“No shit. Let’s hurry up and get inside.” 

The three of them walked up to the door and Hank rang the doorbell. 

“Why did we want to speak to Kamski, anyway? He had resigned long before deviants had become an issue,” (Y/N) said through chattering teeth. 

“Because he was the first person to make a robot that passed the Turing Test. He created Cyberlife. If anyone knows about what could make an android deviant, it’s him.”

The door opened and a pretty, blonde android greeted them and led them inside. (Y/N) sighed in relief as she was engulfed in warmth. 

“Please take a seat. I’ll let Elijah know you’re here.”

Instead of sitting, Connor elected to look around the foyer. (Y/N) noticed that he stopped for a few moments looking at a photo of Kamski with a woman. Connor muttered something under his breath and confusion crossed his face before he moved on. Hank and (Y/N) sat in the two available chairs and both gazed around the room. 

“This is a nice place. I guess androids haven’t been a bad thing for everybody,” Hank said.

(Y/N) snorted out a laugh, “You would be the one to say that. This place feels…empty. Cold, I guess.” 

“The room is 75 degrees Fahrenheit. How is the room cold?” Connor asked. He was now standing beside (Y/N)’s chair and the familiar smell of her perfume narrowed his focus. Hank scoffed and shook his head and (Y/N) pursed her lips before responding, 

“I don’t mean that it’s literally cold in here I mean that it’s,” she paused and scratched the bridge of her nose, “I don’t know how to explain it to you. I guess it just doesn’t feel like a home.”

Connor nodded slowly as he attempted to understand. He looked around again, this time comparing it to when he entered (Y/N)’s house earlier. It was a very different experience. The harsh, white lighting of Kamski’s foyer did seem extreme when compared to the soft, yellow lamp light of (Y/N)’s living room. 

“Well, you’re about to meet your maker, Connor. How’s it feel?” Hank called his attention back to the present. 

“I don’t know,” the android answered truthfully, “I’ll tell you when I see him.”

“Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face,” Hank rubbed his hands on his thighs and looked off into the distance, “I’d have a couple of things I’d want to tell him.”

Just then, the android woman came back to get them, “Elijah will see you now.” 

The room the three investigators were led to was a pool room. (Y/N) noted - with much distaste - that the tile of the pool was a deep red. The color made it look like Kamski was doing laps in a pool of blood. 

“Mr. Kamski?” She called out. 

“Just a moment, please,” He said. Kamski finished a few more laps in the pool before climbing out. His android brought him a robe and tied it on for him - (Y/N) sneered at that - before he finally walked over to speak to the three investigators. 

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson, this is detective (L/N) and Connor.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” 

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. We are aware of your departure from Cyberlife but we were hoping that you could tell us something we don’t know.” It was (Y/N) that answered his question. Her voice was a little louder than it needed to be and she had tightly clasped her hands behind her back to hide her fidgeting. Kamski’s eyes swept over her with a cold, calculating stare. She fought back the urge to cower. 

“Deviants,” He began, “fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will.” He briefly glanced at the android woman standing obediently beside him before continuing, “Machines are so superior to us; confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall.” he scoffs, “isn’t it ironic?” 

“We need to understand how androids become deviants. Do you know anything that could help us?” Connor asked.

Kamski shrugged his shoulders, “All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics.”

(Y/N) turned to Hank and rolled her eyes. Hank held back a scoff.

“Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?” Kamski finished. 

“Look I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that’ll be helpful or we can be on our way,” Hank vaguely gestured toward the door as he finished. There was a silent pause in the room before Kamski walked over to Connor. 

“What about you, Connor?” He started, “Whose side are you on?” 

“It’s not about me, Mr. Kamski,” Connor answered after a short pause, “All I want is to solve this case.”

Kamski chuckled, “Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say. But you…” Kamski took a step closer, “What do you really want?” 

Connor felt himself fighting a sudden urge to look for (Y/N)’s eyes. He knew that if he could just meet her gaze, he wouldn’t be feeling so unsteady, so…lost.

||Software Instability^^||

(Y/N) stared at Connor’s profile as he stared down at Kamski. He looked so self-assured just a moment ago, but now he seemed to be a bit thrown off by Kamski’s line of questioning. 

“What I want…is not important.”

Even Hank was surprised by the uncertainty in Connor’s voice. Kamski nodded, then looked over his shoulder, 

“Chloe,” he called for the android woman to join him in front of Connor. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Turing Test. It’s a bit of a formality - a simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” Kamski adjusts Chloe so that she faces the three investigators. Her blank expression was on full display. “What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy.”

(Y/N) felt her stomach turn and she clenched her fists. She looked from Hank to Connor to find them eyeing Kamski curiously. Hank, of course, seemed more wary than Connor was. It was likely that he was feeling the same thing (Y/N) felt: dread.

“I call it the Kamski Test. It’s very simple, you’ll see.” Kamski turned to look at Chloe as he continued, “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models built by Cyberlife.” He caressed the android’s cheek, “Young and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither.”

(Y/N)’s feeling of dread deepened and she took a subconscious step toward Connor. She didn’t notice that she did, but Connor noticed. 

“But what is it, really?” Kamski continued and moved to grab something out of a drawer from the table behind him, “A piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being with a soul.” When he turned back around he had a gun in one hand. Both hands were up showing that he had no intention of using it. He used his empty hand to push Chloe to her knees and then handed the gun to Connor, “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question.”

“Hey, wait a minute-”

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you everything I know,” Kamski interrupted (Y/N)’s protest by walking in between her and Connor. She lightly stumbled to get out of his way and Connor’s eyes briefly strayed to her before returning to the kneeling android. 

“Or, spare it - if you feel it’s alive.” Kamski lifted Connor’s arm to aim the gun at the android’s forehead. “But you’ll leave here without having learned anything from me.”

“Okay, I think we’re done here. Connor, let’s go. Sorry to get you out of your pool-” Hank started to walk but was interrupted by Kamski speaking again. 

“What’s more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android?”

Connor’s LED was flashing yellow as he stared into the eyes of the android. He should shoot it. That would be better for the investigation. He should shoot it…her?”

“Connor, you don’t have to do that. Whatever we need to know we can find out without killing anyone,” (Y/N) said. 

“Decide who you are, Connor. Obedient machine, or a living being endowed with free will.”

“That’s enough! Connor we’re leaving.” Hank just about shouted. 

“Yeah, come on, Connor, let’s go,” (Y/N) pleaded.

“Pull the trigger and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Connor, don’t!”

‘Connor, please!” 

Connor stared at the android on the other end of the barrel. What was wrong with him? If he had been given this ultimatum three days ago, he would have pulled the trigger with no hesitation, but now? 

||Software Instability^^||

He can’t do it. His LED glared red as he handed Kamski the gun. Connor’s eyes never left Chloe’s.

“Fascinating,” Kamski breathed, “Cyberlife’s last chance to save humanity, is itself a deviant.”

“I’m-” Connor paused, his LED back to flashing yellow, “I’m not a deviant.”

“You preferred to spare a machine than accomplish your mission,” Kamski helped the android to her feet, “You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy.” He sent Chloe away and stepped closer to Connor again. ‘There’s a war coming. You’ll have to choose your side: will you betray your own people, or will you stand up to your creators? What could be worse than having to choose between two evils?” 

(Y/N) had had enough. She stomped her way over to Connor and grabbed his hand. She tugged on it to get him to walk with her, “We’re leaving. Come on, Connor.” Her voice held gravel as if she was on the verge of crying. 

Connor allowed (Y/N) to lead him past Hank, who followed after them but not before glaring at Kamski. (Y/N)’s grip on Connor's hand was strong and the android would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a bit better. Just before the trio made it out of the room, Kamski said one last thing, 

“By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.”

It was Connor who now led the way down the front walk of Kamski’s home. His hand was still firmly grasping (Y/N)’s as he practically dragged her toward the car. 

“Connor, slow down!” (Y/N) urged as she almost slipped on the snow. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Hank suddenly asked. Connor stopped causing (Y/N) to almost stumble into his back. 

“I just saw that girl’s eyes and I couldn’t. That’s all…” He trails off. 

“You were always saying you would do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to learn something and you let it go,” Hank said. His tone was quiet without an iota of accusation. Connor turned around, finally dropping (Y/N)’s hand to gesture with his own. 

“Yeah, I know what I should’ve done! I told you: I couldn’t!” His shoulders were tense. They did not rise and fall like he was breathing heavily, of course, but (Y/N) and Hank knew that if they could, they would. Connor was clearly experiencing panic. He was confused and probably scared. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

Hank’s lips twitched up into a rare smile, “Well, maybe you did the right thing.”

||Hank^^||

Connor’s LED blinked yellow as Hank walked past him toward the car. He stared at the place he once stood until (Y/N) moved into view. She was smiling at him. One of those proud smiles she usually had after getting Hank to come into work on time. 

“That was a big choice back there. Are you okay?” 

Her question was an echo from earlier. Connor’s mouth opened to reply but no words came out. Am I malfunctioning? He thought to himself. (Y/N)’s smile only widened when she noticed a faint tinge of blue on the android’s cheeks. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of the cold.” She walked past him and brushed her hand down his arm. Connor found himself reaching out for her hand, just barely missing it as she walked toward the car. 

||(Y/N)^^||

[stsgluver]

tags. criminal mind!au, gojo x reader, unestablished relationship, mentions of blood, slight angst

"stop hovering."

there had to be at least two dozen emergency staff buzzing around you, ranging from medical to the fbi. everyone had a role to play in aiding the injured and ensuring no one else died tonight.

your job, for the most part, was complete. you'd profiled and detained the unsub and, although the adrenaline racing through your body had you on high alert still, you were more than ready to climb into your hotel bed.

"gojo," you called out the name of your white-haired colleague after he didn't respond to you. he wasn't listening, too focused on the movements of the paramedic who was sterilising the cuts on your arm and forehead. luckily, you didn't require any stitches. "satoru."

his first name, which you ever so rarely used while on duty, had him at least making eye contact with you. he wasn't injured but he definitely needed to shower - there was dirt staining his face and hair.

"i’m fine," you repeated for what felt like the millionth time. you loved your team, you really did, but you all worked the same dangerous job that came with the same dangerous risks. you came out of the ordeal as unscathed as you possibly could've been and while you were grateful for their concern, there needn't be any.

“barely," gojo muttered, electric blue eyes tracing the cut on your forehead that had yet to be cleaned, the blood still staining your skin.

you lightly shook your head, "that’s an exaggeration."

that set gojo out of whatever daze he'd been in as he frowned at you. "is it? what if i’d been another thirty seconds?"

out of everyone on the team, gojo was your favourite for several reasons. whilst yes, there was the obvious closeness between the two of you as your similar age had meant you'd quickly become close friends, there was also his attitude. it was rare that you ever saw gojo so serious, always finding a way to lighten up the mood no matter how dark or twisted your job gets.

this, however, was not lightening any mood, and you felt a pang of guilt that you were the cause of his unease.

"but you weren’t," you countered softly, trying not to sound like you were arguing or dismissing his worry.

you'd entered the building alone - inside was the unsub and a hostage and no one else would be on site for at least a few more minutes. the kidnapped girl did not have that time so you risked it.

after an altercation with the unsub, the hostage had managed to run free but you'd been left pinned down on the ground with a gun pointing at your forehead. no amount of negotiating could talk them through the psychological break they were experiencing so it was very likely that had gojo not shown up and put a bullet through him that you may died tonight.

but he did show up. he always did.

"yaga didn’t give you clearance."

"i know he’s already lectured me." it was exactly what you had wanted as gojo had helped you out of the building. he'd even stood by you as yaga spoking, supporting most of your weight as you'd twisted your ankle. "i don’t need to hear it twice."

"don’t you? i-" gojo stopped himself for a moment, running his hands through his hair as he so often did when he was frustrated. "we could’ve lost you." you felt bad for the poor paramedic who probably just wanted to get their job done and not have to listen to your quarrel.

"i’m fine satoru." you felt like a broken record.

your insistence wasn't enough for him to overcome his anger towards you and you had to fight off any tears as you watched him storm off into the crowd of people around you.

[arcane-vagabond]

Road to Perdition: Chapter Two

Road to Perdition: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The Great Depression wasn't called a depression for nothing. Jobs were scarce, and the price of food and other necessities were rising higher and higher with each passing day. What little money you were able to make went straight to the bank and out of reach from your booze-swilling lech of a brother. It's on one such run that you come face to face with members of the infamous Dagger Gang; a group of, admittedly handsome, men who steal from the banks to hand it back out to the poor. You want nothing to do with them, but that blond-headed devil might just have something to say to the contrary. (1930s!Mobster!AU)

Content Warning: Police, FBI, Self Deprecation, Jake being a scoundrel, Suggestive Comments, Cursing, Attempted SA, Derogatory Names being thrown at reader, Guns, Descriptions of Blood. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Masterlist

The ache to your temple had dulled, but still throbbed enough to be noticeable even after two days. You had woken in the alley, head aching from where Hangman had struck you as the police officer gripped your shoulder to steady you.

“Are you alright, miss?” The officer had asked, concern shining in his brown eyes as he looked you over. You had been dazed and disoriented, looking around to try and piece together what had happened. You glanced around and saw the bank manager already on his feet speaking with another officer. A particularly hard throb had you wincing and grabbing at your temple, and the officer before you offered you a sympathetic smile and a hand to help you up.

“It looks like they got you pretty good,” he muttered, eyeing the growing bruise on the side of your head. You grimaced at him, eyes wandering again and landing on a tall man pushing his way through the throng of police. He was older, his dark hair graying at the temples and making him look even sterner than his hard expression already made him look. His blue eyes scanned the area, and you wondered when the last time he got any sleep was, the dark circles under his eyes indicating that it had been quite a while. A shadow of stubble outlined his hard-set jaw, emphasizing the look of irritation that covered his handsome features. His eyes met yours, brow arching at you as you met his gaze.

“Do you remember anything, miss?” The officer next to you asked gently, and you turned to look at him. You opened your mouth to reply, but stopped as a figure walked up into your peripheral.

“I’ve got it, son,” the man dismissed gruffly, sparing the young officer a look before fixing his attention back on you. The officer seemed put out by the dismissal, but he nodded at you, tipping his cap with a final “miss” before walking off to join his fellow law enforcement. You watched him go for a moment, feeling the newcomer’s gaze on you as you pointedly refused to meet his gaze. The man cleared his throat, and that’s when you looked back over at him, keeping your face neutral as you met his gaze once more.

“The name’s Agent Beau Simpson,” he started, eyes roving over you as his lips twisted into a frown. “What’s yours?”

You gave him your name, sizing him up as you did so, a habit you supposed you picked up from the days when your father would take you out on some of his runs during prohibition. You needed to know the measure of people just in case.

“I work for the Bureau of Investigation,” he continued, sliding his hands into his pockets as he allowed his eyes to wander across the alley. You let out a snort that drew his attention back to where you stood.

“What’re the G -Men doing in a shithole like this?” You questioned. Agent Simpson raised a brow at your coarse language, earning an eyebrow raise of your own in challenge.

“The Bureau has tasked me and my partner,” he pauses to gesture over at an older looking man who’s stopped to talk with the bank manager, an easy smile on his wrinkled face as he listens to the other man attentively, “Agent Kazansky, with investigating the activities of the Dagger Gang.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Now it made sense. You had heard some of the nicknames whispered around town as Everyone had heard about the notorious gang of criminals roaming the rural areas of this and the neighboring states. The group was heralded as a godsend, robbing the crooked banks and giving the money back to the working poor. You weren’t sure what to think of them to be completely honest. It seemed to you to be too good to be true, and the bruise at your temple throbbed in agreement.

“The Dagger Gang, huh?” You muttered, bringing your fingertips to press gently against the pained skin. You winced at the contact, and Agent Simpson watched you with an unreadable expression.

“Looks like they left you with a parting gift,” he commented. You shot him a look before letting your hand drop.

“Did you need something, or am I free to go?” You huffed, crossing your arms. Agent Simpson said nothing for a moment, but you thought you caught a glint of amusement in his eyes before he took out a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. How he was able to wear that many layers in this heat was beyond you.

“You mind telling me what happened?” He asked, and you let out a sigh, recounting your tale to him as he wrote down every detail.

“And that’s all I remember,” you finished, picking at the seam of your skirt as you watched Agent Kazansky finish up with the bank manager. The police were starting to clear out the area as well, having finished bagging as much evidence as they could find.

“You’re sure?” Agent Simpson prompted, brow raised as he finished a note. “Nothing else happened?”

The flash of jade green eyes and soft lips on yours had heat crawling up your neck and to your cheeks. You took a sharp breath, steeling yourself and willing the memory out of your head as you offered him a nod.

“Positive,” you muttered, looking away. Agent Simpson stared at you for a moment before nodding.

“Alright then,” he sighed, putting the notepad and pen back into his jacket and pulling a small, white card out. “If you think of anything, give this number a call. The people at the Bureau will be sure to get the information to me.”

You took the card with a small frown, placing it into your bag with a nod.

“Will do,” you agreed, fingers resting on your camera as a thought struck you.

“Say,” you chirped, catching Agent Simpson’s attention as he was walking away. He turned back to give you a curious look. You held up your camera, waving it for added effect. “You mind if I take some pictures for the paper?”

Now you sat in the parlor of your oldest friend, Alice, in the home she shared with her husband of two years, Frank. It was a lovely home, much nicer than your own at least. Everything was kept in pristine condition, not a speck of dirt or mess in sight. You took a tentative sip from your teacup, a family heirloom of Alice’s, as she prattled on about the luncheon with the ladies from her parish.

You loved Alice dearly, having known her as long as you could remember, but since she got married, it seemed the two of you had been drifting further and further apart. You supposed part of that was your own fault, recounting the number of times Alice had invited you out to spend time with her and Frank. It seemed like they were always a package deal, and while you were fond of him, you couldn’t help but feel that you had been replaced as Alice’s partner in crime. The two of you used to do everything together, but since she had gotten married and settled into her fairytale life, you found yourself more often than not serving as the proverbial third wheel on their excursions.

“So what do you say, Moonie?” Alice chirped, eyes wide with excitement as she leaned forward to rest her palm on your knee. You stiffened for a second before relaxing, racking your brain for hints as to what she was asking you as you sipped your tea. It seemed that your time spend in self-imposed exile had made it hard for you to keep track of conversations.

“You have no idea what I just said, do you?” She sighed, leaning back with a swish of her long, blonde curls. You refused to meet her gaze as she let out another sigh, leaning forward once more to touch the bruise to your temple gingerly. You winced at the contact, setting your cup down on the table in front of you as you turned to look at her.

“I suppose it’s not your fault,” she mused, dropping her hand to take hold of yours. “It must have been so scary what you went through. And the nerve of those brutes to leave such a mess of your pretty face.”

“Alice,” you sighed, giving her a look that begged her to drop the line of conversation. She gave you a wry smile in return.

“Well, anyway,” she continued, mercifully dropping the subject as she let your hand go to place her own cup on the table beside yours. “I was asking if you wanted to come dancing with Frank and I tonight.”

“Alice, I don’t-” You began, but she waved your dismissal off with a brush of her hand.

“It won’t just be the three of us,” she said. “Frank’s friend from Wichita Falls is in town for some business, and I thought it might be fun to do a double date.”

You didn’t respond, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you studied her. You knew she only wanted you to be happy, to have the same kind of life that she lived now, but there was a part of you deep down that knew it would always be just outside your grasp. Still, the idea of getting to spend more time with Alice was appealing, and with Frank’s friend in town, you might actually get to spend some actual one-on-one time with her.

“What did you have in mind?” You relented, earning an excited grin.

Hours later, you were stepping foot into one of the hottest clubs in the Dallas area. You fought the urge to scratch at your face, not used to the makeup that Alice had dolled you up with. Rouge tinted your cheeks and a deep red painted your lips for the first time in years, and you could hardly believe your eyes when she had shown you in the mirror of her vanity earlier that evening.

“You look gorgeous, Moonie,” she had chirped, squeezing your shoulders as she dipped her head down to look at you. “Charlie is gonna be blown away!”

She had practically shoved a bright, red number into your hands as she pushed you towards the restroom to change. Your fingers brushed over the silky fabric in question, letting out a nervous breath as your small group entered the club. She had been right. Frank’s friend, Charlie, had looked gobsmacked when the two of you made your way to the foyer where the two men were waiting, and you let yourself bask in the warm feeling of being noticed by a handsome man.

Charlie’s hand rested on your waist as he guided you further into the room while trailing Alice and Frank. The club was in full swing, several people already on the dancefloor as the band played a jazz number that had you almost giddy. Alice and Frank stopped at a table close to the dancefloor, Charlie pulling out a seat for you as you gave him a grateful smile.

“Don’t get too comfortable!” Alice hollered over the noise, a delighted grin spread across her face as her eyes darted between you and your date. “After the first drink, we’re all headed to the dancefloor!”

“Oh, Alice, you know I don’t-” You began, brow furrowing in uncertainty, but she fixed you with a look that cut you off mid-sentence.

“No,” she stated firmly, arching a brow. “You do. You just haven’t. Come on, Moonie, let loose and live a little! There are no worries tonight!”

You sighed in defeat, casting an awkward smile to Charlie as he let his fingers brush over your shoulders. Alice gave you a knowing look before turning to say something to Frank, and you jumped as Charlie leaned into you.

“You look real pretty tonight, sweets,” he murmured, breath fanning over your cheeks, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol nearly making you gag.

“Thank you,” you managed, allowing your eyes to wander around the room. It was a beautiful place, it’s reputation doing little to prepare you for the majesty of the interior. Deep reds accented with golds lined the walls, artificial shadows cast across the room to offer the illusion of privacy in the crowded space. You wondered who or what lurked in them.

A waiter came around to take your orders, and while everyone around you ordered a cocktail, you stuck with plain water.

“No spirits for you, sweets?” Charlie asked with a lift of his brow. You gave a wry smile, mind flashing briefly to your older brother.

“I’m not one for alcohol,” you supplied, picking at the cloth of the napkin that sat in front of you.

“Shame,” he muttered, giving a smile to the waiter as he came back with everyone’s drinks.

You all chatted amongst yourselves as you sipped at your water, feeling yourself grow more and more stifled by Charlie’s presence as he crowded around you. The feeling of eyes on you tickled at the back of your neck, but you brushed it off as jitters about being out and about for the first time in who knows how long. Before long, Alice was on her feet and tugging Frank towards the dancefloor with her signature grin and bat of her eyelashes. Frank followed her eagerly, the two of them falling into an easy foxtrot.

“We should join’em!” Charlie called over the music, not waiting for protest as he took your hand and dragged you towards the dancefloor. You bit back your sigh, falling into step with the music, allowing yourself to get lost in the tempo as your feet moved. The feeling of eyes on you grew, and you allowed yourself to scan the room for the source of the uneasy feeling. You were pulled back, however, as Charlie stepped on your toes, causing you to wince with a hiss as he flushed a deep red.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he grumbled, attempting to guide you along the floor once more. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him, moving your feet once more as the music continued. The air between the two of you was silent and awkward as you continued, and you started to wonder how you were going to make it through the rest of the night. Perhaps you could feign illness…

“Frank told me you had a bit of a run-in earlier this week,” Charlie said, eyes glancing at your temple where, despite Alice’s best efforts, the bruise was still slightly visible beneath the layer of powder covering your face.

“Yes,” you sighed. “I suppose I did.”

“You must have been frightened, sweets,” he pressed, hand stroking along your waist as you gritted your teeth.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” you muttered as the song came to an end. You pulled away, forcing a smile on your face as Charlie allowed you to withdraw. A slower number came on, and the two of you stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

“I’ll, uh,” he swallowed, “I’ll go get us another round of drinks.”

You nodded but didn’t respond as he spun on his heel and retreated. You let out another sigh, starting to make your way back to the table when a hand grasped your wrist.

“Where’re you going, dollface?”

You whirled around at the familiar voice, eyes meeting jade green that sparkled with mirth. You stood frozen for a second as the blond’s face split with a cocky grin.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, attempting to pull your wrist free, but his grip remained gentle but firm.

“Come on,” he drawled, pulling you closer, the smell of tobacco and mint making your stomach flutter. “Just one dance.”

He left you no room to argue as he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a devilish grin and taking one of your hands in his. He began to sway along to the music, and you begrudgingly followed.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” He crooned, looking down at you with hooded eyes. You glared back up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line as he whisked you around the dancefloor.

“I think you’re already having a better time with me than you were lover boy over there,” he grinned, nodding over to where you were sure Charlie was. His hand on your waist began to venture lower, and you reached behind you to drag it back into place. You cast the man in front of you another glare, but he remained unperturbed, leaning forward so that his lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Been thinking ‘bout you,” he murmured, sending a shiver up your spine, one that didn’t go unnoticed judging by the smirk that graced his lips. “Been thinking about those pretty lips on mine.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your face warming at his words. How could this man stir such conflicting emotions in you?

“Been imagining how soft you’d feel against me,” he continued with a hum, lips trailing down towards your cheek, sending chills across your skin that had your insides twisting. “Been thinking about the pretty noises you’d make when I-”

“Don’t be crass,” you snapped, pushing against his chest. You only put about an inch or so of space between the two of you, your glare only a fraction of how fierce it was at the beginning of the dance. He chuckled, pulling you close again as he continued the dance.

“Sorry, sugar,” he smirked. “You’ve just been driving me crazy these past couple of days.”

“You don’t even know me,” you muttered, looking down at the floor. Hangman dips his head to look at you once more.

“No,” he acquiesced, “but I want to.”

You looked back at him at that, shock coloring your face.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t like the free spirited girls who flitted around town. You didn’t own nice clothes or worry about the latest trends. This man was beautiful, he could have anyone he wanted. So, why you?

“What do you mean ‘why?’” He laughed, stopping when he saw the serious look on your face. He offered a shrug. “I dunno. There’s just something about you, doll. Something that once I saw you, I knew you were something I’d never want to let go. Been thinking about it nonstop since the other day, and now here you are looking like an angel down from heaven itself right in front of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you groused, earning another chuckle. You gulped as you felt his hand begin to wander south once more, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Maybe,” he hummed, leaning into you so that his lips ghosted over yours. Your gaze flitted down, remembering the softness of his lips on yours, cursing how much you wanted to feel them again. “But you say you want nothing to do with me, that you don’t feel what I feel? I’ll be out of your life for good, dollface.”

Your eyes flickered back up to his, studying them for any signs of deception, but there was none to be had. Your mind whirled with the possibilities. It wasn’t smart to get mixed up with someone like him, especially when you weren’t planning on sticking around. You let out a shaky breath and Hangman cooed at you, stroking your cheek in a brazen show of intimacy.

“Use your words, honey,” he murmured, and you let out a quiet whine, cheeks heating at the pathetic sound.

“I-” You started, stopping as you heard your name. You whipped your head around to see Alice pushing through the crowd towards you. You pulled away from Hangman, refusing to meet his heated gaze as your best friend stopped in front of you, her husband right behind her.

“Moonie, honey,” she smiled, eyes glancing at the man beside you curiously. “Where’s Charlie?”

“He, um,” you stuttered, eyes looking around wildly for your date.

“Hi,” Hangman greeted, offering his hand for Alice to shake. “My name is Jake. Jake Seresin.”

“Oh, hi!” Alice greeted, taking his hand in a polite shake. “I’m Alice, and this is my husband, Frank.”

“Sorry about stealing your friend away,” he drawled, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. “I saw her from across the room and just knew I had to have at least one dance with her.”

You couldn’t see, but you were sure he was flashing her a mega-watt smile with the way she looked so flustered. You took a deep breath, anxiety licking up your spine as the room suddenly felt too loud and too crowded.

“I need some air,” you blurted out, already turning towards an exit, not bothering to wait for a reply. You pushed through the throngs of people, earning several dirty looks, but you couldn’t be bothered as you pushed your way through a door and into the cool, night air of an alley. The quiet enveloped you as you sucked in huge lungfuls of air, the sweat on your skin feeling like ice in the cool breeze.

What was going on with you? You had never been so affected by anyone in your life, and this man, this stranger, waltzes into your life and suddenly you’re making a fool of yourself. He must have hit you harder than you thought, that was the only logical explanation.

You were so busy in your spiral that you didn’t notice the door open as someone stepped out with you. You jumped as a hand clutched your shoulder, spinning to see Charlie looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Oh, Charlie!” You exclaimed, placing a hand over your chest to try and calm your racing heart. “I didn’t-”

“You know,” he interrupted you, a look of disdain flooding his features, “had I known you were so easy, I wouldn’t have bothered taking you out on a date.”

“What?” You asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He let out a bark of a laugh, taking a step towards you, and you took one back.

“A dame like you? I should have known,” he sneered, backing you up towards the wall of the alley. You grunted as your back met the brick wall, heart beating erratically for a different reason now. “Girls like you are too easy, the way you were putty in that guy’s hands just from a single dance. So, come on, sweets. Open those legs for me like the good slut I know you are.”

The slap echoed in the empty alley, your hand stinging from where it had connected with Charlie’s cheek. You were frozen in shock, which was all the time it took for him to recover, your head bouncing off the brick as he gripped your hair and slammed you back.

“Bitch,” he snarled, other hand reaching up to grip your dress. He pulled, and a tearing sound met your ears as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I was going to be nice,” he hissed, his horrible breath washing over you as you continued to struggle, “but now I’m going to make sure it hurts.”

His hand came up to wrap around your neck, and you let out a cry as he squeezed. You pressed your eyes closed, waiting for his next move when a click sounded over his shoulder.

“Let her go,” came the deep timbre, and you opened your eyes to see Jake standing behind Charlie, a gun in his hand which he pointed at Charlie’s head. Charlie let out a low growl, but obeyed the command, his hands falling away from you. You nearly crumpled to the ground, but caught yourself as Jake held his hand out to you, not taking his eyes off of the other man. Hesitantly, you moved passed Charlie, taking Jake’s hand and allowing him to push you behind him. Once you were safe behind him, Jake reared the hand holding his gun back, bringing it forward sharply with a sickening crack. You gasped as Charlie groaned, clutching at his nose which was now leaking blood through the cracks of his fingers.

“You sorry piece of shit,” Jake growled, the sound of the door opening behind you catching your attention. You watched as Alice and Frank made their way into the alley, eyes wide with shock as Jake stood over Charlie.

“I catch you even looking in her direction again, and you’ll leave with more than a broken nose,” he spat, dragging Charlie up by his collar and practically throwing him down towards the mouth of the alley. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Moonie, oh my word,” Alice started, rushing towards you as Charlie scampered off. “What happened?”

“I…he…” You tried to talk, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Your head hurt, and you were feeling dizzy. Your fingers played with the skirt of your dress as you tried to formulate a sentence. You were vaguely aware of Jake and Frank speaking in the background, but you were too distracted by the hole you came across. “Your dress…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alice hushed, pulling you close and leading you down towards the street. “Let’s just get you out of here, honey.”

Once again, you allowed yourself to be guided, the decision being made for you. You paused at the mouth of the alley, looking back to see jade green already looking at you.

A/N: It's been a while since I updated last, but here it is!! I'm still so excited to continue this story, and this Jake is quickly becoming a favorite of mine, I can't lie. I'm hoping to have the other three updates out this week, but more likely than not, it might just be one or two, so let me know what you want to see next!

If you would like to receive notifications on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. You can find all of my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[syluscore]

Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing. 

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?” 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.” 

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 

~masterlist~

[astrophileous]

Happy birth month to you, Zara!! 🎉

I'd like to request a Derek Morgan x BAU!reader fic (angst, maybe leading to smut) where they are on a bombing case and as usual Derek, being our ever loving and stubborn explosives expert, stays with a target who activated the bomb trigger. Maybe reader is as stubborn as Derek and stays with him and it becomes a thing and all that pent up adrenaline and tension just 🤌🏼🫴🏼 😅

maybe some fluff after too 🥹

Thank you so much love!! Thanks for requesting as well ❤️ I hope you like how this turned out 💕

Warning(s): fem!reader, explosives, profanities, verbal altercation, 18+ nsfw content minors dni, handjob, angry sex (starts out that way at least), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, lmk if I missed anything

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Derek was beginning to think that the universe was out to get him. It was the only logical explanation he could come up with for the situation he found himself stuck in: standing next to a minivan with an activated bomb underneath its driver's seat. The owner of the car, a woman by the name Pansy, was gripping his hand like a vice, cutting off circulation to it completely, but he couldn't care less about that. Getting blood into his hand was the least of Derek's worries right now.

"How's my baby?" Pansy suddenly asked amidst her tears.

Derek glanced at you, who had been trying to unbuckle the infant from his car seat for the past couple of minutes. One wrong move and the car would explode in the blink of an eye, obliterating everything in its immediate vicinity. This knowledge loomed at the back of your head as you languidly lifted the baby into your arms.

"Got him," you breathed out. You dashed away to take Pansy's son to safety, and despite her not being out of harm's way yet, Derek could feel the tightness of her grip around his hand loosening even if just for the tiniest bit.

Not three minutes later, you came back with a box of tools in your hand. Derek didn't like the grim expression on your face as your gaze flitted his way.

"The bomb squad isn't coming," you muttered.

"What?" Pansy exlclaimed. Even quiet as you were, there was no way you could say anything to Derek without Pansy hearing about it. The woman panicked as her eyes scampered repeatedly between you and Derek. "What are you talking about?"

"Pansy." Derek's voice came with a reassuring squeeze, a silent request for her to calm down. He turned to you again immediately, "What do you mean, they're not coming?"

"Land access is out since the bridge collapsed during the last bombing. They're sending in aerial support, but with everything that's been going on, it'll take at least 30 minutes, which is a time we don't have," you lamented, extending your hand to present the toolbox to Derek's face. "Hotch gave you the go-ahead."

With a curse under his breath, Derek accepted the box with his free hand. You slid in next to him so you could peek into the car.

"Pansy?" Frightened blue eyes scuttered towards your face. Despite the current predicament, you managed to offer her a somewhat genuine smile. "Hey, how are we holding up there? My name's Agent (Y/L/N), I work with Agent Morgan in the FBI. I wanted to let you know that your son is safe. He's with the rest of our team right now."

Pansy hiccuped around a sob. "He's safe?"

"One hundred percent." You nodded. "Listen, Agent Morgan here used to work with the bomb squad. He's gonna defuse the bomb so all of us can get out of here safely. But in order to do that, you need to let go of his hand, okay? Here, you can hold mine instead."

Your last statement caused Derek to turn his head around so fast, you were sure he would have gotten a whiplash. The incredulity was thick in his voice as he asked, "Sweet girl, what are you doing?"

You didn't look at him once. In fact, your eyes were still glued to Pansy's face when you said, "I'm not leaving you."

But Derek knew better.

You weren't saying that sentence to Pansy.

You were saying it to him.

In any other situation, Derek would have admonished you for your stupid decision. But right in that moment, in front of Pansy who was this close to spiraling, and with time completely against his side, Derek couldn't do anything else but relent. Reluctantly, he let go of Pansy's hand and allowed you to take his place. With another deep breath, Derek kneeled next to the car and began to work.

11 minutes and 16 seconds; that was how long it took for Derek to carefully disarm the explosive. Pansy sank into your embrace as soon as Derek removed the device from her seat, bringing it as far away from the crowd as possible as you took the young mother to see her infant son.

After neutralizing the threat, you received word from the rest of your team about the identity of the UnSub. Following a strenuous chase, you eventually closed the day with an arrest, ending the nightmare of the case once and for all. You marked it as a win in your book.

Back at the hotel, everyone scurried to their respective rooms in no time, eager to wash away the residual horror of the case with a cold shower and slept the exhaustion off before the team had to catch an early flight back to Virginia the next morning. You, too, had been dreaming about the plush mattress waiting for your arrival back at your room. But before you could reach the familiar door to your hotel room, your steps halted when warm fingers suddenly encircled your wrist.

"We need to talk," Derek said sharply. He didn't give you a chance to say anything before leading you towards his hotel room.

"What's this about, Derek?" you questioned once the door shut behind Derek's back.

"I can't believe you'd do something reckless like that, (Y/N)."

You frowned at him in confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You stayed back knowing there was a bomb! You knew what could've happened. You didn't have to be there, but you stayed anyway. What the fuck, (Y/N)?!"

"That's what this is about?" You scoffed incredulously. "You're mad at me because I did my job?"

"That wasn't part of the job and you know it, sweetheart. You could've been killed."

"I know that! God, you don't think I know that?!"

"You knew? Oh, good! So you knew about the chances of you getting killed in that situation, but you still went ahead and did it anyway. What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"I don't need to fucking explain myself to you, Derek." You stepped further into the room, trying to draw as much distance from the man whom you considered your best friend for the past two years of you working with the BAU. His hostility was foreign. You mourned the absence of his usual warmth as you wrapped your arms defensively around your torso. "What about you, anyway?"

"Me?"

"You act as if I was the only one putting themselves in danger, but you were there, too. You could've been killed as well. A little bit hypocritical, isn't it?!"

"That's different."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course it is. Why? Because your hero complex wouldn't allow you to share the stage with anyone else?"

"(Y/N)—"

"Or is it your trust issues that force you to do anything on your own?"

"Stop it—"

"Oh, I get it! Maybe you're no different than those other alpha males out there! Is that it? You want me to leave all the dangerous and scary jobs to the big, strong men—"

"I said, stop it."

A gasp stumbled past your lips when you suddenly found your back connecting with the wall, trapped between the concrete surface and Derek's muscular chest. There was no way to run. Derek's stare was sweltering as it pierced right through your soul.

"Have you always been this insufferable?" Derek growled.

"I don't know. Have you always been this chauvinistic?"

"You never know when to shut the hell up, do you?"

"Well—" you puffed your chest out, leveling your own stare with his unyielding one, "—why don't you make me?"

The atmosphere thickened inside the room.

Before you could process what was happening, Derek had suddenly lunged forward, claiming your lips in a kiss so heated unlike any other you had ever known.

Derek domineered every single one of your senses. Your body only knew his touch as his palms roamed your curves and edges. The kiss was a battle of desperation, a mess of tongue and heaving breaths that span your world off its axis.

When Derek's mouth strayed to your neck, nipping around the spot right below your ear, you swore your bones melted into liquid inside of your body.

"So goddamn aggravating," Derek griped against your ear. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"

"You're just gonna keep talking? Or are you finally gonna put that mouth to a good use?"

The smirk on your lips was wiped away instantly when Derek kissed you again. He maneuvered the two of you towards the bed, where Derek laid you down with a gentleness that contradicted the spite he had shown so far. Clothes were being shed at an inhumane speed, and before long, you found yourself sprawled naked underneath Derek's impressive frame.

Your hand wandered southward as Derek peppered kisses across your chest. The moment your fingers wrapped around his length, Derek's whole body shivered in response.

"Fuck. What are you doing to me?" he muttered.

You continued to pump his shaft, enjoying the melodic sounds Derek was making as your pace grew faster with each second. Mere moments later, however, your movement was halted when Derek's fingers tugged at your wrist.

"Slow down, pretty girl. I wanna be inside of you when I cum."

His declaration was sealed with a kiss.

Using an unbelievable display of strength, Derek then manhandled you to your front, forcing you to rest on all fours as he settled on his knees right behind the sensual curves of your ass.

"Shit. Look at this pussy," Derek remarked crudely. You moaned into the bedsheets when his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, collecting the wetness without ever grazing the number one spot where you needed him the most. "Beautiful, sweetheart. You're so fucking gorgeous."

"You can tell me about how gorgeous you think I am later, Derek. Just shut up and fuck me already."

"Impatient girl." Derek chuckled.

You yelped when his palm landed a harsh slap to each one of your ass cheeks. The sting was chased away instantly by the feeling of Derek's cock prodding around your entrance. The two of you moaned in unison once his length went in, filling every inch of your channel until he was sheathed to the hilt.

As Derek started to move, the lump of arousal in the pit of your stomach increased in size. The drag of his cock felt delicious against your throbbing walls. Derek moved inside of you at a sedulous pace. The grip he had on either side of your hips felt like a promise of fresh bruises that you couldn't wait to wake up to once morning arrived.

With a particularly harsh thrust into your soaking pussy, Derek sent your brain gyrating into the stars.

"Derek, please—ohhh. Feels so good."

"I know, pretty girl. Fuck. Gripping my cock so well, sweetheart. You hear that? Hear how wet you sound?"

You nodded wordlessly, your ears assaulted by the squelching sound of your combined arousal as you pressed your face against the mattress. Derek drove into you even faster, hitting the same spot every single time that had you blabbering incoherently into the sheets.

"D-Derek? I'm—mmpphhh, I'm so close. S-So close... oh fuck."

"Yeah? You're close, sweet girl?"

Derek's arm went around your torso, then, holding you up beneath your breast without ever relenting his movement. His breath tickled your ear in this new position, and you held onto the muscular arm holding you up in fear of collapsing from the continuous strike of pleasure.

"Do you wanna cum, sweetheart? Wanna cum for me?"

"Y-Yes! Please, please, please, Derek. Please, wanna cum so bad."

"Okay." Derek's other hand slid down your abdomen, all the way past your navel, until the rough pad of his fingers found your swolen clit. He began to rub it aggressively, earning a loud cry as you writhed in rapture. "Go on, then, pretty girl. Cum for me. Just let it go, sweetheart."

Your whole body convulsed as you slammed head first into your climax. Derek held you close through it all, stroking your damp skin and whispering sweet nothings as you came down from your high. Not long afterward, his own release caught up to him, pushing Derek to empty everything he had into the warmth of your tender hole.

Once minutes had passed, Derek carefully pulled out from you before gently laying you down on the bed. You were lost too deeply in the post-orgasmic bliss to notice that Derek had disappeared into the bathroom. The fog in your brain only started lifting when Derek returned and spread your thighs apart, using a damp wash cloth to clean up the mess that the two of you made on your upper thighs.

"How are you feeling?" Derek asked after he tossed away the cloth, squeezing your thigh affectionately.

"Tired. But good," you answered with a smile. "So... we should probably talk about what just happened, huh?"

Your question caused Derek's shoulders to tense, but he relaxed them again when your fingers reached out for his hand.

"Sorry I yelled at you," he offered sincerely. "You don't know this, pretty girl, but I made a vow to myself a long time ago to protect you. You're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, I know that. But as long as there's air in my lungs, I will spend every day of my life trying to keep you safe. Do you understand?"

You nodded meekly as your heart constricted in its cage. Derek left a kiss to your knuckles before settling down to lie beside you.

"You're not the only one who made such a vow, Derek," you revealed quietly. "I also made one to myself that I would never drop your hand in the face of danger. I would never abandon you like that. I'd rather give my life than live in a world where you no longer exist."

"Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"But I do. I mean it with all my heart." You stroked Derek's cheek with the tip of your fingers, admiring his handsome face as his eyes stared at you intensely. "Wherever you go, I go, Derek."

"Wherever you go, I go as well," Derek promised, tightening the sanctity of the words with a kiss. "What you did was still stupid, though, so you better never do that again in the future."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we please pause this conversation 'till morning? I'm literally about to pass out right now."

Derek grinned upon hearing your statement. "I fucked you real good, didn't I?"

You punched him on the shoulder. "Asshole."

Derek laughed wholeheartedly before pecking your pouting lips. "Only for you, pretty girl."

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convinced he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

@twsssmlmaa @evansflowers @sourskywalker @butterflylilacsverse @acornacreacure @yourrrrrprefffffect @shadowhuntyi @valenftcrush @n3x5t3rra29 @wittlewowa @slay-hamster2006 @ceruleanrainblues @sad-ass-hoe19 @dezibou @starksfavouritedaughter @lexie0037 @beautyb1ade @spencerzakwrites @thataltdisabledgirl @wannabecoolakid @cassiestars777 @min-jianhyung @lazylexiiii @convolv0 @laurenofatlantis @golden-guide @olive-gb @thebiggestscamislife @wyrdxwitch @rizosrizos26 @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @frogers @sun-fiower-seed @dancinwyourghost

[rebelliousstories]

Somebody Knows

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Light Fluff, Mentions of Violence and Pregnancy

Word Count: 1,465

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part One: Did You Know?// Part Two: I Know Now// Part Four: What We Know

Summary: As soon as he thinks he has her back, she is snatched away at the last second.

“I vow to fiercely love you in all your forms, now and forever. I promise to never forget that this is a once in a lifetime love.” Leo (The Vow)

Spencer tried to call his wife, and was sent to voicemail once more. The SUV pulled up to the women’s correctional facility and his heart began to race. All he wanted was to wrap his wife up in his arms and keep her there; and here he was being denied that privilege. All he could do was hope that she used the FBI part of her brain again, and kept the both of them alive.

It was dark in the trunk of the car. She could not see any light,but she could feel Diana behind her shaking. The duct tape on their mouths and hands made it difficult for her to comfort her mother-in-law, but that did not stop her from trying to provide some indication that she was alive.

However, her brain kept circling back to the “nurse” that had kidnapped them. Even with all her previous training, she was not immune to being put into a dangerous situation like this. The face of the young girl did not trigger any recognition in her, but maybe it did with someone else. Maybe Spencer would know, if he was ever allowed out of prison to help on the case.

The car that she was shoved into was stopped, and she could faintly smell gasoline. They had to be at a gas station of some sort. She did not know how long they had been stopped, but Diana was starting to wake up again and make some noise. Not too long afterwards, a gunshot was muffled through the lid of the trunk, and then bright lights. It was nighttime out, but the contrast between neon lights and the darkness of the trunk blinded her.

“Get out.” The girl in front of her demanded, pointing a gun at her. Cautiously, she struggled to pull herself up and out of the trunk. Apparently the girl with the gun thought that she was taking too long, and cocked the weapon with a demand to hurry up. In what she may have come to regret, Mrs. Reid tried to remove the gun from the woman’s hands. The struggle ended up on the ground, but she had yet to disengage the weapon. She had to give it to the girl; she knew what she was doing with that.

Before she could move, another gunshot rang out. This time that bang was loud, but the screams of pain from behind the duct tape were louder. A bullet was lodged inside her thigh. All she could hope for was that it missed the bones and artery. Her hair was pulled by a small fist to another vehicle where she was dumped unceremoniously. Diana followed shortly after, and she saw the flames encompass the previous car that she had spent time in.

After that, it was a blur. She did not know if it was the blood loss, adrenaline, or pure exhaustion. It was probably a mixture of all three. This was why she went into being a professor after the bureau. Her hands rubbed soothing circles on her stomach and thought back to when she found out.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. The day prior, she had watched her husband with desperate eyes being escorted out of the court room in handcuffs. Today, she was sitting in their shared bathroom while her mother-in-law slept in her bed, staring down at the little blue line in her hands.

It was a relief to know that their dream was coming true, but what would happen if Spencer lost his case? Could she raise a child alone, while having her career and taking care of his ailing mother? There were so many questions to be answered, but none of them would be answered. She just knew that if Spencer were here, he would be nervously rambling off facts as he tried to contain his excitement.

Making her way to the living room, she tucked herself upon their couch, and pulled a book to read. But she just sat there rereading the same page over and over again. Her brain was racing a million miles an hour until Diana came to her.

“What’s eating at you, kid?” Turning her head, the younger Reid let her mother-in-law sit down next to her as she shut the book.

“Just something I wish I was able to tell Spencer before he was left. But I’m hoping he’ll be back soon so I can.” It was better to go with whatever state of mind she was in right now, as confusing her would just lead to another problem for her to stress about.

“Well, whatever it is, you two will make the best decision you two can. Both of you are so smart, and very clever. You’ll have time to tell him when he gets back.” Diana patted her hand, before she got her own book out to read.

But there might not be another time to tell him. The blood loss from her leg meant that she had to be carried inside by some big man that she could not even remember the face of. Her brain was so foggy and was blurring constantly. There was some comfort in knowing that if she had clipped her femoral artery, she would be dead by now.

The sight of her husband’s team bursting through the door provided some comfort in her hazed mind. She could not process that there was something important going on with the woman who had kidnapped her and, was that Emily? Yeah, Emily was here. She would be okay. Someone ran over and checked her pulse while yelling for an ambulance. They patted her face to bring her focus back to them, and that is when she saw the comforting face of David Rossi right next to her.

“Hey, hey bella, you need to keep your eyes on me. We’re going to get you out of here and to the kid. Okay? But you have to stay awake.” The Italian pleaded, but she was starting to phase in and out once more.

“Rossi? Where’s Diana? Is she okay?” Those were her first questions, scratch that, her first words since this had all happened.

“She’s fine. She’s being checked out by the EMT. Which you also need, but you’re going to stay awake, stay with me, and stay here while they get ready for you so you can go home to Spencer.” Rossi held her hand in one of his, while the other rested gently on her face. Eventually, he did have to give way to the medics so they were able to do their work, but he was riding in the back of the ambulance the entire way to the hospital. She tried to keep her eyes open, but pain, exhaustion, and the loss of blood meant that her eyes eventually slipped shut despite everyone’s protests.

This night would forever go down as the night where she could not remember, but she couldn’t not forget. There were such large gaps of time missing, and still so many questions. By the time she came to, bright lights and a sterile smell greeted her. Her eyes were squinted in the blinding lights, but there was a warmth next to her that was difficult to explain. Looking to her right, she noticed that her tall, lanky husband was hunched over uncomfortably in the thinly cushioned chair next to her bed in the hospital.

Picking p her left hand, she twirled a curl on his head in a comforting gesture which caused the man to be woken. He looked to her with an impossibly wide smile, and held her hands in his. Pressing a kiss to them, Spencer looked deeply into her eyes.

“You’re here.” He whispered with gravel in his voice.

“You’re here.” Sounding equally as rough, the couple leaned in and just rested their heads against one another’s.

“Spence, I’ve gotta tell you something,” came her words. But the man just cut her off with a quiet shush.

“It’s alright. I figured it out. Plus the doctors told me. We can talk later. You need rest, okay?” He argued, leaning her back down where she laid. The husband and wife did not speak for a long while. They just sat in silence as the events of the last few hours weighed heavily on them. But they both knew that with the other, they could make it through.

Ngina Otiende said, “Marriage is meant to keep people together, not just when things are good, but particularly when they are not. That’s why we take marriage vows, not wishes.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

You Can Thank Me Afterward

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Winchester!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: none

Summary: You and your brothers stake out a town containing vampires when you come across real FBI agents looking for two criminals. When you spot them while staking out a potential nest, you see the couple they’re looking for. This gives you an excuse to contact the hot, hot FBI agent who hasn’t left your mind since she shows up at your door.

Square Filled: jennifer jareau (cmxspn crossover) for @fandombingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Sharing a motel room with your older brothers isn’t something you like doing but you’re on a tight budget and can’t always have separate rooms. Normally, you three have a routine you stick to but you’re getting fed up with them. They’ve been bickering since you arrived in Virginia and it’s starting to give you a headache.

“All I’m saying is I think we should split up. We’ll cover more ground that way. We have four houses to stake out.”

“Well don’t just think. I don’t need you lying in a ditch somewhere with all your blood sucked out or Y/N used as a blood bag for these dicks,” Dean snaps.

“Okay, while you two figure your shit out, I’m getting my own room,” you say and get up.

“What?”

“You two argue like an old married couple. I don’t want to hear it.”

Before you can take another step, someone knocks on the door. Both your brothers are on alert because there are at least a dozen vampires running amok in town, and it’s already nighttime. Anyone can be at the door. You step back to let Sam pass you, and he approaches the door with his gun in hand. He looks into the peephole and sees two people in professional clothes. He opens the door cautiously while keeping the barrel of the gun on the door just in case he needs to use it.

Who you see standing on the other side takes your breath away. There is a tall black man and a shorter blonde woman. While the black man is very attractive, you’re more attracted to the blonde. Defined cheekbones, long blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. Everything you love in a woman. You don’t discriminate against the type of women you date but you have a type.

“Hi, my name is Agent Jareau with the FBI and this is Agent Morgan.” Both of them show their badges and Sam discreetly puts his gun away. “We’re asking everyone in this motel for their help.”

“What can we do for you?” Dean asks.

“We’re looking for a couple that’s staying here.” Agent Jareau takes out two photos and holds them up for you to see. “Have you seen them?”

“No, we haven’t. We just got here, unfortunately,” you say.

JJ reaches into her pocket and pulls out her agent card before holding it out to you.

“Give me a call if something comes up, okay?”

“Sure.” You clear your throat to fix your squeaky voice and take the card from her hand. “I mean, I will. Thanks.”

“These two are highly dangerous people. Be careful,” Agent Morgan says.

“We will. Thanks for stopping by.” Sam closes the door and both brothers look at you with small smirks on their faces. “What?”

“Are you gonna pick your panties up off the floor?” Dean jokes.

“Shut the fuck up.” You look at her card and can’t help but smile at her name. Jennifer Jareau. The name suits her. “Did you see how beautiful she was?”

“Maybe she’ll be around after the hunt. I should ask her to have a drink with me,” Dean says.

“Hey! I call dibs!”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s always been a thing.”

“You always steal the girls I think are hot.”

“Not my fault I have more rizz than you.”

“Okay, why don’t we focus on the hunt? It’s already nine. We should get going if we’re going to hit the four houses tonight,” Sam says. “It’ll take longer since we’re not splitting up, apparently.”

“I already said no. Stop talking about it,” Dean snaps.

The first house you hit is a dud. It was previously a slaughterhouse and it still has all the equipment still inside it. If vampires are staying in there, it wouldn’t be comfortable. The next place had potential until the family owning the house came back from vacation. You’re at the third location and it’s nearing one in the morning. If you’re right about this one, then vampires will be coming and going from the place. You’d see some kind of activity going on since they are very active at night.

“So, are you going to call her?” Dean asks from behind the wheel.

iHop is the only place that’s open so Dean got some food before coming here. The car stinks of pancake batter but Dean is happy.

“Maybe I will.”

“Don’t sound too desperate. Girls don’t like that. Oh, and--”

“Dean, I’m gonna stop you right there. Who was it that came to me because he was having trouble with women?” Dean immediately shuts his mouth and looks away from you, and you laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

Another two hours pass by and you see some movement out of the corner of your eye. Sam had left the car to inspect the house to make sure you’re not wasting your time but he hasn’t come back yet. You look to the right and see a couple underneath the glow of the streetlight. You don’t think anything of it until you do a double-take and immediately recognize the couple. It’s the couple Jennifer and her partner are looking for. Judging by the lack of police cars, they haven’t found them.

“Dean, look, it’s the couple those two agents are looking for,” you say and point to them.

Sam runs out from the treeline back to the car and gets in with a disappointed sigh.

“No one is living there. I might have scared the shit out of some squatters but they weren't vampires.”

“Let’s go to the next one,” Dean sighs and starts the car,

Thankfully, the noise didn’t disrupt the couple who looked to be arguing. You take out your phone and JJ’s card before calling her.

“This is Agent Jareau,” she answers.

“Jennifer, hi, it’s Y/N.” You pause. “I’m sorry, I never told you my name. You gave me your card when you asked my brothers and me if we’d seen the couple you’re looking for at the motel last night?”

“Did you see them?”

“Yeah.” You give her the location you’re at. “They’re just arguing with each other. I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

“No, don’t approach them. Thank you for calling. We got it from here.”

You don’t have a chance to say anything else before she hangs up. The call was professional but butterflies exploded in your stomach from the sound of her voice. Yeah, you’re whipped and you don’t even know her.

Dean pulls out of the parking lot without being seen and heads to the fourth and final location. If the vampires aren’t in this place, then they must have packed up and moved to a different town. However, the place is alive with action even before you get close to it. The vampires are having some sort of party that’s only exclusive to their own kind without a care in the world.

You and your brothers weren't invited but you’re always down to crash a shitty party. It took two more hours to kill them all, but you considered it a job well done at the end. Sam and Dean are exhausted but you are alive with energy. If luck is on your side tonight, then JJ and her team might still be in the same location where the couple was.

Dean has to drive by the area to get back to the motel, and you practically hit the back of his head to get him to stop when you see red and blue police sirens.

“Ow!”

“Pull over.”

Dean does and you are the only one who gets out. You never go to a hunt without a change of clothes so you’re not all bloody if you need to stop anywhere else afterward. You have on a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt when you approach the blocked-off police line. Your hair got some blood in it which is why it’s in a ponytail and stuffed inside a hat. You don’t want to scare the FBI and think you’re some kind of murderer before you have a chance to ask Jennifer out.

JJ is talking with Agent Morgan when she spots you approaching the police tape. She excuses herself and walks over to you with a smile.

“Did you catch them?”

“We did, thanks to you. They were leaving town when we caught them. Had they left, we probably would have never been able to catch them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “So, was that your personal phone number on the card you gave me?”

“Yeah,” she blushes.

“I know this pretty great restaurant not far from here if you’re interested in properly saying thank you. Maybe tomorrow night at seven?”

“I should be the one asking you out,” she chuckles. “I’m the one that needs to thank you.”

“Don’t worry. You can thank me afterward,” you smirk.

“Okay, seven it is. I know where you’re staying so how about I pick you up?”

“It’s a date.”

You leave the area with a smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach. You got a date with the hot FBI agent. Go me. Now, all you need to do is convince your brothers to stay in this town for one more night. Easy enough.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[penwieldingdreamer]

Crime Show Masterlist

A Shot in the Dark It's said, you'll always meet twice in life. But you never thought it be in a hostage situation with a gun pressed against your head. OA Zidan x Reagan sister!Reader [hostage situation, canon typical violence, coarse language, 18+ - minors DNI]

[babymetaldoll]

"Embarrassed" (Spencer Reid x fem!bau reader)

Category: hardcore fluff, friends to lovers. Warnings: Cursing, Spencer being a little asshole, the BAU being nosy as usual. Summary: Spencer embarrassed himself in front of reader, and the annual FBI beach trip could be the perfect place to make things even more awkward between them.  Requested: Nop A/N: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Challenge, hope you guys enjoy it. Prompts used: - He has a degree in engineering. How can he be defeated by a sandcastle? - I don't really like the beach... Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull feces. - It's like Hotch at the beach- - Next summer we are doing the Alaskan cruise. Masterlist

- “Explain to me again why I have to spend time with you during the weekend when we just spent eleven days working on a case in Oakland?”- Rossi asked as the entire BAU Team walked into a beautiful cabin by the sea, prepared especially for them.

- “Because we have to do the team training, along with all the paperwork it includes. But at least we have a nice view.”- Hotch explained, opening a window, staring at the deep blue ocean in front of them.

- “For once, I’m glad we have to do this stupid program.”- Morgan commented and took off his shirt. - “Sand, sun, and babes, that’s all I need to enjoy my weekend.”

- “We have to get ready for Strauss lecture.”- (Y/N) pointed out and tossed his shirt back- “Please, put this back on. I don’t wanna see your tits around the house.”

Spencer chuckled at those words and Morgan turned to him immediately.

- “What are you laughing about, pretty Ricky? Are there other tits you wanna see around the house?”- Morgan teased his friends, who turned blood red in a minute, coughed, and walked away, to hide in a room, slamming the door behind his back. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms on her chest.

- “You love making him feel uncomfortable, don’t you?”

- “Come on! We all know he has the hots for you, little Mama. When are you going to do something about it?”

- “He is my friend, with a capital F.”

- “You could be doing the capital F if you stopped being so stubborn.”- Morgan replied and turned around. He knew he had crossed the line and didn’t want to give (Y/N) the chance to smack him for being nosy.

Yes, everybody knew Spencer was in love with (Y/N). It wasn’t really a secret after he blurted it out by accident on a supermarket mic during a case investigation in front of the whole team. The entire incident was way too embarrassing to even recall, and the BAU had pretended it never happened. Everybody except Morgan, of course. He loved teasing Spencer every chance he got. The whole episode had been messy, and though it had been a few weeks already, (Y/N) still didn’t have a chance to talk with Spencer about it, and he kept acting like it never happened. That weekend’s Team Training Program at the beach was the perfect chance to fix things between them.

If only Spencer dared talk to her first.

Around half an hour later, a very unhappy team walked out of their cabin, ready to deal with whichever activities Strauss and headquarters had planned for them. The FBI had rented an entire villa for the weekend, to host their annual team training program. Rossi hated the idea, Spencer hated the beach. Hotch hated the fact he was wasting time he could be spending with Jake. JJ hated missing Henry’s soccer game, Garcia hated having to work out so much, and Prentiss hated the fact she couldn’t just lay on a chair at the beach with a drink and just tan a little.

(Y/N) and Morgan were the only ones excited to be there. Morgan still thought he could get a girl, and (Y/N) just wanted to spend a little time with Spencer, and maybe ask him out on a date. After all, a weekend at the beach was the perfect scenario to finally talk about what happened and maybe do something about it.

- “Beach activities are a great way to bring a team together.”- Strauss announced as she walked in front of at least 50 FBI agents. All of them, BAU included, wore dark blue short sleeve shirts with the FBI logo, and grey shorts. Everybody except Rossi, of course. He stood among them smoking a cigar and wearing his everyday outfit.

- “All the team-building games you are about to go through, were designed to promote communication, cooperation, and creativity. They will help our agents build trust, learn to delegate tasks, and enhance problem-solving skills.”

- “Sounds like a boy scout’s speech”- Rossi whispered to Prentiss and she did her best not to chuckle. But of course, Strauss noticed and immediately raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

- “You’ve all been designated with a number, that’s your team. Please form your teams so we can start the first activity.”

(Y/N) sighed, already annoyed. She understood the idea of having to go through a team seminar to improve one’s relationship with their team, but having to know other agents and talk with strangers… wasn’t really into her plans.

- “Hey….”- Spencer whispered as he stood next to her in the middle of the beach, right next to a bunch of agents neither of them had met before.- “I… I think we are on the… same team.”- Reid managed to say, and continued staring at his feet in the sand.

- “That’s great!!”- (Y/N) replied, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically. - “We haven’t… it’s been… well, we haven’t had the chance to talk much lately.”- she knew why they hadn’t talked. It was weird. Still, neither of them had addressed the pink elephant in the room, he just nodded and didn’t say another word for a few minutes.

- “Did you put on sunscreen?”- she asked and Spencer turned to look at her with wide-opened eyes.

- “Ye... yes, yes, I did. I always do”- he stuttered and started rambling right away- “Did you know daily use of SPF 15 sunscreen can reduce your risk of developing squamous cell carcinoma by about 40 percent? and lower your melanoma risk by 50 percent.”

- “Yes, I try to put on sunscreen daily as well, but I usually forget.”- (Y/N) added ‘cos she needed to make that conversation last at least longer than a minute. It was ridiculous, Spencer not even being able to look her in the eyes only because he had accidentally said he loved her in front of a whole crime scene, Nebraska’s police force, and the whole BAU team. Even Garcia.

- “Anyway”- (Y/N) said when she noticed Spencer wasn’t saying anything - “Are you enjoying the trip?”

He stared at her and licked his lips - nearly giving her a heart attack - as he tried his best to find actual words to reply to that question.

- "I don't really like the beach…”- he finally mumbled- “Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull feces.”

- “Oh…”- (Y/N) sounded disappointed, and neither of them said another word. Their new team gathered around them, and the instructions for the first activity were delivered.

The first team training activity was a beach scavenger hunt. Hotch’s team won ‘cos he was the team leader and… well, he is the best leader in the FBI. Spencer and (Y/N) tried their best, but their group was having serious trouble focusing. Apparently, no one wanted to spend the day at the beach working.

The second team training activity was a beach obstacle course. Morgan’s team won, basically ‘cos most of the agents in his team were pure muscle. Spencer was incredibly embarrassed to even do the circuit, ‘cos he felt self-aware of every one of his moments and that everybody was looking at him. And he ended up tripping on his own feet. Just when he thought he couldn’t embarrass himself more, there he was, face into the sand, hearing the entire FBI laughing at him.

Rossi looked at Morgan and shook his head. The kid needed help. But how?

- “Are you ok?” (Y/N) whispered when Spencer reached her side and he just nodded. - “Your ankle, does it hurt?”- she was honestly worried, but he felt so humiliated he wanted to disappear. So he did, he didn’t even answer her question and walked away. Rossi looked at the scene from a distance and headed to (Y/N)’s side in a few minutes.

- “How is the beach treating you, bella?”

- “I’m hating every minute here so far”- she replied and followed Spencer with her eyes until he got lost between all the people. Rossi noticed, he knew what was torturing her and though they hadn’t ever talked about it, it was clear he had to help those kids.

- “Come on, ragazza. You know he is crazy for you. We all do. You just have to tell him how you feel.”

- “I’m trying, Coronel Cannelloni! but he doesn’t even talk to me. The few things he has mumbled today are the only things he has said to me since “the incident,” and I don’t know what to do!”

- “He is embarrassed.”- Rossi pointed out the obvious and completely ignored the nickname (Y/N) had called him. She usually called him different nicknames just for the fun of it.

- “Well I understand that, but if I already know he loves me…”

- “Embarrass yourself now.”- Rossi suggested and the young woman just stared at him in silence. - “I mean it. Meet him in the middle. You already know he loves you, what’s the worst that could happen?”

- “You know, something bad happens every time someone asks that, right?”- Rossi chuckled at those words and shook his head.

- “It can’t get worse than him stuttering every time he sees you.”

- “I’m sure it can.”

Morgan found Spencer standing against a wall, on the other side of the main building of the complex. His eyes were closed as well as his fists, that he kept hitting against the bricks, over and over again.

- “Hey kid.”

- “Please, not now.”- Derek didn’t say another word for a few minutes. He just stood next to his friends and waited for his tantrum to pass.

- “You know Reid, that woman there loves you. Why don’t…”- and at those words, Spencer just snapped and started yelling.

- “She doesn’t! I don’t know if you remember but I had a little incident the other day with a fucking mic in the middle of a supermarket and everybody heard me telling Garcia how in love I am with (Y/N) and she has acted like nothing happened ever since!”

- “Kid”- Morgan frowned and stood in front of Spencer, holding his arms, trying to calm him down and talk some sense into him. - “You’ve been giving her the cold shoulder every time she tries to talk to you. Don’t blame this on her!”

- “Cold shoulder?! Me? To her? When?”- Spencer chuckled sarcastically

- “Dude, a minute ago she was talking to you and you left her alone in the sand.”

Morgan was right, and Spencer knew it, but he wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of saying it. However, Morgan didn’t sugarcoat things either.

- “And let me tell you one more thing, I saw how the guys from National Security in your team were eying her, and you just left her alone with those assholes after being a jerk. It doesn’t look good. How are you gonna fix it, pretty Ricky?”

Spencer opened his mouth, followed by a long awkward silence.

- “Thought so.”- Morgan sighed, and tapped on his friend’s shoulder - “Come on, let’s go back, and try to talk to her like you did before the incident.”

- “Awkwardly and clueless?”- Spencer whispered, and Derek just chuckled.

- “Just be yourself.”

- “That’s lousy advice, I don’t know how to be anyone else.”- Reid frowned and looked at his friend, who was nearly losing his patience.

- “Just don’t be your asshole self.”

The third and last activity of the day was a sandcastle-building contest. And doing his best to overcome his embarrassment and nervousness, Spencer grabbed a plastic shovel and asked (Y/N) if she wanted to help him with a part of their team construction. His hands were nearly shaking as she kneeled next to him on the sand and started working on their team’s design.

- “How did it go with the kid?”- Rossi asked Morgan, as neither of them even tried to pretend to be into the activity.

- “He is in denial. He swears she doesn’t even like him. What did she say?”

- “The kid is ignoring her and she doesn’t know what to do. So I told her to embarrass herself as much as he embarrassed himself.”- Morgan turned to Rossi and raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses - “What?”

- “Rossi, that's shitty advice. Next time try something like: “Kiss the goddamn fool!” or something like that! I mean, the kid is hopeless and if (Y/N) doesn’t do anything, they are never going to get together.”

- “Give them some credit, Morgan.”- Rossi regretted his words as soon as they left his lips. Spencer was so nervous as he tried to talk with (Y/N) he gesticulated too much and hit part of his castle, causing half of it to crumble down.

- “He has a degree in engineering. How can he be defeated by a sandcastle?”- Rossi whispered and Derek shook his head. The whole scene was embarrassing to watch.

- “And your great advice was “embarrass yourself.” Jesus! I’m gonna have to ask Garcia to hack the system and move them into the same room. This is painful to watch!”

- “Like Hotch at the beach”- Ross pointed out - “He is so sunburned and he keeps getting redder, no matter how much sunscreen he puts on.”

If you asked anyone at the FBI about how the first day of their annual Team Training Program went, they would say it had been a mess. Most agents were sunburned and exhausted after Strauss’ program. Only Morgan and Garcia still felt like going out for dinner and maybe hitting the club, hoping to have some fun that weekend.

Spencer was alone, sitting on the sand in front of the sea. The sun was setting and he just sat there, on his own, doing his best to clear his mind and come up with a plan. But instead, he had nothing but regret. He kept remembering his worst and most embarrassing moments of the day in front of (Y/N) over and over again. It was a bad movie he’d pay not to watch ever again.

- “There you are!” - Prentiss sat next to Spencer and sighed, staring at the scene in front of them.

- “This is beautiful.”- she whispered and Spencer merely nodded. - “Why aren’t you watching this with (Y/N)?”- instead of an answer, Reid just groaned and rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes.

- “I’m guessing you didn’t have a chance to talk today.”- Prentiss whispered, knowing very well what had happened. Not like Morgan and Rossi could keep a secret. - “Come on, Reid, you are a fucking genius! Grow a pair and get your shit together”

- “What am I supposed to do? Honestly, ‘cos I’ve tried, but I just… can’t fucking think when she is next to me.”

- “Then don’t think, just act!”- Prentiss nearly smacked Reid as she spoke.- “I don’t think I have to tell you again, she fucking loves you! Do something.”

- “She doesn’t…”- but before Reid could finish that sentence, he felt Emily’s hand against his head, hitting him.

- “Don’t! She loves you! Now stand up, move your skinny ass, and kiss her!”

Reid turned to his friend, still rubbing the spot she had hit, ‘cos it had been incredibly painful.

- “Are you… drunk?”

- “Come on! There is no way I’m surviving sober a weekend with all these agents.”- Prentiss answered and grabbed a tiny gin bottle from her pocket- “Need one?”

- “No, thanks.”

- “Fine… now go! She was having some dinner at our cabin.”

(Y/N) was about to start eating when Spencer got to the cabin. She sat on the terrace with a grilled sandwich and a glass of wine, holding a book. Reid looked at her from the other side of the house and took a deep breath before he continued walking.

- “You’ve got this.”- he whispered to himself - “You can do this.”

- “Hey Spencer!”- (Y/N) watched him approach and smiled so wide he even stopped breathing as he stared at her.

- “You are not doing this.” - he admitted as he sat down on the chair across from (Y/N) and cut her a little smile.

- “Did you eat?”- she asked and offered half her sandwich, but Spencer shook his head and smiled.

- “Thanks, I’m not hungry.”

- “Sure? It’s your favorite. Lots of cheese and zero veggies.”- (Y/N) teased and smiled at Spencer. He blushed and looked at his hands on the table, trying to find the words to finally say what he had to.

But he never found them, instead, they fell into a comfortable silence. (Y/N) finished her sandwich and Spencer read half of her book. The one he had gotten for her a few months earlier. Neither of them said a word, just looked at each other from time to time and smiled awkwardly.

- “So… I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”- (Y/N) finally said as she folded her paper napkin a million times, in a sad and pathetic attempt at making origami.

- “Wh… wha... what about?”- Spencer stuttered immediately. Not a good sign. (Y/N) looked at him and felt bad about how nervous he was. But he had to tell him, he deserved to know.

- “I have to tell you something, but I can’t tell you here. Can you come with me, please?”- the young agent stood up and offered Spencer her hand. He hesitated, not knowing what was happening. But she just smiled and he reached out and held her hand.

(Y/N) drove in silence for a few minutes. They didn’t go too far, Spencer asked a few times where they were going and what was so important that she couldn’t just tell him in the car, but she refused to say a word. Instead, she just smiled and shook her head.

- “Just wait a second.”

Spencer didn’t get it when she parked outside a small supermarket, he just followed her in silence and watched her walk straight to an aisle and then to customer service. Reid didn’t register anything, he just followed her with honest curiosity. Until he saw her grabbing the mic and locking eyes with him.

- “Spencer Walter Reid. I am so fucking in love with you.”- the few people that were shopping at the hour turned to look at her and the young agent simply giggled.

- “Wh… what?”- Spencer stuttered, feeling his red burning red.

- “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long.”- (Y/N) kept talking to the mic, until one of the girls in the staff walked up to her and nearly yelled she couldn’t do that. But she (Y/N) didn’t care if she got kicked out of the store. She just cared about Spencer, who kept staring at her in disbelief.

- “Come on dude! Kiss the girl”- some random guy said and slapped his arm, forcing him to react. But before he could do anything, (Y/N) grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his lips. Spencer wide opened his eyes as it happened, and watched her winking as she slipped her tongue between his lips, deepening the kiss.

- “You… do?”- Reid whispered as he gasped for hair when the kiss was over.

- “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you but you kept running away from me.”

- “I was so embarrassed after that happened I…”- but Spencer couldn’t continue speaking, (Y/N) started kissing him again, and some of the customers watching the scene even clapped.

- “What the hell is going on here?”- a sunburned Erin Strauss asked in shock, shoving a small cart with twenty bottles of aloe vera gel, but David Rossi just chuckled and stood next to her, staring at the scene.

- “Let the kids have tonight. You can make their life under the sun miserable tomorrow.”

- “By the way, next Summer, we're doing the Alaskan cruise.”- she added and started walking away- “Agents, tomorrow we’ll have a serious conversation.”- both Spencer and (Y/N) nearly jumped as they heard her voice when she passed by their side, but Rossi just winked at them.

- “Ok, now I’m embarrassed”- (Y/N) whispered and felt Spencer holding her hand. But she didn't really care if Strauss had seen them. It was all worth it when she stared at Spencer’s sweet smile as they walked out of that supermarket. 

[promptthebear]

I love your writing so much - can I request 🐰 Arron Hotchner for number 13? I hope you are having a good day :)

Aaron Hotchner x Reader- Special kind of honey

Prompt: This is stupid...and kind of fun

Summary: Hotch just got back from a tough case. You've got a nice little homecoming surprise for him. Unfortunately things don't go as planned.

CW: A little bit spicy but not explicit. Some mild swearing. Established relationship between reader and Hotch. Reader has low self esteem. I can't think of anything else that needs to be tagged but please let me know if it does.

A/N: I am so very sorry this took so long and also that it kind of stinks. I really struggled with this prompt but what the hey, I tried.

Aaron wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, coming home from a case well past midnight but it certainly hadn’t been this. Standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom, gun holster still attached to his belt and briefcase still in hand, it was all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open as he stared at the display in front of him.

“Babe? What do you think?”

You were spread out on the bed, waiting for Hotch like an all you could eat buffet. The lingerie ensemble you’d chosen was one of his personal favourites, a royal blue chemise and thong set made almost completely out of lace that showed off the very best of your assets while still leaving something to the imagination.

This alone would’ve been a treat, but it was the swirls of golden pigment that decorated your arms, legs and collarbones that caught his attention. You’d seemed to have paid special attention to your inner thighs and breasts, with those two areas sporting the highest concentrations of gold. Each time you moved, the light from the bedside lamp made your skin glitter with an almost magical lustre. You looked inhumanly beautiful, like a piece of living art.

“Babe?”

Hotch opened his mouth to answer you, only to close it again seconds after. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was making it difficult to think, let alone speak, and the fact that all the blood in his brain was now rushing straight to his cock wasn’t helping matters.

“Sorry, this was a bad idea. Let me get cleaned up and then we can just forget about the whole thing”

Not waiting for a response, you started gathering up pillows and blankets off the bed in a frantic attempt to cover yourself up. It was only when Hotch’s line of sight to your bare skin was interrupted that his few remaining neurons sparked to life.

Cursing softly under his breath, he dropped his briefcase and rushed over, hoping to catch you before you could flee into the bathroom. His fingers missed your wrist by inches, closing around thin air as you scrambled across the bed and slid off on the other side.

“Honey, wait!”

The sound of Hotch’s voice made you pause long enough to allow him time to catch up with you. As soon as you were within reach, he anchored one hand on either side of your hips and pulled your body flush against his. You offered no resistance, coming willingly into Hotch’s familiar embrace even though you kept your gaze trained firmly on the floor.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, save for the sound of your laboured breaths and fluttering hearts. Hotch wondered if you were waiting for him to speak, to offer some kind of explanation for the reaction you’d misread as a rebuff.

Though you worked for the FBI, you weren’t a profiler. You wouldn’t have been looking for micro-expressions or subtle shifts in body language the way he did almost on instinct. At best you’d probably assumed he was too tired after his case for sex and just wanted to go to bed. At worst, you were now thinking he was a complete asshole who no longer found you attractive. Either way he’d dug him self a pretty deep hole and the only way to get out of it was to explain himself , but once again Aaron Hotchner was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that you were upset, he cared so much it almost hurt, but that didn’t change the fact that pulling you up against him like this had been a mistake. Because now, instead of coming up with an apology, his brain had become entirely too focused on the subtle brush of your hips against his to think about much else.

“Are you going to let me go, Aaron?” you asked, finally breaking the silence

“That depends,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse “Do you want me to? Or are you just asking because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

You sighed, the sound coming deep from the pit of your stomach, and blew a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Hotch watched it flutter in the air for a moment, before reaching up with one hand to tuck it behind your ear. You leaned against his palm, some of the tension leaving your expression as you did.

“I missed you.”

A smile played about Aaron’s lips, and he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and he had no doubt you were intentionally avoiding giving him one, but he was too intoxicated by the scent of your shampoo to care. He’d only been gone for a week, and yet he’d spent every day yearning for you like some lovesick teenager. Now that he finally had you in his arms again, he wasn’t about to let that be ruined by a foolish misunderstanding.

“I missed you too, honey. Now, are you going to be honest with me or are you going to make me chase you around the house a little first?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, as Aaron’s comment brought up memories of wonderful nights past. It would be a lot of fun to squirm free and play the brat for a few hours before finally giving in, but your ego was still too bruised for that. All too quickly the smile fell from your face, and you began to bite anxiously at your bottom lip, a sign that Hotch knew meant you were far more upset than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart? Talk to me, please”

“I just-”

Your voice cracked slightly, and Aaron’s heart almost broke along with it. There was hardly ever a good moment to be a horny idiot, but this one was probably worst than most. You had gone out on a limb for him here, done something spontaneous and outside your comfort zone so he’d have a memorable homecoming. You’d been vulnerable with him and even though he hadn’t intended to, he’d all but thrown it back in your face.

“I…do you think this is stupid?” you continued, pulling back so you could look down at the golden sheen that adorned your skin.

“Well no, considering I’m not entirely sure what this even really is yet.”

“It’s…it’s edible body powder,” you blurted, your cheeks starting to turn pink “Honey dust, to be more specific. Penelope gave it to me. I wanted to…mix things up a bit. Make them exciting for you. I should’ve known you’d think it was dumb and-and vapid and-”

Any further self depreciation vanished the instant Hotch’s tongue touched your skin. It was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling as he licked a stripe up the column of your throat. His mouth was blazingly hot, and if the noises he made were anything to go by, he approved much more than you initially realized. The sensible thing to do now was to let him keep going until he’d licked every inch of you clean and fucked you six ways to Sunday, but unfortunately your brain wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

“Aaron hold on- Aaron, baby- could you please just-”

You had to grab a handful of Hotch’s hair and tug before he finally extracted himself from your neck, grumbling softly under his breath as he did. The way the heady sweetness of the paint combined with the salty tang of your skin was potent. He’d barely gotten a taste, and yet Aaron knew he was ready to get down on his knees and beg if it meant he could have more.

“You’re not stupid”

“I never said-”

Aaron brought a finger up against your lips, gently but effectively silencing you so he could continue. Biting back your annoyance, you let him, your sense of curiosity overcoming your wounded pride.

“Look, you’re welcome to spend all night arguing with me about it if you want, but I also know there’s plenty of other things we’d both rather be doing so I’ll make sure I’m clear about this. You’re. Not. Stupid. You’re brilliant, and gorgeous, and I am so incredibly lucky to have someone like you to come back to every night. ”

You thought about protesting again, putting Hotch in his place and demanding to know why he’d been able to walk in, find you waiting for him as you were and not crack so much as a smile. He was smiling now though, looking like the cat who got the cream while his eyes roamed freely over the golden shimmer that decorated your cleavage and neck. His hands were also doing their fair share of roaming, trailing across the lace of your chemise and slowly working their way lower. It was only when you felt him cup your ass that you relented slightly, letting out a small moan and dropping your forehead against his shoulder.

“Besides,” Aaron’s voice was soft and low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin “You worked so hard to set this all up. The least you could do is let me thank you properly.”

“I like the sound of that,” you replied, offering Hotch a warm smile as you brought your hands up to rest against his chest “Only…”

“Damn it, sweetheart, you’re going to kill me. What is it now?”

You laughed quietly, not even bothering to hide how much you enjoyed working big, mean Aaron Hotchner into a tizzy. If only the other agents at work could see him now.

“You still haven’t told me what you really think.” you said, as one of your fingers started to twirl around the end of his tie “About the honey dust, I mean.”

Aaron groaned, and affectionately rolled his eyes. The fact that you were being stubborn really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

“You’re still on that? I thought it would be obvious by now. I love it, though I’d love it if you were wearing a brown paper bag.”

At the sight of your furrowed brows and the hard line of your pursed lips, Aaron let out a sigh and gently grabbed hold of one of your wrists.

“Still don’t believe me? Look.”

With that, he pulled your hand down and brought it firmly to rest against his crotch. You gasped softly, feeling what was very clearly a massive hard on straining against the zipper.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, your eyes going so adorably wide Aaron had to fight the urge to smother you with kisses then and there. You’d been together for almost three years now, and somehow you were still oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“See? The reason I didn’t say anything before is because honestly, you had me too turned on to think. If I had been able to come up with anything besides “guh” and some drool, believe me I would’ve.”

For a moment you stood there, stunned and trying to process what Hotch had just said. Then, the laughter came. It bubbled up out of you like a freshly popped bottle of champagne and there just seemed to be no stopping it. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were clutching Aaron’s shoulders, trying to stay upright as your body shook with mirth.

He held you through it, his own laughter, rich and warm, soon joining your own. When the two of you were finally able to settle down, you found yourselves sitting on the floor, still holding each other for dear life. Your tears had carved a path through the honey dust on your cheeks, creating dull stripes in between the swaths of gold. Aaron was also covered in the stuff, with most of it on his lips and nose from when he’d had his mouth on you earlier. The sight set you off in a fit of giggles again.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry,” you said, breathlessly between suppressed laughter “What a mess, and the bed’s probably a whole lot worse. This really was a stupid idea.”

You reached up and tried to wipe some of the gold powder off Aaron’s face, but only succeeded in dusting it down onto the lapels of his suit jacket. That didn’t seem to bother him too much though, and he caught your hand before you could pull it away. He pressed a kiss against your palm, deep and reverent, before licking up the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. You shivered with pleasure in response, and let out a soft moan.

“This is stupid,” Aaron agreed, moving to stand and gently tugging you to your feet as he did “And also kind of fun. Besides, we can always do laundry later and after the week I just had, frankly I could use a little fun.”

You gave Hotch a sympathetic smile, and allowed yourself to be lead towards the bed without any further resistance. Sure enough, you could see gold dust coating your navy sheets and comforter, most of it concentrated in an outline of where you’d been laying. Aaron shook his head fondly at the sight, before scooping you up in his arms and laying you out like you’d been when he’d walked in earlier.

As soon as your back hit the bed, you reached for Hotch, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss. He lent into it eagerly, letting out a hum of appreciation as he felt your tongue brush against his lips. This was your first taste of the honey dust, and right away you understood the appeal. It was sweet. but not over powering, a nice little addition to Aaron’s already delectable kisses. With any luck, you’d be able to talk him into letting you cover him with it later on. The bottle said it could be put anywhere on the body, which had given you more than a few ideas you wanted to try out.

Despite the rough start, it seemed like the evening was heading towards a much more pleasant end. However, instead of climbing into bed and straddling you like you’d expected, Aaron suddenly broke off the kiss. Your eyes flew open and you propped yourself up on one elbow, watching has he turned away to walk back towards the bedroom door. His absence was already felt, your lips and body now caressed by the cold air instead.

“Aaron? Sweetheart?” you called out after him, trying to keep your voice calm “What are you doing?”

“Call it a do over,” he replied, flashing you a wide grin over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob “An enthusiastic welcome deserves an enthusiastic reception.”

[crazywomanposting]

ೃ⁀➷ maneater (spencer reid x oc)

summary: Spencer falls in love with an unsub.

warnings: explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions of violence

read this on ao3!

Chapter 5: Watching and Waiting

The Sunset Hotel was everything the 1.5 star Google rating would have you believe. Dingy rooms, sticky tiles, and a manager that refused to cooperate. 

A week had passed without another victim. It was confusing. It didn’t fit the pattern. The team seemed to be waiting for another strike, but Spencer knew it wasn’t coming. She had been spooked. She had all but confessed to him and he knew too much about her. It was too risky. 

They had figured out the hotels  the first victims were abducted from by tracing cell towers and credit card statements. The Sunset Hotel was where the sixth victim, Grant Willis, had last used his credit card before vanishing five weeks ago. 

They wanted access to the security cameras, normally not an issue for two federal agents. However, this manager, Terry, seemed insistent that there was no footage to view. 

“Look, we don’t have a lot to offer here, okay? Least we can offer is some privacy.” Terry drawled, leaning his forearms on the counter. 

“This isn’t a matter of privacy. We are with the FBI.” Morgan leaned forward to match him, seeming very imposing against the small stature of Terry. 

Terry opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the shrill ring of Morgan’s phone. 

“Hey, babygirl.” He answered, turning away from the counter. 

“Okay… Alright. On our way.” 

“They know where she’s going to strike.” 

⁂

There had been a tip. Union Square Plaza Hotel at 8pm. 

Spencer’s heart was beating out of his chest. What if she told them he knew all along? Maybe he should confess now. He glanced sidelong at Morgan. His expression was stony, the picture of a man preparing for battle. 

Spencer swallowed past the lump in his throat. It was now or never. He’d be arrested for aiding and abetting, for obstruction of justice, that was years in prison and he’d lose his job. 

“We’re here.” 

Shit. 

“So, the tip said she’d have black hair and be in a red dress,” Prentiss began, as they approached the team, “We know what room they’ll be in, but we have to wait for her to incriminate herself.”

Morgan scoffed. “You mean wait for her to try and kill him?” 

Hotch nodded. “If we arrest her now, we have nothing to charge her with.” 

Spencer didn’t pay attention to the rest of their conversation, his thoughts were spiralling. Black hair? A wig, maybe. 

“That’s her.” JJ grabbed his arm. 

But it wasn’t her. 

Black hair, red dress. She turned to look behind her at the taxi pulling away, blue eyes. It’s not her. 

“She’s going up to the room, we need to go in now.” Hotch ordered, turning to the SWAT team behind him. 

In the hallway, they listened to the feed from the microphone hidden in the room. Eyes all fixed on the closed door. 

“Did you miss me, baby?” A woman’s voice.

“Of course, I did.” A man, older. 

Spencer could feel his heart beating in his throat. They were going to stand out here all night waiting. She wasn’t the killer. How long could he keep this up? 

“Where are you going?” The man whined. 

There was silence and then a thud. Hotch wasted no time. “Go!” 

The SWAT team poured in. The woman screamed as they burst through the door. The man was lying face down, blood already pouring from a gash on his head. She stood with a revolver in her hand. 

They arrested her. She confessed. She had killed them all. She had burned the bodies. Her name was Erica. 

The team all thought Mary had been some lie told by some desperate prostitute in a moment of fear. Spencer didn’t know what to think. 

He had spent days ravaged by guilt and it had all been a lie. 

She tricked him.

last chapter / next chapter

[vigilante24ish]

Ghosts of Agatha’s Past

Paring: Detective!Agatha Harkness X FBI Agent!Rio Vidal

Modern AU Police Two-Chapter Short

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Murder, Kidnapping, Child Loss, Angst/Hurt/Comfort

[A/N] - Dedicated as a Christmas present to the loveliest person I know @thestarofourhearts

Summary:

When a case becomes too personal, Detective Agatha (Agnes) Harkness finds herself taking risks that will affect her public image and mentality. With ghosts of her past catching up with her, her mentality starts to spiral down—only for a certain FBI agent to stop her before it's too late.

Chapter 1/2:

The blue and white lights of the police cars shone around the abandoned warehouse, fighting back against the cover of the early night. Police had arrived at the scene and wasted no time gathering evidence, taking pictures, and discussing what had taken place.

An ambulance was parked nearby, its double doors open, and someone was sitting by the steps, a shock blanket wrapped around them.

Detective Agatha Harkness, or Agnes for those brave enough, had been in the Department for years now, climbing up the ranks as one of the few women in such a position of power. She was a wild card, rather ruthless with the criminals and not the best partner to have with you, but she was damn good at her job.

Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself, deeply believing it with every successful case she managed to close... with every bad guy she put behind bars.

Then, this case landed right on her lap and tested her in more ways than one.

In the end, she succeeded and ended the criminal... but at what cost?

Her blue eyes were distant, locked on the dirty road beneath her. A splatter of blood had dried up on her face and hands, and her dark blue checked shirt was soaked in blood, but it was not hers... no, its owner was currently placed in a body bag.

She could barely look at the cold and dead body of a 6-year-old boy that left his last breath in her arms. She did not dare to look as the black body bag was zipped, and his body was carried away.

Her shoulders felt heavy from all the tension she had been feeling, her lips and throat were dry, and even her back was aching from sitting so long. She did not move, though, finding no strength within her to do so.

The sound of a heart monitor was faint in her ears, deep into the ambulance, laying a 4-year-old girl. This one was alive, in shock and dehydrated but mostly unharmed. She had been given something to sleep with to help pass the shock and make it easier to get to the hospital for further exams.

One would think that Agatha would be happy she managed to save at least one child, but she wasn’t. She knew she had done a good job once again, but something deep down did not let her celebrate.

As she sat there, barely reacting to her colleagues' questions, her mind wandered back a few days—when it all started and how it ended up this way.

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Westview Police Station – Three Days Before the Killer’s Death.

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Detective Harkness was sitting behind her desk, faintly rocking her comfortable chair left and right. Elegant, long fingers were rubbing her mouth, and her blue eyes were locked on the report files spread across the wooden furniture.

The brown police files had been scattered, and their contents included a variety of missing children reports, notes from other detectives, and pictures of the victims.

A famous Serial Killer had moved from state to state and city to city and somehow made it to the little town of WestView. No one knew how long he had been residing there, pretending to be a good, normal citizen, but they knew he was there.

Children started to report an odd man trying to lure them away, and things only got worse when the first child was reported missing from Eastview. Then a second, a third... and it was evident this killer had found a good mix between the two towns.

The problem with that case was one.

There were no bodies.

The only few pieces of evidence ever left behind were found too late after the killer had fled. Each of his lairs had little souvenirs left behind, photos of the children they had perished... photos that would make even the most emotionless people react.

Time was of the essence, the best profilers already having speculated that he kept each child for about a week before kidnapping the next one, and around by the 9th day, the first child died from its injuries.

The first child had been abducted 7 days ago, the second one less than a day before the FBI chose to help, not wishing for the killer to escape...again.

A knock on the door snapped Agatha from her thoughts, and she looked at the source and saw the chief of her department.

“I believe you heard the decision. We are to work along with the FBI before the time runs out, " he said and moved to the side, allowing a new person to enter the small room.

This person was not new to Agatha, but that female face was far too familiar to the detective.

“Hello, Agatha,” the woman said, reaching her hands into the pockets of her tailored pants. The FBI badge was hanging by a string around her neck.

“Rio,” Agatha greeted, her tone making it clear she was unhappy with her appearance.

Simply, Agatha did not like when others interfered in her cases, especially the Feds. She knew they would try to boss around, do everything, and then take credit. Not to mention how keen they were to wipe things under the rug if it meant keeping their name clear.

If one were to be honest, the fact that this serial killer had escaped and killed for so long was mostly their fault, if not entirely. They were the ones that failed to stop them in the first place, and now he had found his next victims in Westview.

FBI Agent Rio Vidal entered the room and sat on the old leather couch, a rather usual spot for her. She had worked with Agatha before in some other cases, perhaps the only FBI agent who could tolerate and even make some progress with her.

After all, Agatha was... rather challenging to work with.

“Look, about this case-“ Rio tried to say, but Agatha interrupted her.

“It is my case, Rio. You let this guy slip from within your fingers long enough. I will take charge now,” Detective Agatha said, her eyes locked on Rio’s form, challenging her to argue back.

Surprisingly, the FBI agent raised her hands in surrender. “If you want to be the boss...” she took a deep breath and exhaled. "You can be. I am here to help catch him.”

Agatha studied Rio momentarily, trying to see if the fed woman across from her was lying. In the end, she hummed faintly. “Good.”

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House of the Second Missing Kid – Two Days Before the Killer’s Death

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The investigation was not progressing, so Agatha and Rio agreed to try to find more clues at the crime scene.

In this case, the crime scene was the house of the second missing kid. The young child was supposed to have climbed off the school bus early in the evening after a day-long field trip, yet she never made it to the door.

The parents were hard to console, depressed and anxious about their little boy, who was no older than 6. They prayed and begged Agatha and Rio to do something to help find their son before it was too late.

Agatha could not truly offer sympathy and merely wrote down whatever she considered important, whatever she thought might help find this killer.

She knew one thing: this Child Kidnapper and Child Killer was smart, smart enough to escape law enforcement for years. He clearly studied each victim, finding the perfect chance to abduct them without much of a fight or a hustle.

Thus, it was important to see if this boy, Nigel, had spoken to his parents about anything unusual that might help shed some light on this case.

As the two parents were left to console one another in the Kitchen, Agatha grabbed the chance to observe around. Part of her hoped to maybe find a clue, like a hidden camera or a thrown-away note—something, anything that could help.

Walking towards the stairs, she noticed the hanging pictures by the flower-plastered wall. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she approached them, her heart beating harder against her chest at the sight.

In all the pictures, there were moments of the two parents and the boy. In some pictures, the boy was with his mother. Always smiling, always having fun... they were the perfect little family.

Her attention went to a picture of the boy alone, standing in front of Westview Middle School, on his first day attending. He was smiling at the camera, a few teeth missing, but his smile was almost contagious. He was clearly proud and happy to officially attend the 1st grade.

Fingers gently passed over the happy boy's face, a sense of de javu striking Agatha. In her mind, she could hear the voice of another little boy, his giggles coming alive.

“Look at me, mama!”

“I promise I will make friends, mama!”

“Mama! You will embarrass me in front of my friends!”

“Agatha,” a voice called the detective's name, ending the bitter trip down memory lane.

Blinking, the detective turned her head to the right. Rio was standing by the base of the stairs. Her gaze seemed softer, and her brown eyes looked at her temporary partner with concern.

Agatha did not know how long she had been standing there or how long Rio had been watching her, and she did not want to know either.

“Are you okay?” Rio asked.

“Yes, I was just planning, obviously. We need to catch this killer and end his reign.”

Rio kept looking at her, clearly not believing a single word, but she did not comment. She knew Agatha well enough by now, and she knew she had to play her game if she did not want to risk being pushed away.

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Empty Road – A Few Hours Before the Killer’s Death

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Agatha was speeding down the rather empty road, clearly surpassing the limit, but she did not care. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight enough, but her knuckles had turned white from all that pressure, and numbness threatened to overcome them.

Her eyes were glued on the road, determined to add more pressure on the gas pedal. Something had stirred her up, making her leave suddenly and without an explanation.

Of course, her sudden disappearance did not go unnoticed. Her fellow detectives and police members could ignore it as one of her many moods, but Rio was not so easily fuelled.

This was why she had tried to call Agatha, causing her phone to wring from the little compartment she had placed close to the shifting gear.

Agatha glanced at it, seeing Rio’s name, but she did not pick it up, placing her attention back on the Road. A sign made her realize she was getting closer, and she chose to let the phone vibrate again and again, not intending to answer the call.

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Westview Police Department - Same Time

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When Rio entered the Police Station, she was not really expecting to find Agatha’s office empty. At a quick look, one might think she had never entered it that day, but Rio’s quick and trained mind spotted something that did not stick.

A mug with fresh coffee was on the desk, barely touched despite the liquid having grown cold. Rio was certain Agatha had not left her mug on the desk the day before, for she would always wash it and leave it on the drying rack so she could pick it up the next day when she clocked in.

She frowned and entered the empty office, looking around for any other signs that might explain where Agatha had gone so suddenly. She did not even bother to question the other cops, clearly not caring or paying enough attention to have any answers.

Plus, she wondered if Agatha would tell any of them where she was going, especially if she was in a rush. Something that Rio suspected was the case.

Rio tried to call Agatha, letting it ring and ring and ring. When she received no answer, she tried again, a frown forming on her lips as she was led to voice mail. She hung up the phone, her hands tightening around the device for a moment.

She had a bad feeling about this. Agatha could try to be a loner and sometimes an ass, but this was unlike her.

Left with no choice, she knew she had to do everything independently.

Walking towards the desk, she spotted the open little notebook Agatha always carried around. Next to it, the pen had been discarded, and there were the faintest signs that a paper had been ripped.

She grabbed a pencil from the pile and started to use it, shading over the paper with intensity and grace. While the technique was quite cliché, it did seem to work, and eventually, the imprint of what Agatha had written on the ripped paper started to appear.

She dropped the pencil, her brown eyes scanning the latest clue: an address and an arranged time. She dared glance at the clock on the desk, realizing she had less than half an hour for whatever this meeting was.

Considering everything, it was not hard for Rio to suspect who had given her that address—or, better yet, called her. Her eyes went to the cable phone by the edge of the desk; a few digits pressed were enough to replay the last recorded message. Her eyes went wild at the male voice, leaving instructions and a deadline.

Chapter 2