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willsdreamgirl · 1 year ago

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“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

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transmascaraa · 1 month ago

Text

bf!kinich headcanons!

simple life.

bf!kinich x gn!reader

author's note: hi i'm back with something new after a month or smth anyway i hope you guys have been doing well^^ (this one is basically about how you two live and i'm excited to write for kinich lmao i hope he's not ooc)

"you like it, no?"

-(this man managed to become my favorite char after 3 years of scara)

-he's literally ideal like not only is he literally gorgeous, but he's also so fucking kind-hearted regardless of the fact that people see him as scary

-he's nonchalant but at he same time not at all

-anyways that wasn't the point

-he always wakes up before you somehow and if he has a commission early in the morning, he'll probably just kiss you goodbye and leave in silence

-but if he doesn't have any commissions early then enjoy the morning with him

-his good morning kisses are usually on your forehead, but you're sometimes lucky to get a kiss on the lips from him(he's such a good gentle kisser trust me)

-HE DOES THE COOKING IN THE HOUSE. NO EXCUSES. AND COOKS THE BEST FOOD EVER. (he's latino in my mind and i literally can't imagine him not cooking for his s/o)

-you can clean if you want but he's always cooking the best food ever and he loves doing it especially since he gets to see your happy face afterwards and your compliments for his cooking

-you two probably have a little garden near your house where he grows vegetables and you plant flowers all around as decorations

-if he ever comes home injured you're quick to patch him up and scold him about taking some random dangerous commission

-he says he won't do it again and that he knows exactly what you mean but it just keeps happening unfortunately

-i forgot to mention ajaw in your guys' relationship. well shit.

-he ruins any situation you have with him so that's the reason he's in timeout 90% of the time dw (the 10% is just arguing with eachother until kinich throws him to the sky)

-i believe he has ptsd in some way so nightmares might not be uncommon for him

-the worst this about it is that he would never tell you. never ever. he thinks it's not fair that you comfort him but he can't repay you in any way

-so even if you reassure him it's okay because he also comforts you, he always finds an excuse like "but i'm not good with words, my comfort isn't as valuable as your's."

-next up, he's probably not into pda

-sure you can hold hands and add a kiss here and there but it's nothing too much

-if you're into it, he'll try to make it up to you but it won't really work out too well so you can try to find a balance with him which will be easy for you both

-his love language is probably quality time with some additional physical touch and gift giving

-he has such gentle hands probably because he plays a lot of games(gamer kinich is undeniable)

-usually likes when you play with him because he finds it as something that builds your relationship further

-but if you just feel like watching him play that's alright as well like literally just sit on his lap while he plays some random game and you can fall asleep there because SOMEHOW he's pretty calm when he loses and doesn't exactly "rage" and just whispers "fuck/shit" or something

-he brings you trinkets from his commissions definitely especially when it's from somewhere far

-even the simplest things

-he'll make a bouquet out of random flowers and plants he found on the way and tie them together with some strong grass or something

-at night, when the both of you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, there's a few things you could do with him

-he could give you a massage, you could watch him play, you could play with him, he could simply cuddle with you, or watch a movie with you, or take a walk outside together, hang out with mualani and/or kachina, basically anything

-when he isn't with you he listens to the playlist he made to remind him of you

-loves when you send him videos of like cats and then say "us" because he finds it cute(he hearts every msg)

-very good at teasing but he doesn't do it often for whatever reason

-also doesn't really get jealous since he trusts you

-but he knows when you need him to protect you since you're like a rare emerald in his eyes

-doesn't break promises because he takes them really seriously

-if you suggest getting a pet(let's say it's a yumkasaurus in this situation) he would agree immediately

-he'll first of all explain to you everything you need to know about them and what they do, what they need and like

-and if you're okay with it in the end, then you can expect a yumkasaur as a present on your anniversary, birthday, or some holiday you celebrate

-he makes your birthday really special but ofc often forgets his own so when you surprise him it takes a second for him to understand the situation and then says you didn't have to

-finally, going to sleep with him is also perfect

-cuddles most likely, and if you prefer, he can play something simple like minecraft or stardew valley etc in bed next to you until you can finally fall asleep

-in simple words he's the perfect bf if his personality is what you're looking for :p

-(bonus for the people who also hc him as latino or simply spanish-speaking, he would definitely help you learn spanish if you don't already speak it. and if you also speak some other language he would love to try and learn it.)

~~~~~

DAMN this was long

probably because it was a random rush of motivation all of a sudden

i wish this happened more often smh i hope you all enjoyed anyway lol

| @mariaace <3

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silent-sanctum · 3 months ago

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"Jotaro Kujo is Weak at His Core"

As a writer and avid character psycho-analyzer, I find this concept fascinating because I wholeheartedly agree with what OP has quoted from a "What opinion would get the community to do this? *Insert Johnny getting torn apart*" post.

Before I begin, I know some people will see this, misread it, and immediately say "lmao did we watch the same show? He's strong, badass, and can kick anyone's ass. Like do you know Star Platinum bro?". Trust me, I've seen the replies to this post and they said this same exact thing.

And I'm here to say that to said people, if you truly are not the illiterates I'd like to term you as, you'd take the time to realize that when we say "he's weak", we're not referring to his physical prowess because we know he's one of the strongest characters in the show.

If you don't like to, then you're just proving the accuracy of the last sentence: "You can't stand seeing your edgy badass image of Jotaro as vulnerable."

Pushing that aside, I'd like to expand on OP's opinion/headcanon with some depth to it and explain how exactly he's "weak" outside of being a skilled and strategic fighter.

I've learned that to be holistically healthy, one needs to develop and maintain all optimal functions of oneself: Physical, Emotional, Social, and Mental.

Obviously, Jotaro excels in the physical category. He's conventionally attractive, taller than the average male population, well-defined with a muscled build, fit as hell, street and book smart, and highly in tune with his environment making him adaptable in any circumstance.

He's "strong" in that aspect we all know at a superficial level.

However, we start to see the core problem once we strip this good-hearted man of his physical appeal:

Emotional? He believes he doesn't need to express them to others because why should he. He refuses to process them and instead keeps them behind a locked wall of stoicism and aloofness.

Social? Can't communicate to save his life. He's reclusive and doesn't know how to socialize outside of work. Guarded and skeptical around others. Too much of a workaholic to bother making new acquaintances (if he even knows how) outside of familial connections.

Mental? At 17, he went on a death crusade over Asia and the Middle East, almost died numerous times, and most likely lived with unresolved PTSD that carried over into adulthood, and further deteriorated his already poor social and emotional skills.

What do we have then? If we look past that powerful exterior of a man, we have inappropriate emotional expression, poor socialization, and constant fatigue of dealing with bullshit that relates to his trauma.

And this is what we mean by his "core": His mindset. His inner machinations. The soft spot his enemies would need to target in order to defeat or kill him, strategy-wise.

I. Emotional

We pretty much already know how this man handles emotions. And this may come off as "irrelevant" to the dudebros and the meme riders who believe "haha feelings are for pussies, I advocate for edgy autistic Florida man who don't give a fuck, elopes with dolphins, and berates women".

But believe it or not, he has them, just like any other human being on the planet. I said it once and I'll say it again: Not everyone will wear their heart on their sleeves. Some will convey emotions publicly with no issue, while others would prefer to keep to themselves.

But how does this contribute to him being "weak" at his core?

Essentially, it's similar to how someone with depression may behave (not everyone, some of them). One may appear friendly, sunny, and bubbly to everyone around them, not knowing they're actually suffering from a void that eats them up from the inside when alone.

For his case, it may look like he doesn't care about what happens to him and everyone around him, considering his nonchalant and aloof behavior, but beneath that cold exterior, he cares way too much for his family, friends, and allies. He feels too much to the point where once his allies are endangered, he would sacrifice his well-being without a second thought.

And that's an issue to him.

To him, emotions make him vulnerable and in his circumstance where enemies are actively hunting him down trying to find his weak spots, his emotions should be kept behind doors because he doesn't know how to regulate it on the outside so it's either total stoicism or lashing out.

I found someone saying this line about him that fits him so well: "He's a good person who doesn't know how to be a good person."

This is a man who means well and truly wants to help out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his inability to convey his emotions properly and is unable to pick up emotional cues, it can lead to shit tons of misunderstandings due to inappropriate tone & expression, and that can change how someone views him in the long run, thus leading to unintended deterioration of personal relationships (which contribute to the social aspect of his weakness).

I found a visual representation of what I just said above. Just to give context: The show is about a married couple who struggles to keep their relationship afloat, having to navigate through family politics, work & life balance, and miscommunications so they could find why they loved each other in the first place.

The emotionally-reserved character here with the poor communication skills is the girl. She's a CEO who just received a call, came out from work, and meets with her husband, asking him to accompany her to a doctor's appointment.

Observe how she thinks she views herself VS how others actually view her as.

Other's POV: Demanding, brash, and insensitive Her POV: Anxious, hesitant, and confused

Now remember what Araki had written about Jotaro? "He doesn't believe he must reveal his emotions to others because he thinks everyone can figure him out, leading him to be a victim of misunderstandings. Others think him to be cold-hearted, rebellious, and insensitive."

II. Social

With emotions as our base foundation to poor communication skills, this leads us to his weak socialization aspect.

In a recent quote reblog about how he was raised as a child may have contributed to his tough persona, I mentioned something about his need of "Security".

Growing up, it was mostly just him and his sweet pacifist mother Holly. Joseph couldn't have visited often (he hates Japan) and his dad is a busy musician with a packed schedule on tour. As a kid up to early adolescence, he was coddled by his mother and raised as a good student. Everything was going great for him.

[In popular headcanon] Once he passed puberty, the change to his Part 3 MC era began. People began picking fights with him and bullying him, and he began to see the world as a threat to his safety. Knowing his mother, he wouldn't rely on her to defend him against these dangers. She was too kind, too friendly, too loving for her to deal with the harsh life he now has to deal with.

So he had to be the stronger one for both of them. He already had the physical attributes for it, so why not use it to his advantage?

He got on the popular delinquent trend back in 80's Japan, integrated a couple of cool masculine-esque personalities as his own from his favorite Western and Crime media, and is then able to project this menacing aura everyone should be afraid of, to ward potential threats away from him and his mother.

But Mijin, how does this make him weak? What does this have to do with his need for security?

Think about it: The poor guy's already introverted, doesn't feel comfortable with his emotions that he can't express properly, and now he has to be skeptical with people around him because he realized how shitty society can be, which leads to intimidation that wards off not only potential foes but potential friends as well, making it look like he's anti-social.

On the outside, people are likely to think that he likes being this way when in reality, he seeks a reliable support system on which he can lean onto. Everyone with a sound mind wants that subconsciously because we are social creatures. It's part of our nature.

He's constantly fearful of his surroundings, growing even more vigilant as he ages, but he doesn't look afraid because he chooses to put on a brave face to challenge said fears instead of acknowledging he's scared. I read somewhere in an ask that's not mine that in the manga, some panels actually depict Jotaro shaking/trembling in a mix of fear and adrenaline during some of his fights.

He wants to be around people who he can trust. People who he can lower his defenses with. People who are capable of protecting him just as he is capable of protecting them. People who can face his intimidating aura and challenge it to stand on equal grounds with him or to remind him of his place when he goes too far with certain things. Hence, why he seems comfortable being with the Crusaders.

For once, he wants to feel safe.

To not feel like he has to be this strong pillar of hope that everyone depends on.

To be someone being protected, instead of the other way around where he was always the strong protector. He wants a life of normalcy where he can just be a marine biologist and a professor with a loving family he can come home to.

But that can't happen. The inner circle of friends he counted on is either dead or far away, leaving him even more fearful of the world around him. This results in even more guarded skepticism, always watchful of who's an enemy Stand user and what their Stand could do. Because of his cautious nature, this leads to minimized socialization with others.

With little to no solid support system he can count on, he has no one he feels completely secure with because he believes danger will always come to hurt and/or kill those near him. He doesn't want to burden others with the issues & responsibilities of dealing with Stand users. He wants them to live the normal life he could no longer have.

He doesn't trust in the capabilities of his loved ones when it comes to defending themselves against the amount of potential threats and dangers he has faced, and yet he cares about them dearly. So, he commits to what seems to be the most practical solution in his mind: Self-Isolation.

To be a distant beacon where danger is attracted to and away from those dear to him.

(As we see in the beginning of Part 3 where he willingly locks himself in jail as soon as he sees himself as the threat, and in Part 6 where he stays away from his family once he realizes his enemies were targeting him).

"Your family is your weakness."

All this leads him to become what Araki always envisioned him to be: A lone hero.

III. Mental

Now onto the last part, this part of the essay will focus more on the popular headcanon the community has made about him: "Jotaro has PTSD."

Considering what he's been through at only 17, it would be no surprise that he'd acquired major trauma after those 50 days. Think about it- he gets injured more times than he can count, almost dies numerous times, sees his grandfather get "killed" in front of him, and all this combined with the constant reminder that his mother's life is also on a time limit. A failure to kill DIO meant a failure to save Holly.

The amount of pressure and risk he had to endure for her (and there will still be people who adamantly believe that he hated Holly because he said "bitch" to her twice in the first two episodes).

Now, remember when I said about him having this mentality of over-independence when dealing with stressors? It was still manageable during Stardust Crusaders, but because of what had transpired in Cairo, that mindset carries on to the rest of his adulthood, more so if we consider that he most likely didn't get any therapy or treatment for his trauma.

It might be normal for a teenager to hold onto this stubborn notion of "I can do this by myself" and be casual about it, but with trauma now involved, that notion warps into a persisting belief of "by doing this myself, no one else will get hurt" (i.e. refusing help, doing solo fieldwork, self-isolation).

But Mijin, you keep saying "mentality" this, "mindset" that. What are you talking about?

There's an old Tumblr post I found that talks specifically about this in great detail, but to put it shortly: Jotaro has always wanted to do things by himself because he believes that not only will the task be done with, there would be no one else involved with it, making it better for him to cope mentally if ever shit hits the fan (tying back to poor emotional expression and insecurity in bonds).

If any injuries were to be inflicted, he would be the one to receive them, and he alone, because who knows how he'll react and/or cope when his allies are harmed instead of him over and over again? (refer to the trauma of Jotaro surviving Cairo while the majority of the team that went with him died a.k.a "survivor's guilt")

(Also, refer to how he had exhibited great distress when Jolyne was about to be struck by a rain of knives that Pucci sent)

This might also be the reason why he's more self-sacrificial as an adult: Will be the bait during the rat episode instead of Josuke, takes the brunt of Sheer Heart Attack's explosion to spare Koichi, dives straight onto a path of bullets to save Jolyne, etc.

The only possible solution so he could snap out of that belief he holds on to is that strong, reliable support system he internally needs. People who can help him without sustaining fatal injuries in the process [social]. People who he can approach to release any pent-up frustrations and inner conflicts [emotional].

If he had found those people, then he might have been able to deal and/or cope with his trauma better instead of letting it linger and change his outlook in life [mental].

But we all know how his life went in canon. One moment he's a kid playing ball with his mother, then in his last, he dies by having his head bisected by a time-altering Stand.

Jotaro is a person with a gold heart and a rough exterior. Someone who wants to help and protect his loved ones from the unpredictability of the world the best that he can. But even then, his best wasn't enough. His fear was masked with an air of strength and capability, perhaps as compensation for everything else he lacked:

Adequate processing of emotions.

Stable connection with familial, platonic, and romantic bonds.

A sound mindset that stems from effective coping for his PTSD.

We could only hope in headcanon land that he had a better chance at life in the Ireneverse where he finally could develop his inner core better and get that long-deserved break he had always wanted.

#can't you already tell I love this man?#not in a romantic yumeship sense but in a “let me study you under the microscope” sense #mischaracterize my pookie and you'll hear me thundering through the streets #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jotaro kujo #mijin thoughts

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servndipityz · 2 days ago

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Hii! I wanted to request a Nam-gyu x reader smut story where it's Obviously Readers first time at a club despite only being a year or two younger than him. Maybe with the reader being a virgin too? I can't get this idea out my head 🙏 Rest is up to you, thank you so much<3

a/n ── hope you like it! absolutely loved the idea :)

CLOSER

warnings ── SMUT! MDNI, takes place after the games (don't ask me how they got out lmao i just know that they're alive and happy), porn v plot, p in v, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, virginity loss, corruption kink kinda? oral (f receiving)

word count ── 8k

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a month. a month and a half, if nam-gyu was being precise. but who’s counting?

it had been a month and a half since they’d gotten out of those fucking games. a month and a half since he’d started to get to know you better.

and more than a month and a half since nam-gyu had had sex. but who’s counting?

as shitty as his old life was, he couldn’t have been happier to have it back. promoting club pentagon again, getting high every weekend, slipping right back into his little trashy life.

plus, now he had something he didn’t have before. you.

he’d met you there, in the games, and he’d been doomed from then on. it was a strange sort of thing, really. nam-gyu was never the type to feel things. at first, he actually thought he’d caught the flu. then he figured it was just some kind of ptsd after the games—which, to be fair, he definitely had, but that was a whole other thing. but no, the tingling in his fingertips whenever he touched you, the stupid flip his stomach did when you talked... that wasn’t a mental disorder, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was.

he’d never felt that way about a girl before. almost... caring. maybe it was more than caring, but he’d never admit it. anyway, you and him were in some kind of limbo. you weren’t something, but you weren’t nothing either. you hung out multiple times a week, texted semi-regularly, and had messy make-out sessions more times than he could count—but less than he would’ve liked. never more than making out, though. and yeah, that thought crossed his mind sometimes. he wasn’t an expert on these things, but he’d taken girls to bed for much less.

you always seemed to stop things right before they got too intense, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. having to beat his meat every time after hanging out with you wasn’t exactly fun. but somehow, you seemed worth it. so he, the most impatient man in the world, had decided to be patient. for once.

anyway, even though he knew you weren’t really used to clubs, he figured he’d invite you to club pentagon. he wanted you to have a fun time, see where he worked, see how his life was before the games. he wanted you to let loose a little.

"thanos will be there, it'll be fun," he’d said, and it hadn’t taken much to convince you.

so there you were, the cold biting at your legs in your short skirt, gripping your purse tight as you eyed the long line of people waiting to get in. then, skipping it—feeling very glamorous all of a sudden.

"i'm, uh, friends with nam-gyu," you said, the words coming out almost like a question as the bouncer looked you up and down. you gave your name, and after a moment, he finally spotted you on the list, letting you in without much fuss.

as you stepped into the club, you were almost left in awe. you'd never really liked clubs—not really. when all your friends started partying, you gave it a shot before deciding you preferred a more chill vibe. getting drunk with friends, sharing a blunt, that sort of thing. but then again, the shitty clubs your friends dragged you to in your teenage years couldn’t compare to club pentagon.

several stories high, you could barely make out the ceiling. lights of different hues illuminated the space, smoke spilling from canisters, the bass-heavy music pulsing from a dj booth stationed at the center of the main floor. to say it was packed was an understatement, and you didn’t wonder why. the place was incredible.

you looked around, suddenly awkward. what now? what were you supposed to do? where were you supposed to go? how—

"nam-gyu!" you called out, spotting him weaving through the crowd toward you. he glanced up at you, nodding in greeting. kept it cool. he always kept it cool.

nam-gyu wasn’t expecting you to look this good. which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

your hands found their place on his shoulders before you even thought about it, familiar but not entirely effortless. still getting used to this. to him. to the way he let you in but only just enough.

"you came." he smirked slightly. his hand found your waist without thinking, the fabric of your shirt soft beneath his fingers. he barely had time to process it before you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. barely there. almost shy.

you weren’t used to that either. you pulled away just as quickly, catching the way nam-gyu’s dark eyes flickered over you before he schooled his expression into something more detached. not detached enough, though. the way his thumb ghosted over your side told another story. he was playing it cool. always.

"this place is super cool," you said, spinning slightly to take it all in.

the music pulsed, deep and low, the bass rattling the floor beneath you. the air smelled like expensive liquor and cheap cologne, bodies pressing close under flashing lights.

nam-gyu scoffed, pleased despite himself. "yeah?" he chuckled, tilting his head at you, his expression settling into something smug. "c'mon, i’ll show you the vip section."

and of course, you let him.

he led you through the club, already losing track of its winding paths, but nam-gyu moved like he owned the place. and he liked it—you could see he liked it. guiding you like he held any real power, his hand still pressed firmly to your lower waist as he did so. he liked being the one guiding you, showing you his world like it meant something. like he meant something here. and maybe he did. maybe you saw it too.

"look who it is!"

the voice cut through the air just before you reached the top of the short staircase. thanos. loud as ever, his grin splitting his face as he all but threw himself up from the couch. the two girls draped over him barely had time to react before he pulled away, arms open wide as he closed the distance between you.

you barely had time to brace yourself before he engulfed you in a hug, laughter rumbling from his chest. the scent of cologne and alcohol clung to him, heavy and overfamiliar, like he had been here for hours.

"damn, lookin' good!" he said as he pulled away, giving you a quick once-over—no real interest behind it, but enough to make you giggle.

it really was crazy how being stuck in some life-or-death games could make people this close in such a short time.

"okay, chill." nam-gyu rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips, his hand never leaving your waist.

thanos ignored him. "have a seat, señorita." he gestured toward the black leather couch, and you, along with nam-gyu, walked over to sit down. thanos dropped back into his seat, slinging his arms around the two girls, who seemed more than happy about it.

you ordered a drink as soon as you saw an opening, your nerves slowly starting to settle. though, judging by the weird looks you got for passing on the white powder on the table and the little bags of funky-colored pills, not everyone was on the same page.

there were other people you didn’t recognize lounging on the couches—probably some of nam-gyu’s friends or co-workers. thanos started rattling off introductions, including the girls, and as the alcohol finally started running through your veins, you felt yourself relaxing, settling into the atmosphere a little more.

you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the warmth of the alcohol was settling into your limbs, making everything feel just a little bit softer. the music vibrated through your chest, the flashing lights casting shifting colors over the VIP lounge, and you were beginning to understand why nam-gyu liked this place so much. it was loud, chaotic, a little grimy—but undeniably alive.

"you good?" nam-gyu leaned in, voice low against your ear. his breath was warm, his hand sliding from your waist to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing absentminded circles into your skin.

"mhm," you hummed, tilting your head toward him. "it’s actually kinda fun."

"yeah?" he smirked, like he knew he'd be right all along. of course he did. "told you."

his hand squeezed your thigh lightly before retreating, but not before dragging his fingers a little too slow against your skin. you rolled your eyes, but you didn't move away.

"hey, hey!" thanos suddenly called out, raising his arms to make sure everyone was listening. "how about we play a game?"

some people groaned, others laughed. a game?

"what game?" someone asked. thanos smirked, clearly pleased that he had everyone's attention.

"never have i ever," he said, his grin widening as more groans followed.

"aren't we a little too old for that?" you asked, smirking like the idea amused you.

"i'm not." he shrugged. "are you girls?" he leaned back, and both girls shook their heads vigorously.

you turned to nam-gyu, who seemed more interested in watching you than the conversation. your cheeks warmed when you caught him staring.

"wanna play?" you asked. he just shrugged. he wasn’t really into these kinds of games—he wasn’t into any games, really—but he didn’t care enough to argue. whatever passed the time.

eventually, everyone gathered around the table, all eyes on thanos as he ordered a round of the strongest drink he could think of for everyone.

the first few rounds were harmless enough. “never have i ever gotten a secret tattoo.” “never have i ever been arrested.” stupid things. you sipped your drink when necessary, laughing at some of the stories that followed, the warmth of the alcohol sinking deeper into your skin. nam-gyu barely participated, only taking a sip when he absolutely had to, but his hand had found its way back to your thigh, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against your skin.

then the questions started shifting.

"never have i ever hooked up in a club," one of thanos’ girls said, grinning like she already knew the answer for most people here. a bunch of hands reached for their drinks, nam-gyu included. you hesitated just a second too long before passing. his eyes flicked toward you, but he didn’t say anything.

the next one wasn’t any better.

"never have i ever had a one-night stand," some guy threw out. almost everyone drank. except you. you felt it before you even looked—nam-gyu was watching. his fingers stilled against your thigh for half a second before they resumed their lazy tapping, like he was processing something.

it wasn’t weird, not really. plenty of people hadn’t had one-night stands before. but it was the way you hesitated every time, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.

"never have i ever had sex in a public place," thanos threw in, laughing when half the group groaned.

nam-gyu took a sip. you didn’t.

you looked up at nam-gyu, meeting his gaze for just a second too long. you knew what he was thinking. knew he was piecing it together. maybe he’d already suspected—maybe he already knew—but this was confirmation, wasn’t it?

"wait," thanos interrupted, a slight crack in his voice from how drunk he was. "you're cheating!" he pointed at you.

"what? i'm not." you frowned, confused as everyone turned to look.

"c’mon, your glass is almost full. you haven't been drinking."

he wasn’t wrong. sure, you’d taken your fair share of gulps, but considering most people were on their second drink—some even on their third—it was true.

a flicker of anxiety crept in, the alcohol in your system making you let out a stupid giggle. "i'm not cheating," you shrugged shyly.

"she hasn’t been drinking on the sex ones. i've seen it."

your smile vanished completely. one of the girls next to thanos had spoken, but it was nam-gyu you worried about. you’d caught him noticing earlier, but you kind of hoped he wouldn’t actually put the pieces together.

hoped he wouldn’t realize you were a virgin.

but now, with everyone watching, you were running out of luck.

"yeah, because... because i haven't done some of those things."

it was normal, you told yourself. being a virgin. the right time had never come, and you weren’t about to give it up for some scumbag at a club. you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed. but this? definitely not something you wanted everyone to know.

"what?" some guy blurted out, brows furrowed. "those were easy. you're telling me you never had a one-night stand?"

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. what did he expect you to say?

meanwhile, nam-gyu hadn't stopped watching you, his hand—resting on your leg—now completely still.

it was driving you nuts.

but as you looked over at thanos, you knew it was definitely over for you. a slow smile crept onto his previously confused expression as realization dawned. "holy shit, you're a virgin!"

your stomach twisted. a hot wave of embarrassment rushed up your neck, burning under the weight of every pair of eyes on you.

"what? no," you scoffed, trying for casual, but it came out a little too forced, a little too breathless.

thanos’ grin stretched wider. he could smell bullshit from a mile away. "oh, come on," he laughed, leaning forward like he was about to drag this out, like he was about to make it a thing.

panic prickled at the edges of your brain. you needed to get out of here. fast.

your phone. yes. a perfect excuse. you yanked it out of your bag, squinting at the screen like you’d just received the most urgent message of your life. "shit," you muttered. "i gotta go."

you were already pushing up from your seat before anyone could react. nam-gyu's hand slid off your thigh, his fingers barely catching against your skin before falling away completely.

"wait—what? already?"

"yeah, sorry," you said quickly, grabbing your coat, your bag, whatever you needed just to make a clean escape. "totally forgot i had something early tomorrow. can’t stay."

someone called after you. maybe thanos. maybe one of the girls. you weren’t sure. you weren’t listening. you were already weaving through the crowd, heart hammering, barely remembering to toss a quick "bye!" over your shoulder before the club swallowed you whole.

still sitting on the couch, nam-gyu's mind was spinning, and he was barely even drunk.

of course you were a virgin.

it all made sense now. the way you looked at him sometimes, the hesitation, the way you could go from teasing to flustered in seconds. the way you pulled back like you weren’t sure what would happen if you didn’t. and maybe he should’ve known, maybe it was obvious, but somehow, it still caught him off guard.

he hazily glanced toward where you'd just left, the rest of the crowd still laughing and talking around him.

nam-gyu wasn’t the type to walk girls home.

but then again, he also wasn’t the type to like girls.

so he did the only thing that made sense—he downed the rest of his drink, got up without bothering to say goodbye, and pushed his way through the club.

it was late. the streets were dangerous. he didn’t want you to die or whatever.

when he finally stepped out, the streets were dark, damp from earlier rain, and the air was sharp against his skin. he scanned the sidewalk, found you a few blocks ahead. you were walking fast, arms tucked close, head slightly down.

he hated this. hated how he cared. hated how natural it felt to push through the lingering crowd, to break into an easy jog—casual enough to not look stupid, but fast enough to close the distance. he just hoped everyone else was too drunk to remember him, of all people, running after someone.

“hey!” he called out once he was just a few steps behind you.

you turned at the sound of his voice, startled.

he caught the flicker of something on your face before you wiped it away—too fast, too practiced. a tear.

“nam-gyu?” you asked, confusion in your voice. “what—”

“i’ll walk you home.” he shrugged, casual, like it was no big deal. like it was just something to do. he shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he caught up to you, his face carefully neutral.

you gulped. the last thing you wanted was to be around him right now.

“okay.” you trailed off, unsure of what else to say. how had it come to this? you’d survived hell together, yet suddenly, everything was so awkward. he wondered the same thing as he walked beside you, lighting up a cigarette.

you felt bad. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it. a million times, actually. nam-gyu seemed so experienced, so mature, and you were just… a virgin. all those times you’d stopped things before they got too heated, all those times you’d held yourself back.

you weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend. you didn’t want to burden him with the responsibility of taking your virginity. it was stupid, but you knew how men felt about it. they didn’t want some little girl who didn’t know what she was doing. they didn’t want to deal with it.

so ever since the games, ever since you two had started… whatever this was, you’d felt like you were leading him on. you knew you couldn’t keep it up forever. sooner or later, he’d find out and leave. you just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

after a whole block in silence, he finally spoke.

"so you're a virgin?" nam-gyu blurted out, though he already knew the answer.

it wasn’t a judgment, just an observation—dry, matter-of-fact. he took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly in the dim light before fading into the night air.

you cursed under your breath, shutting your eyes like that might somehow erase the last ten minutes of existence. as if not seeing him would make this less mortifying.

“…yeah.” the word barely made it past your lips, your voice low, hesitant.

when you finally risked a glance at him, he wasn’t even looking at you. his gaze was fixed on the cracked pavement, the faintest furrow in his brow betraying some kind of thought process.

you sighed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “i know it sucks. i’m sorry for not telling you, but it’s not exactly something that comes up after almost dying multiple times playing kids’ games! like—hey, i know we just survived the most traumatic experience of our lives, but by the way, i’m a fucking vir—”

"'s fine."

the words were abrupt, cutting your rambling off before you could spiral any further.

you blinked, arms falling to your sides as you realized you’d been gesturing wildly, like that might somehow defend your own inexperience. meanwhile, nam-gyu just kept walking, cigarette perched between his fingers, deep in thought.

"really? you're fine with it?" you asked.

the truth was, nam-gyu wasn’t exactly thrilled.

it wasn’t even about you being a virgin, not really. it was the fact that he’d thought about fucking you ever since the games. which was humiliating enough to admit to himself. a man had his needs, after all. but once again, he found himself in the unfortunate position of giving a shit.

he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"…yeah." his voice was low, clipped. he wasn't mad—just thinking. weighing his options. where would this leave you?

he hated himself for liking you this much. not being an asshole was unfamiliar territory.

"if you don’t wanna have sex, i understand," he added after a beat.

you widened your eyes. "no, no!" you rushed out. "i do wanna have sex."

his brain stalled.

you swallowed, hesitating as he watched you, gaze steady but sharp, like he was trying to read between the lines. you shifted, tucking your hands into your sleeves. "i've just… never done it. and i don’t know… i didn’t wanna bother you or… anything."

it sounded beyond awkward.

nam-gyu frowned, processing. not because he thought anything bad about it—just because it never occurred to him. he’d assumed you weren’t interested in having sex at all, or that you were waiting for some deep, poetic reason, for someone that wasn't nam-gyu. but now you were here, telling him this, cheeks burning, voice all soft and uncertain.

and now he had to keep his shit together.

"so… you want me to, like…" his dick twitched in his pants, betraying him immediately. no way this was happening.

"i mean—only if you want to…" your cheeks were burning, you were sure of that now. you felt like a teenager talking to her crush.

if he wanted to? his jaw went slack for a second, a breath slipping out as he stared at you. it was barely a question.

"fuck yeah, i want to," he let out, low and firm, like he needed you to understand.

something shifted then. the air got tighter, the weight of the moment settling between you. you bit your lip, eyes flickering over his face like you were still trying to wrap your head around this. then, slowly, a smile crept onto your lips—breathless, nervous, electric.

"okay." you let out a shaky little laugh, grabbing his wrist. your grip was warm, solid, like you’d made up your mind and there was no going back now. "okay, let’s go."

nam-gyu nodded, following your lead, his heart hammering in his chest as he picked up the pace. your apartment wasn’t that far.

the apartment was quiet when you stumbled in, breathless, a little drunk, and buzzing with something you didn’t quite know how to name. nam-gyu followed, the door clicking shut behind him as he leaned back against it for a second, exhaling like he was trying to steady himself.

the air between you was thick, charged with a long time of yearning. your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you toed off your shoes, glancing over at him. he was watching you, the way he always did—like he was already thinking ten steps ahead, figuring out how this was going to play out.

he hadn’t touched you yet. he was letting you decide.

so you did.

you took a step closer, then another, until you were right in front of him, your fingers hesitating before curling around the hem of his jacket. his breath hitched, just barely, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

you pushed up onto your toes, closing the space between you. his lips were warm, the taste of smoke lingering faintly as he kissed you back. he let you set the pace, his hands coming to rest lightly on your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your dress.

it wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but something about this was different. more urgent. more deliberate. maybe because, for once, there was no stopping this time.

your fingers tugged at his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders. he let it fall to the floor, his hands finally pressing into you properly, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. a quiet sound slipped from your lips, and you felt the way he stiffened at that, his grip tightening.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. he pulled back just enough to search your face, his dark eyes flicking between yours. “you sure?”

you nodded, chest rising and falling with each breath. “yeah.”

a muscle in his jaw twitched. his fingers brushed the side of your neck, then curled around it, his thumb ghosting over your pulse. “we stop if you change your mind.”

you swallowed. “i won’t.”

the look he gave you was unreadable—something dark and determined—before he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

nam-gyu wasn’t soft—he wasn’t sweet. he wasn’t the kind of man to whisper tender nothings or stroke your hair. he didn’t coddle. but the way his hands moved told you everything you needed to know.

the drag of his fingers down your spine. the slow, deliberate way his palm flattened against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. the heat in his touch, like he was holding himself back, forcing himself to move slow, to let you set the pace. it sent a shiver through you, and his grip tightened in response, like he felt it too.

you let out a breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled sharply against your lips before pulling back just a fraction, enough to look at you properly. his dark eyes roamed over your face, pupils blown, jaw tight.

"you're nervous." it wasn't a question.

you swallowed. "a little."

his thumb brushed against your waist, almost absentmindedly. "yeah. that makes sense."

you let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was an edge of vulnerability to it. he could see it. you could tell.

he tilted his head, watching you like he was trying to figure something out. then he exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing over your skin with a gentleness that was completely at odds with the sharp, rough way he usually carried himself.

"you know i won’t fuck this up, right?" his voice was low, almost casual, but there was something else beneath it. something steadier.

you hesitated for half a second before nodding. "i know." and you did. maybe that was why you'd never let anyone else touch you like this before. because it wasn’t about inexperience, not really. it was about trust.

and god help you, but you trusted nam-gyu.

the realization sent a flush through you, warmth blooming in your stomach as you let your hands slide up his abdomen, tracing the firm lines of chest beneath his shirt. his breath hitched just barely before his fingers flexed against you, like he was restraining himself from just taking.

"you wanna do this?" he asked, one last time, voice rough.

"yeah," you breathed.

his jaw clenched. "then tell me what you want."

you blinked up at him, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he'd stopped moving, waiting, his hands resting heavy against your hips but not pulling, not pushing.

he was making you say it.

bastard.

you bit your lip, pulse hammering as you tried to work around the knot of tension in your throat. "i—i want you to touch me."

his fingers twitched, his entire body going still for a second. then he let out a breath through his nose, and his grip on your waist tightened.

"yeah?" his voice was just a little lower, a little rougher.

you nodded, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he was looking at you now—like he was barely keeping himself in check.

"get on the bed," he said.

your breath caught.

for a moment, you just stared at him, heart hammering, and then, slowly, you walked to your bedroom, him following you close. you backed up toward the bed, your knees hitting the edge as you lowered yourself down.

he followed, standing at the foot of the bed, watching you with that unreadable expression—half lustful, half like he couldn’t believe this was real. his hands went to his belt, and your eyes flickered down, pulse spiking at the sound of the leather slipping through the loops.

then, instead of undressing fully, he leaned down, hands bracketing your hips, pressing you back against the mattress.

"you ever let anyone touch you like this?" his voice was rough, like he already knew the answer.

you shook your head, breathless. "no."

a low sound escaped him, something dark, something pleased. his hands slipped under your skirt, palms dragging slow over your thighs as he pushed the fabric up. he took his time, tracing the shape of you, pressing just firmly enough to make you squirm.

"you thought about it, though," he murmured. it wasn’t a question. his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin at the tops of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours.

you swallowed hard. "…yeah."

his lips twitched, almost a smirk. "yeah? thought about me?"

your face burned. he was being cruel on purpose, making you say it.

"…yes."

"fuck," he muttered, like the confirmation did something to him. his hands moved higher, fingers hooking into the band of your underwear, but instead of pulling them down, he let them rest there, teasing.

"how’d you think it’d go?" his voice was lower now, almost a growl. "thought i'd just take you fast, rough? pin you down, fuck the innocence out of you?"

you sucked in a sharp breath, thighs twitching beneath his touch. he huffed a quiet laugh.

"bet you didn't think i'd take my time," he murmured, leaning down, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck. his lips dragged over your pulse, then lower, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone. "but i like knowing i'm the first one."

you gasped softly as his hands finally moved, slipping under your top, dragging it up inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. your arms instinctively came up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists, pushing them aside.

"none of that," he muttered, his gaze dropping to your bare chest. he exhaled sharply, running his thumbs along the curve of your breasts before cupping them fully, testing the weight in his palms.

"fuck, look at you," he muttered, voice low and reverent. "so fucking pretty."

you whimpered as his thumbs brushed over your nipples in slow circles. he watched your face the whole time, reading every tiny reaction, every sharp intake of breath.

"sensitive," he noted, almost to himself. then he leaned down, tongue flicking over one peak before wrapping his lips around it, sucking just enough to make you gasp.

heat coiled low in your stomach as he worked, alternating between each breast, slow and thorough. it was overwhelming, the way he was handling you—not rough, not rushed, just taking his time, learning every inch of you.

one of his hands trailed lower, down your stomach, to the waistband of your panties. he paused, looking up at you, waiting.

you nodded, exhaling shakily. "please."

his smirk deepened. "good girl."

he peeled your panties down your legs, his fingers skimming over your skin like he was savoring the moment. you shivered at the sensation, at the weight of his gaze as he settled between your thighs.

“fuck,” nam-gyu muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t been prepared for what he was seeing. his hands splayed against your inner thighs, pressing them further apart, baring you completely to him. he didn’t look away, eyes dark and hungry, his tongue running over his bottom lip like he could already taste you.

your body burned under the scrutiny. you weren’t used to this—being seen like this, having someone take their time looking. you twitched, about to press your legs together, but his grip tightened.

“uh-uh,” he murmured, almost amused. “you’re gonna let me look.”

you swallowed hard, breath catching as he leaned in, his nose brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. his breath was hot, sending a shiver through you as he exhaled, slow and controlled.

he dragged a single finger up the length of your slit, just enough to make you jolt, to make your breath stutter. "you're soaked, girl. you sure you've never done this before?"

heat surged through you at the teasing lilt in his voice, and you let out a shaky breath. "i—fuck, nam-gyu—"

"yeah?" he smirked, but it wasn’t cocky. it was something else, something almost fascinated. like he was enjoying this in a way he hadn’t expected.

his fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, barely any pressure, just enough to make you whimper. your hips twitched, and his grip tightened, keeping you pinned.

"relax," he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle. "let me make you feel good."

then he leaned down.

you barely had time to register the shift before his tongue was on you, warm and wet and unbearably slow. your breath caught, your fingers twisting into the sheets as his mouth worked you open, his tongue dragging through your folds, lazy and thorough.

"fuck," he muttered against you, his voice rough. "you taste so fucking sweet."

the way he said it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach. his hands pressed into your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open as he ate you like he had all the time in the world.

it was overwhelming—the way he was licking you, slow and deep, like he was savoring it. like he was getting off on this just as much as you were. his nose brushed against your clit with every stroke of his tongue, and it was too much, not enough, all at once.

your back arched, a desperate sound slipping from your lips. he groaned low in his throat, the vibration sending a shudder through you. "that's it," he murmured, his voice almost slurred against your skin. "let me hear you."

one of his hands slid up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as he pressed his mouth lower, flicking his tongue against your entrance, teasing the edge.

"nam-gyu—" your voice broke on his name, breathless and desperate, and his grip tightened.

"fuck, you sound good," he muttered. his tongue pushed inside you, and the sensation sent a sharp bolt of pleasure up your spine, made your thighs shake.

"think you can take me?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "gotta get you ready for me."

you gasped as he pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, curling it just right. he groaned at the way you clenched around him, his tongue lapping up every reaction, every sound.

"shit," he muttered. "so tight. gonna feel so fucking good."

the words alone made your stomach tighten, the heat coiling low, winding tighter and tighter. he added a second finger, stretching you open, thrusting slow, deep, his tongue still working your clit.

it was too much. the pressure built fast, overwhelming, unbearable. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"i—" your breath hitched, your body tensing.

he growled low in his throat, his fingers pressing deep, his tongue flicking faster, relentless. "come for me."

and you did.

the pleasure hit hard, shattering through you, knocking the air from your lungs. your back arched, your body tightening around his fingers, and he groaned against you, drinking in every last tremor, working you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking beneath him, gasping for breath.

only then did he finally pull back, his breath ragged, his lips slick and swollen. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark, almost feverish as he looked at you.

"fuck," he muttered, voice rough, almost awed.

he climbed up over you, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. his hands framed your face, thumbs brushing against your skin, steadying you.

his exhale was sharp, controlled, but his grip on your waist betrayed him—fingers digging in, like he had to hold himself back from wrecking you completely. his forehead dropped to yours for half a second, just long enough for you to feel the way his breath came heavy, ragged.

"you're gonna kill me," he muttered, half a groan, half a laugh, before he pulled back, eyes flicking down your body—like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. his fingers traced your thigh absentmindedly, like he still couldn't believe you were letting him touch you.

then he sat back, unbuttoning his jeans.

your breath hitched as you watched him work, his knuckles going white with how tightly he was gripping his belt. the leather slid through the loops with a sharp snap, and your thighs pressed together instinctively at the sound. his lips curled slightly—he noticed.

"don't get shy on me now," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but he wasn't smirking anymore. no, his expression was darker, sharper. his fingers moved with slow, measured precision as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

your stomach flipped.

you had no idea what you'd been expecting, but whatever it was—it wasn't this. he was…big. thick. a flush creeping up his shaft, his tip swollen and slick with arousal. you stared, suddenly feeling very aware of your own inexperience, of the way your body still trembled faintly from the orgasm he'd just given you.

nam-gyu noticed.

"yeah?" his voice was rough, teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something dangerously satisfied. his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, giving it a slow, lazy stroke, like he was savoring the moment. "that nervous?"

you swallowed hard, forcing your eyes back to his face. he looked wrecked, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his mouth slightly parted. his chest rose and fell heavily, like it was taking effort not to just pin you down and take—

"i can take it," you said, before you could second-guess yourself. your voice was breathless but steady, your chin tilting up just slightly in challenge.

his jaw locked.

for a second, he just looked at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time. then, suddenly, his grip on your waist tightened, dragging you down the mattress until your thighs framed his hips.

"yeah," he murmured, almost to himself. his hand brushed over your stomach, your hip, sliding back down between your legs. his fingers traced your entrance, feeling the way you were still soaked for him. "i think you can, too."

your breath stuttered as he pressed two fingers inside you again, stretching you open. his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft, teasing circles—not enough to push you over, just enough to make your breath hitch.

"nam-gyu—" you gasped, hips twitching under his touch.

his free hand came up, catching your chin, tilting your head so you had to look at him. his eyes were dark, blown out with something almost ravenous.

"you still sure?" he murmured, voice low. "tell me you want it."

your pulse pounded.

you could feel how badly he wanted you, how much effort it was taking for him to hold back. and yet—he still gave you the choice. he was still waiting.

your heart clenched.

"yes," you whispered. "please."

his restraint snapped.

the second your lips formed that word, he was on you—pulling his fingers from your slick heat, gripping himself, pressing the thick, flushed head of his cock right against your entrance. he didn't push in. not yet. instead, he rocked against you, rubbing his length along your slit, smearing himself in your wetness, letting you feel every ridge, every inch of his size before he even tried to fit.

your breath hitched. your nails dug deep into his forearms, your body instinctively tensing.

"relax," he murmured, voice tight, nearly hoarse, like he was fighting against the instinct to just take. his free hand smoothed up your thigh, over the curve of your waist, warm, steady, grounding. "breathe."

you tried. you really did. forced your lungs to expand, to exhale, to let go of the tension gripping your muscles. but the second he started to push in, all that breath stuttered out in a sharp, broken gasp.

it was too much. the stretch, the slow, inch-by-inch burn as his cock forced your body to open around him, to take him. a kind of ache you’d never felt before, raw and overwhelming—too much and not enough, like your body was fighting him even as it craved more.

"fuck," he gritted out, his jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jump. his hands flexed against your skin, his entire body trembling with restraint. "jesus, baby—you're so fucking tight—"

your stomach flipped at the words, heat pooling deep in your core. he never talked to you like that. never called you things like that. but now, here he was, panting above you, voice wrecked and reverent, murmuring praise like he couldn’t help it.

after a few seconds, you whimpered, hands gripping his shoulders. "more."

his control broke.

he pushed in, slow but deep, a smooth, deliberate thrust that seated him all the way inside you in one stroke. your breath tore from your lungs, your back arching as the stretch bloomed into something fuller, hotter, the ache curling into something dangerously close to pleasure.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "holy fuck," he rasped, voice wrecked, almost pained. his fingers dug into your hips, like he was holding on for dear life. "so fucking good—you're so tight, so perfect, fuck—"

your pulse pounded in your throat, your entire body thrumming with sensation. there was still a burn, still that overwhelming fullness, but beneath it was something else—something deeper, something good.

you shifted your hips, testing, trying to ease the pressure.

his entire body locked up.

"don't—" his voice was strangled, desperate. his hands tightened, pinning you down. "don't fucking move, or i’m gonna lose it."

every muscle in his body was taut, locked, like a predator barely holding back from sinking its teeth in. his fingers bit into your hips, warning you, anchoring himself—but you could feel it. the way he was shaking. the way his cock twitched, buried so deep inside you you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

you swallowed hard, pulse hammering, skin burning where he touched you.

it was too much. too deep. too thick. your body fought to adjust, pulsing around him in helpless, desperate flutters.

he groaned, low and guttural, pressing his forehead harder into your shoulder like he was in pain. “jesus christ.” his breath was hot against your skin, ragged, almost like he was laughing. “gripping me so fucking tight. gonna break me."

you shivered at the rasp of his voice, your fingers sliding up his back, feeling the strain in his muscles. the raw need in him. you were doing this to him. you, all wet and trembling underneath him, still adjusting, still unsure—and he was losing his mind over it.

you swallowed, tried to steady your breath. "you can move," you whispered.

his entire body tensed.

you barely had a second to register the shift before he pulled back, just an inch, and then—slow, deep—he thrust in again.

your breath shattered. your mouth fell open, no sound coming out at first, just a strangled, breathless whimper.

then, before you could so much as blink, he started moving—pulling out halfway before snapping his hips forward again, setting a rhythm that had your breath stuttering in your throat.

he wasn't just fucking you—he was making sure you felt every inch of him, dragging it out, taking his time. and god help you, but it felt so fucking good.

"shit—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the sheets.

his hand slipped between you, his thumb pressing right against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. your entire body jerked, pleasure sparking through your nerves like lightning.

"yeah," he muttered, watching you like he was starving. "that’s it. let me see you fucking fall apart."

nam-gyu’s rhythm grew rougher, sharper—his control slipping, his hips snapping forward with a force that had you gasping, clawing at his back. every thick inch of him dragged against your walls, the stretch now molten pleasure, the overwhelming feeling of fullness making your head spin. his body caged you in completely, heat rolling off him in waves, his skin slick with sweat.

"fuck," he rasped, voice ragged, his breath hot against your lips. "listen to you." his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles. "moaning like that—so fucking needy, aren’t you?"

"fuck," you gasped, your nails raking down his back, desperate for more.

nam-gyu groaned, dropping his head to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "shit, you're taking me so fucking good," he muttered, his teeth grazing over your throat before he kissed you there—open-mouthed and messy, dragging his tongue over your pulse like he could taste how wrecked you were for him. "never had anyone inside you, huh? no one’s ever had you like this—"

his words made your stomach flip, a desperate, aching heat blooming in your core. you shook your head, gasping. "no—"

"fuck, baby," he groaned. "you don’t even fucking know—" his lips found your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you jolt, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting. "how long i've been thinking about this. how long i've wanted to have my cock inside this pretty pussy."

his hands slid up, gripping your tits, squeezing, kneading the soft flesh in his palms. his fingers flicked over your nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, and you whimpered, the pleasure making you arch into his touch.

nam-gyu groaned, his tongue darting out to trace the swell of your breast before his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard.

"oh my god—" your back arched, your fingers twisting into his dark hair, holding him there.

he chuckled, a low, breathy sound against your skin, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucked again, harder this time, drawing a desperate whine from your lips. his hips kept moving, slow but deep, every thrust sending a new wave of pleasure through you, making your stomach coil tighter.

"you're so fucking good," he murmured against your skin, moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention—his lips wrapping around the stiff peak, sucking, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. "so fucking tight, taking me so well—fuck, i knew you would."

you whimpered, the heat inside you winding tight, too much and not enough at the same time. your thighs trembled around his waist, your nails dragging down his back.

"nam-gyu," you gasped, voice wrecked, desperate. "please—"

"please what?" he pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen, his eyes dark, burning with something almost possessive. his fingers slid down between you, finding your clit again, circling it with slow, precise movements. "tell me what you need, baby."

you sobbed at the pressure, at the way it made your body twitch beneath him. "i—i wanna cum—"

his jaw tightened, his thrusts growing sharper, faster, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"yeah?" his voice was strained, breathless. "you wanna cum all over my fucking cock?"

"yes—yes—"

"then do it."

he pinched your clit, just the right amount of pressure, and the coil inside you snapped.

your orgasm hit hard, crashing over you in sharp, shuddering waves, making your entire body lock up beneath him. you let out a high, broken moan, your walls fluttering around him, pulsing, milking his cock as he fucked you through it.

"fuck—fuck—" nam-gyu groaned, his hips stuttering as you clenched around him, the tight grip of your body dragging him right to the fucking edge.

"shit," he rasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips as he snapped his hips forward, harder, rougher. "gonna—fuck, gonna fill you up—"

your entire body shuddered at his words, at the realization of what he was about to do, and you let out a breathless, desperate "please."

that was all it took.

he came, hard, his body trembling as he filled you, his grip tightening almost painfully as he groaned your name, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, wrecked.

the heat of him spilling inside you made your entire body tremble.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed, breathing heavy, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his hands—no longer rough, no longer gripping—slid soft over your skin, smoothing down your sides, your waist, your thighs, as if he was soothing you.

you were still shaking, your body aching in the best possible way, your mind swimming in a haze of heat and exhaustion.

nam-gyu shifted, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. his lips pressed to your temple, then your cheek, then—finally—soft against your lips.

"you’re a fucking dream," he murmured almost to himself, voice soft, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

your heart skipped.

then, before you could say anything, before you could think—

his hips rolled again, slow, lazy, his cock starting to harden again inside you.

"think you can handle another one?"

────────────────────────────────────────────

#nam gyu #namgyu x reader #namgyu smut #MDNI

163 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Summary:

Since you joined the BAU, you have been keeping a terrible secret from the team.

When the team takes a case in your hometown - your festering secret comes to be known with a vengeance.

Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Criminal Minds Season 3.

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a general casefic - there is no romantic pairings in this fic, it is more about the mystery of the case and how the reader character fits into it (if this were a real Criminal Minds episode, this would be the episode named after the reader) - with that being said, the main relationship focuses are between Emily and the reader and Spencer and the reader (because I am biased and I love them) but there isn’t any romantic threads or romantic tones, it is all platonic; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and is described as a woman, but I went out of my way to make sure that there is no descriptions of the readers looks or body type; there is use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); mentions of the reader being from Georgia (because the case takes place in her hometown); smoking/cigarettes - mentions of the reader character smoking tobacco; mentions of the reader character being injured (severely in a past incident, and minor injuries during the course of the fic); mentions of vomit/mentions of the reader character throwing up; lots of warnings for general Criminal Minds topics; murder, killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, guns/gun violence, mentions of rape and sexual violence, mentions of systematic violence towards women; there is no graphic depictions of rape/no rape scenes in the fic, but there is mentions of the event of rape happening to certain characters, references to rape culture, and the shame/guilt/self blame a rape victim feels; mentions of stalking/stalking behaviors - including the delusion mindset of a stalker, obsessiveness, sending someone unwanted letters, mentions of a ‘one sided’ relationship; mentions of trauma/PTSD; descriptions of symptoms of PTSD; themes surrounding the cycle of violence; I did kind of purposefully make the warnings a bit more vague than I usually do, because I really don’t want to spoil the plot of this fic. But as lot as you are okay with the maturity of all these themes, you should be okay with this fic!!

A/N: This is pretty much 100% inspired by the music video for Figure It Out by Royal Blood - which the fic is named after. I highly recommend watching the music video, because it is fucking art in my opinion, but I have taken such heavy inspiration from it in terms of the style, tone, and even storyline - so the music video kind of spoils this fic. So probably watch it after you read the fic lmao. I also feel like the instrumental version of the song goes very well with this fic. This fic is not at all typical and I am terrified that people won't like it, or that they won't 'get it'. But I am very proud of it, so I am going to put it out there and hope that people enjoy it. So - please enjoy!! I really love writing Criminal Minds casefics and coming up with the details of a case, and writing it in this style was so, so exciting and interesting for me, and I really do hope that you can enjoy reading it.

...

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

...

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret more palpable in your lungs.

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would soon be resigned to a cage.

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand.

Ten more minutes.

“I just want to talk.”

So caught up in your thoughts, your mind so foggy from the hectic night - you had almost forgotten that there was someone sitting in front of you.

He looked so entirely stiff - wearing his cookie cutter suit and his carved-in scowl. He did nothing to shift your mood.

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.”

He continued on, using a monotone, would-be soothing voice when you didn’t say anything.

The metal chair felt stiffer underneath you, and you felt further suffocated within that small, concrete box.

You felt inclined to call it an interrogation, but you wouldn’t be so quick to tell him that. It’s not like you were going to tell him what he wanted to hear.

“You can smoke in here if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He added on, pushing something from the middle of the table toward you.

A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was also an ashtray. A collection of things that someone had put there, knowing that you would be resigned to this tiny, tiny room.

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Hotch.” You huffed, saying his name, using the same technique that he would likely be using on you. You could mirror him, get ahead on the mind games. “I’m not as crazy and detached from reality as you think I am.”

Perhaps that was a false statement. You weren’t even sure how crazy he thought you were. Perhaps, that in itself made you detached from reality. You couldn’t be sure.

Nonetheless, you took him up on the offer. You reached out and eagerly picked up the pack of smokes, ripping off the outer plastic before you took one out, shoving the tip between your lips and lighting it up.

You took a heavy draw, and the nicotine throbbed through you. Seemingly adding to the headache you already had from the large gash on your forehead that they had hastily bandaged before bringing you in here, rather than relieving it. Still, you sucked on the cigarette like it was your only lifeline - taking a moment to tap some of the ash into the small ashtray while you stared at Hotch carefully.

You wondered if you should really tell him all the gory details.

“Just tell me what happened. Tell me your side of the story.” Hotch said, trying his best to sound warm and convincing. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Just like you are.”

Perhaps your biggest regret was that you were here, cooped up in this hole - and he was in the hospital somewhere, laying in a soft bed, being attended to by nurses, being comforted. The fact that he was still breathing - even with the assistance of a tube down his throat, and not in a body bag.

“You’ll never look at me the same if I do tell you.” You managed to find these words, and these words only. Ominous, almost threatening - more so than you intended.

“I won’t.” He returned. Shallow, fallible.

Suddenly, a crash from the hallway broke the tense silence that was brewing between the two of you. The door was thick, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the ruckus coming from outside.

“No! No! You have to let me through! I have to be in there!”

The voice was familiar, but that tone of desperation certainly was not.

“Reid, he specifically told us to sit this one out-”

“Sit this one out?!” Reid repeated the words back, his voice warping with pure shock, the inability to conceptualize such a thing. “You expect me to just sit out?” He scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me, two more people would be dead, and there wouldn’t even be a ‘this one’! Now let. Me. Through.”

“Reid-”

With all his bolstering stubbornness, he shoved past whoever had been trying to stop him, and as you took another heavy puff off your cigarette, the interrogation room door came flying open.

Hotch stood up, rushing to block the door, but you smiled. Though you were numb from the day’s events - it was your natural instinct upon seeing him.

“Reid-” Hotch choked out, trying to block the gangly man from even entering the room.

“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” You greeted him gently.

Upon seeing your reaction - so much more open and warm - Hotch allowed him in. This was the wedge that he needed to pry you open. Reid closed the door behind himself with an indigent huff and a glare toward his superior.

Reid crossed his arms, hovering near the door as he turned his stiff-jawed glare toward you now. Your cigarette turned to a hot cherry in your hands - sucked to death already, and you stubbed it out in the tray before starting a new one. You knew chain-smoking was an even filthier habit than the occasional ciggy, but you had one hell of a day under your belt. If there was ever a time, it was now.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Reid asked, his voice stiff and oppositional.

“Oh, so many things.” You said, your tone clever and unphased. Hotch let out a sigh as he sat back down in his chair. He was glad that you were talking openly now, at least. “Shall we go in alphabetical order, or start at my birth and work or way back from there?”

Reid let out another nasal thick sound. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for banter.

You were met with nothing but a stony wall of silence, and cold glares of disapproval. It almost made you feel guilty. Almost.

“Let’s start with this,” Reid corrected you. “Why?”

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself.

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.”

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

Prentiss led the team as they searched through the house. It was the only solid lead they had as to where you might be. It was a house that your parents used to own - a place of significance because you had lived there the summer when it first happened.

“Clear!”

She went through the living room, the kitchen, the entire first floor, leading the team with Reid at her side, guns drawn.

“Clear!”

As she crested the top of the stairs, she heard sobbing.

It was distinct - something that tugged harshly on her heartstrings.

Even though it was against protocol not to clear the rooms in order, she rushed toward it. Reid continued to flank her - obviously he had heard the noise too.

Prentiss landed a sharp kick on the door’s handle, causing it to fling open.

The picture on display in front of her almost caused her to drop her gun.

Hotch had been right.

You were on top of the man, straddling him. Both you and the man were badly beaten - but right off the bat, Prentiss could tell that he was far worse off. Clearly, you had bested him in the fight this time.

The contents of the room strewn about; broken glass, busted furniture, the curtain rod torn down. It looked like the remnants of a bad WWE brawl. You were the picture of desperation - heavy, hot tears coming from your eyes, blood smearing down your face from a gash on your forehead as you stared down the man beneath you with fiery madness in your eyes.

You had a knife to his throat. A large hunting knife - the same kind that all the other victims had been stabbed with.

You had the tip of it poised to his throat, just barely touching his skin. If you put any amount of pressure on the blade - if you bared down, then you would slice right through his esophagus. It would take almost no effort from you at all to end his life.

From what Prentiss could see, the man was unconscious. He was completely slack, his body still on the ground. He was bleeding from a small head wound. His life was entirely in your hands. He couldn’t fight back.

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of the confrontation with your life’s biggest monster.

Though it went against everything inside of her, Emily kept her gun raised. She kept her arms stiff, keeping her gun pointed at you. As much as she detested that man, knowing what he had done - it was her job to shoot you if you tried to kill him. Right now, she hated that job.

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply.

You didn’t move.

Naturally, Reid, in all of his softness and empathy, slackened his arms and holstered his gun before anyone could blink.

“Come on, put it down.” She tried again.

You ignored Prentiss entirely, your hands still shaking, making no moves to lift the knife away from the man’s throat.

Reid moved to step into the room, and from his view at the top of the stairs, arms stiff and gun pointed in your general direction - Hotch called out to him.

“Reid-!” He tried to warn Reid against doing this. Of course, he didn’t listen.

Reid knelt down beside you, posturing in surrender with his arms. Of course, he wasn’t even on your radar at the moment. Your entire gaze, your entire focus was on the unconscious man underneath you - the true target of your agony.

“Y/N,” Reid said your name calmly, trying to capture your attention. “You don’t have to do this.”

You hesitated for a moment, and Prentiss worried that even his gentle voice wouldn’t be able to get through to you.

“I have to.” You sobbed out. More heavy tears slid down your face, and you began to shake more visibly, shockwaves moving throughout your entire body.

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.”

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls.

It made Prentiss’ heart jump inside of her chest. If it wasn’t protocol, she would have dropped her gun and run over to comfort you with a hug. But she knew that you weren’t in the most stable place. You might have tried to stab her with the knife.

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-”

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, trampling over his quiet voice. “I killed those women. I killed them!”

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her.

If you didn’t move off of the unconscious man soon, then she would have to take you down.

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. She had faith in Reid.

“We both know that’s not true.” Reid told you. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.”

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.”

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

At this point he was doing some pleading of his own - but your hands were unsteady and you still refused to look at him.

You weren’t going to give up the fight that easily.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Somewhere On The Country Backroads - Madison, GA. 2:11AM.

“I want two squad cars down the road, I want state police cutting off all the possible exits to the major highways.” Agent Hotchner was on the scene, doing what he did best - giving orders. “I want to cut off any chance of possible escape incase the suspect tries to flee-”

“Hotch, do you really think that’s necessary?” Morgan asked. “We’ve got the house. Thermal cam’s got two bodies on the second floor. There’s nowhere to run from here. We’ve got spike strips on all the dirt roads. No car is getting past any of that. It should function as a hard extraction from here.”

Hotch glared at Morgan as he fastened the straps on his bulletproof vest. The glare of the red and blue lights from the squad cars only made the deep frown lines on his face look firmer.

“I am not taking any chances.” Hotch said. “We both know this is an incredibly delicate matter. We found one of the victims across state lines. We know this suspect has mobility. I’m not risking finding another body.”

The air became tense as everyone realized what he meant by ‘another body’.

“I want tactical swat to go in first-” Hotch began, and was quickly cut off by Morgan.

“You’re sending in swat when there’s a hostage in there?” Morgan questioned harshly.

“Even if we go in there blazing, showing force, she might not come in quietly.” Hotch explained.

“You’re serious?” Prentiss replied, hooking the wire of her earpiece around her ear in order to tuck the mic in. “She’s the one you’re worried about? She’s a victim in all this.”

“You saw the incident report.” Hotch reminded her. “The amount of defensive wounds she had… the first time he attacked her, she fought back hard. She’s desperate, she’s feeling cornered, she-”

“She’s terrified right now.” Prentiss pressed harshly. “She doesn’t need a bunch of men going in there waving guns in her face.”

“She could sacrifice him.” Hotch theorized, further trying to prove his point. “This could be her chance to finally get justice. Finally getting rid of the man who’s tormented her for all these years.”

“So we have to bring them both in. Quietly.” Morgan said. “We can’t just go in there shooting. If your theory is correct, then she could use him as a human shield.”

Hotch nodded. “Fine. No tactical swat. Prentiss, you take the lead.”

“Yeah, and I’m taking Reid with me.” Prentiss told him sharply. “Somebody with a little compassion around here.”

Prentiss nodded and scoffed, walking past Hotch, gently whispering ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ on her way to get in the car with Reid.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

When JJ let out a harsh sigh, Emily turned to her, swiveling in the borrowed office chair with a creak.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“Don’t you feel that?” JJ replied. Emily shrugged, waiting a moment for her to finish the thought. “That… overwhelming feeling of dread?”

Of course, it was obvious. No leads. No breaks in the case.

It was hopeless.

“Come on, I thought you were the hopeful one.” Rossi pointed out, tossing his empty paper coffee cup into a nearby trash can.

“How can I be hopeful when one of my best friends is caught up in all this?” JJ fired back. “If she-”

Before she could finish that thought, Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.”

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

You knew that it was cruel, but you couldn’t help but to enjoy his groans of pain.

There had been so many others - so many monsters to take down. So many men that you had gotten rid of without a second thought. Men you had put bullets in that didn’t mean as much to you as this. So many others you had easily forgotten about. But he had taunted your soul in a special way. And you knew that you were enjoying this too much.

“Tell me you like it!”

You screamed, taking another downward swing with the piece of wood - a leg broken off from the chair he had bound you to. He had been convinced that you wouldn’t break free. Laughable. He should have known better.

When he didn’t respond, you took another swing.

You could have stopped. You could have ended it. But you didn’t.

“Come on, tell me you like it!”

You screamed in his face, sputtering blood across him. At one point, he had punched you in the mouth. You weren’t exactly sure where the blood was coming from. You didn’t exactly care.

That would be your excuse.

He had hit you too. You were battered. You were just a fragile woman, after all.

“You’re a fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He coughed, sputtering out some blood himself. “I… I always liked that about you. It was one of the reasons I fell in love.”

He grinned - bright red spread out across his teeth, and it gave you the intense desire to see those teeth missing. To make him swallow them.

“You don’t love me.” You told him firmly. “You just get an adrenaline rush from being around me because I’m not afraid of you.” You explained. “Unlike the other whores, I fight.”

While you were preoccupied with the words, he flipped onto his stomach and began crawling across the floor.

He thought you were too stupid to notice, but he was inching his way toward the hunting knife that had been thrown out of his hand during the scuffle. It was a slow, sluggish crawl. You had broken a few of his ribs, his kneecap. It was nice to see him so slow. You had probably severely damaged his internal organs with how hard you had been beating him with the makeshift baton.

It was worse than last time. You stood above him like a menace - watching and waiting. You hated that you knew you would take an odd kind of joy in removing his hope when you stole the knife from his grip.

Just as he grazed his fingers across it, you brought another harsh swing down across his achilles tendon, causing him to scream out in pain.

You still had a lot of strength left in you. He was tiring out.

He was losing the game.

“Come on baby, tell me how you like it.” You continued to mock him. “Tell me how good I am.”

“Fuck you.” He moaned out.

You felt satisfaction bloom inside of you - those were the words.

He had finally given up hope. He had finally realized that maybe: he wasn’t going to beat you. Maybe he wasn’t above you on the playing field anymore. He was fucking around with a fellow predator, not toying with his prey.

“Oh baby. You know I’m only doing this because I love you.” You said, repeating his own words back to him in a cruel mockery.

That was when he realized: this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. This was a culling.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Just Outside of Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:04AM.

Reid needed some air.

Working on the case so diligently, not coming up with any leads. It was intensely difficult. Letting the balmy summer Southern air flow over him, getting a good gulp of the fresh air into his lungs - it was a bit more awakening than drinking his sixth cup of coffee for that day.

He was surprised when he rounded a corner, trying to go for a short walk to stretch his legs, and he saw a very recognizable face hovering near a gray Honda.

“Mrs. L/N?” He posed, approaching her gently. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

JJ had promised to call her if there were any updates. Reid didn’t want to disappoint her by telling her that there were none.

“It’s Miss L/N.” She said quietly. “I never married.”

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.”

She looked deeply troubled.

Reid waited patiently for her to reply to his initial question - for her to tell him whatever was burdening her. If he was lucky, it could help with the case. It was always the families who could help put those final puzzle pieces into place. That was something Gideon taught him, so he took it as sacred advice.

“You’re Doctor Reid, aren’t you?” She posed, stepping forward to approach him slightly - still stiff, still stand-off-ish. He easily understood why. He nodded in response. “My daughter speaks very fondly of you.”

Reid cracked a small smile at this.

His attention was then brought to a small box - a shoe box as she held it out to him.

“I don’t mean to bother you at this late hour, but… you said to let you know if I thought of anything that might help you.” She reminded him. He nodded again. “And I - well, the reason I didn’t bring these up the first time… you can understand that I have a need to protect my daughter?”

“Of course.” He affirmed. “It’s every parent’s natural instinct to protect their child.”

She looked solemn at his words.

“I had no idea that… that what happened to her could potentially be connected to these… these murders in any possible way.” She told him, shuddering as the word passed through her lips. “I was just trying to shield her, you have to understand.”

She handed him the shoebox, and when he took it and lifted off the lid, it took him only a moment to understand. He would need to find a quiet place to fully inspect the contents, but it was all being pieced together in his mind now.

“Thank you for bringing me this.” He told her quietly.

“Doctor Reid, you have to promise me that you’ll bring my daughter home unharmed.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. “She’s a good girl. Please, just bring her home.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise her that. Not under the circumstances.

“Ma’am… I will try my best. That is all I can promise you.” He told her.

She nodded in quiet understanding before Reid turned and marched back inside.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 11:03PM.

The flint of the lighter flicking seemed to be the loudest thing in the room in that moment - even with the low hum of the eleven o’clock news playing in the background.

It was so odd. Everything was exactly like you remembered it. Withered - but the same.

Even the chair you were sitting in. The old wooden chair that had been lugged up from the kitchen, one that you used to sit in for hours and do homework - it was rickety, but somehow the same.

You took a sharp drag off the cigarette after it was lit for you, continuing to listen to the feminine voice on the radio as the news played.

“I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Madison Police Department. Tonight, we are making an urgent appeal to the public for information. Earlier this evening, a woman went missing in the area of-”

“I never took you for a smoker.” He said, his voice sharp and confident in the words.

You tapped your cigarette into the ashtray with your free hand before raising it up to your lips to take another drag. Right now, the smoke heavy in your lungs was the only thing keeping you sane.

“I never smelled it on you back then.” He added on when you didn’t respond to him. “Bitches who smoke always smell like dirtbags. You just… smelled nice.”

“I didn’t smoke back then.” You quietly replied.

He had driven you to take up the habit.

You took another drag of your cigarette - you wanted to enjoy it. The longer you could drag it out, literally, the longer you could delay the inevitable.

“-The suspect was last seen driving a blue and white, 1970s Ford truck. If you see the vehicle, please-”

“They’re lookin’ for ya.” He said casually, nodding toward the radio.

You wished they weren’t.

You directed the conversation elsewhere.

“Tell me how this is gonna end.” You urged him quietly, ashing your cigarette again.

“You and I both know… this was only ever gonna end one way.” He told you, his voice irritably cocky.

He had you now. He had won.

“-We believe that this abduction is connected to a string of recent murders in the area. It is critical that if you have any information, you call our tip line at-”

He rose from his spot then, and turned off the radio.

The silence was gutting.

He moved toward the door, but you abruptly caught his attention.

“Remember,” You told him. “You made me a promise.” You said quietly. “No more. No more girls.”

He chuckled at this. “Of course, darlin’. No more.”

It felt like a lie.

“But only because I love you.” He gave a filthy grin along with these words, and your insides shuddered.

You knew that he wasn’t actually capable of love. You had known that from the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You didn’t bother to muster any words in return.

He crossed the room back toward you and leaned down, planting a kiss on your forehead. Your body stiffened, entirely stony toward it. It was selfish on his part - loving on you like a doll, rather than trying to bring you any comfort.

He moved back to the door silently.

You worried about what would happen the moment he went out the door. He turned to you just before he left.

“Don’t run off now.” He said with a wink. Ego. Sarcasm.

“Where am I gonna go, Dan?” You sighed.

You lifted your tethered hand up to drive the point home, and the clink of handcuffs was now apparent in the otherwise silent room.

He shut the door with a chuckle. You put out your cigarette in the ashtray, reaching for the loose spoke in the back of the chair. This was a chair that you used to sit in for hours while studying. That loose spoke used to bug you all the time.

It came free after only a few tugs.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 10:24PM.

The previously dark parking lot of the secluded, back country convenience store was now entirely lit up with red and blue. Four police cars had crowded into the area, surrounding the place where you had last been seen.

Inside, under the harsh white fluorescent lights of the store, Hotchner and Prentiss were interviewing the store clerk - a young man who had supposedly been the last person to speak to you before the abduction.

“So, you’re sure that you didn’t see anything?” Hotch pressed the young man - someone who seemed so entirely nervous under his harsh, unmoving gaze.

“I swear, man, I didn’t see anything.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “She was parked in the back of the parking lot, and once you walk around the corner, there’s no way to see someone through the doors. It’s like - like a total blind spot, man.”

“The UnSub had to have known that.” Hotch noted quietly, turning to Prentiss. “He approached her knowing that he wouldn’t be seen.”

“Do you think he was waiting out there?” Prentiss wondered aloud.

Then she turned back to the clerk.

“Was there a man in here before she came in? He would have been in his 30s. Very cold, he wouldn’t have said anything. Just paid quietly and left. He might not have even bought anything - he might have just walked around, checking the blind spots. And if you asked him what he was looking for, he would have given you a glare rather than speaking. This man is not sociable. He’s very distant. He likely wouldn’t have looked you in the eye.”

The clerk shook his head.

“No, nobody like that.” He explained. “That lady - she was my first customer in, like, hours. She just bought her ciggies and left. And I thought it was weird cause she bought a lighter too. Most smokers already have a lighter on them.”

“I didn’t know Y/N smoked.” Prentiss said quietly.

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed.

Hotch’s attention was captured by a screen behind the counter - surveillance feed, showing several different places inside the store. There was one camera just outside the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, that camera was pointed at that ‘blind spot’ in the parking lot.

Without asking permission, he raised the partition and walked around the counter, his eyes hyper-focused on the screen.

“Can you get me this footage from a few hours ago?” He prompted toward the clerk. “The view of the parking lot. We need to see what L/N did after she left the store.”

The clerk nodded and began typing things onto the keyboard, and Hotch prompted him to stop when he saw you appear on the footage. Prentiss came around the counter as well, leaving the three of them crowded in close to the small screen as they watched the past version of you.

You walked across the parking lot - toward your car, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You were making determined steps - until something stopped you.

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted.

Then - something entirely strange happened. While staring at the man off screen, you leaned against your car, and began ashing your cigarette, as if chatting idly with him.

“He’s not using force.” Hotch thought aloud. “Do you think he’s got a gun trained on her?”

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly.

He was out of the frame, so it was only a guess.

Then, after a few moments of this - you simply walked off. You walked in the direction he had been standing.

“Did - did she just go with him willingly?” Prentiss gaped, entirely in shock.

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone.

He stormed out into the parking lot, frantically gazing around. Prentiss followed him, chasing his chaotic energy.

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!”

“We need more camera angles! We need-”

“Calm down.” She urged, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He rasped. “Why would she go with him willingly? Why - why? Why would she?” He was frantic. “He must have threatened her. He must have-”

They both didn’t want to think of the obvious.

That you didn’t fear him. That - it hadn’t even been an abduction.

“He must have threatened her.” Prentiss easily agreed. “She wouldn’t have gone with him otherwise.”

They didn’t bring up the fact that you had a gun and plenty of training on how to use it. They didn’t bring up the fact that the profile said the UnSub couldn’t easily charm - he would have kidnapped you by force.

Unless you were special. Unless he thought he could talk to you specifically for some reason.

“Guys, what’s the news?” JJ asked, finally walking onto the scene.

She hated the grave looks on Prentiss and Hotch’s faces.

“I want you to put a press conference together.” Hotch said, straightening himself out and turning to her. “Make an appeal for witnesses. Tell them that there’s been a woman abducted in the area, but don’t tell them that L/N a Federal Agent. It could set the UnSub off if he believes that this abduction is being treated with a higher priority. If he feels a higher pressure from law enforcement, he might-”

“Right.” JJ nodded. Hotch didn’t need to say the words in order for her to understand. “So: release her name and her photo, but act like she’s just a regular civilian?”

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.”

“If I get going now, I think I could still make the eleven o’clock news.” JJ said, rushing off with her cell pressed to her ear.

“Let’s just hope that it brings Y/N home safely.”

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 8:03PM.

You felt an odd amount of relief having nicotine in your system again.

This was the first time you had smoked a cigarette in years. You had quit the habit shortly after you joined the FBI Academy when one of your advisers warned you that it might cause you to fail the fitness test. And you felt like you should just knock the habit, seeing as the only reason you had taken it up was because of… him.

But - all of this was so triggering. Being back in your same small shitty town. Feeling it suffocating you like a plastic bag.

The murders.

You sucked on the cigarette for dear life as you walked back to your car, and just as you were about to get in - the windows of the car open, inviting in the sweet summer air, the keys still inside because you did feel an odd amount of trust in your hometown - something captured your attention.

“Y/N.”

Hearing your name in that voice made you freeze on the spot. The warm breeze felt like ice against your skin as you took your hand off the door handle, turning toward him.

“You’re lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’.”

“You.” You ground out the word with as much disdain as possible, hot rage boiling in your blood as you looked at him. “I should have known it was you.”

He let out a sharp chuckle - a sound that made your throat tighten up. He flicked his tongue out across his teeth, grinning his terrible Cheshire grin at you.

A hand instinctively went for your gun, and your palm hit an empty section of your belt. He let out another sharp chuckle when his eyes followed yours, making the same realization that you did.

You had left it sitting on the passenger’s seat of the car. Right beside your phone.

You wondered if you could dive through the open window before he could get to you. When he made a posturing move, brushing his unbuttoned plaid shirt away and revealing the gun he had strapped to his belt underneath - you realized he would shoot you if you moved too quickly.

You were stuck.

“Of course it’s me, baby.” He said, casually replying to your earlier words. “You had to know that I did all this for you. For us.”

Giving into your fate, you propped yourself against the side of the car - trying desperately to steady your wobbling legs without making it look like you were doing so. You tapped your cigarette, spilling some of the ash before you brought it to your lips once again.

“I missed you like hell.” He told you with a snakeskin grin.

“I didn’t miss you.” You bitterly fired back. “Not for a fucking second.”

“Guess I made it difficult to miss me, huh?” He said, cocky as ever. “With my frequent correspondence and all?”

“You know what I meant.” You fired back.

You glared at him sharply but didn’t say anything more, afraid that he would whip the gun out and shoot you.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, something that sounded utterly sarcastic.

“Ooh, darlin’ that’s harsh.” He said. “That would almost hurt. If I didn’t know the truth.”

You wanted to argue. You took in another large drag to help hold your tongue. You knew the results of arguing with him - it wasn’t worth it.

“So… I think you know how this goes.” He announced. “You can come with me now. Or… I can go get another girl.”

“No more girls.” You told him. “I’m here now. You won. Whatever business you have - it’s with me.”

You stamped out your cigarette as you walked toward him, and your phone began to ring on the front seat as his truck rumbled to life and pulled out of the parking lot.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 7:26PM.

“Hello! Everyone, listen up.” Hotch called everyone to attention as the local police continued to filter in, most of them standing around with cups of coffee in hand or notebooks out, ready to take notes. “We’re ready to give the profile.”

“Yes, and please keep in mind that this is just a general set of guidelines describing the suspect.” Rossi said. “This is not a concrete list of things you should be looking for. A profile is more useful in the elimination of suspects, rather than the inclusion of them.”

He then turned to Derek, who began reciting the profile that the team had put together so far.

“This UnSub, or Unknown Subject, is most likely a white male in his thirties to forties.” Morgan explained. “He drives an American made vehicle, something large enough to conceal and transport victims, and something that has off-road capability in order to get to the more secluded areas where some of the bodies were found. So think trucks, heavy duty vans, anything with thick treads on the tires and a large payload. And his vehicle will most likely be in a more discreet color. This guy won’t be driving around in something flashy. He’ll be in something that blends into the background, like a beige or black truck.”

“So what?” One of the local cops piped up. “We put out an APB for every single heavy duty black truck in the area? This is the south, do you have any idea how many people around here drive a truck? Especially ones driven by men in their forties.”

“There’s more.” Hotch noted, looking toward you.

“This UnSub likely believes that he is dating these women in some capacity before he kills them.” You explained. “He has left scraps of poetry at the scenes, pages of romance novels - several of the victims had wine in their stomachs or burns from candle wax on their skin. And it’s highly likely that he turns violent when the women reject his advances, or don’t live up to the fictionalized relationship he has made up about them in his mind.”

“How does that help us?” Someone asked.

“Well, it’s very likely that he frequents the same hunting grounds.” Rossi explained. “We encourage you to go to local bars, and nightclubs, even gyms or cafes and pass out the profile to women who fit this type.” He said, motioning toward the pictures of the other victims. “He will be on the hunt again soon, and he has a very narrow hunting ground, living in such a lowly populated area. So we might be able to catch him off guard if his potential victims have the profile as well.”

“This man is romantic, but he’s not charming.” You added on. “He isn’t sociable. He’s very cocky, very self-centered. He believes that he is God’s gift to women, and he has a very fractured sense of reality in general. If women reject him in everyday interactions, he will get noticeably irritated, and even violent. So he will be remembered as an unpleasant person in most women’s stories.”

“This UnSub most likely has an inside knowledge of law enforcement.” Reid stated. “But, because he has a very antisocial personality, he wouldn’t do well working with the public. We currently have our analyst combing through files of those who flunked out of the police academy or live in the area and are retired from the military in some capacity. We believe that he might have even been in prison for an unrelated crime or institutionalized at some point, giving him a close look at the inner workings of law enforcement, and also attributing to the large break between the first two crimes.”

Reid took a breath, and then continued on.

“He was knowledgeable enough to purposefully dump one of the bodies across state lines in order to get the FBI involved in this case, but it was just one of the bodies, and it was dumped in a very well trackied area where it would be found. So that leaves a heavy insistence that he was fed-up with the local police not giving his case enough attention or - simply not being smart enough to keep up with him.” He explained.

“He is very cocky.” Prentiss added on. “Incredibly over-confident. He is a narcissist to his core, and he believes that he will never be caught unless he wants to be. He thinks that he has an intricate cat-and-mouse game with law enforcement, and he can go off the grid and disappear at any time that he wants.”

“Well… isn’t that true?” One of the cops asked. “I mean, the guy’s been at it for years and we still haven’t caught him. There’s no DNA, no real leads.”

Hotch hummed, nodding. And then he walked over to the evidence board and motioned to the pictures of the two most recent victims - barely recognizable compared to the shining, smiling photos their families had provided.

“We believe that he’s decompensating.” Hotch explained. “He is growing more violent toward each victim, which means that he is getting more sloppy - eventually, he will go off-book. He will break his routine in some way, and that will be the moment he’ll give us something to catch him with.”

“So… you’re just waiting for him to kill again so you can actually catch the guy?” Someone asked sharply.

“No.” You easily replied. “We’re praying it doesn’t come to that.”

“Thank you everyone.” Hotch said, clearing his throat, giving an unconscious signal for everyone to disperse. “That’ll be all for now.”

Everyone easily fell under his authority, and meandered back to what they had been doing before, now armed with the profile and ready to distribute it to members of the public, to the potential victims.

You had a harshly, sickly feeling in your stomach as you gathered some of your files. It was the same feeling that had been turning your guts into knots since you had arrived back in Madison for the first time in years. Your eye accidentally caught the evidence board - the tall, intimidating wall lined with the gruesome photos of all the women.

Women who looked strangely like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, same body type. All of them horribly brutalized and left for dead. All of them terrorized, tortured right up until their last moments.

“Hey.”

JJ’s voice snapped you out of your swirling dark cloud of thoughts, drawing your eyes away from the evidence board with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You huffed out a harsh breath as you let her guide you, turning around to face the blonde woman as she stared you down with a distinct look of concern knit across her features.

“Are you okay?” She asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

She had a point. You had been doing this job for some time. You had gone to the FBI Academy straight out of college, after getting a degree in criminal forensics. And none of it ever bothered you. You had learned about the study of blood spatter and the decomposition of bodies on live body farms, and you never flinched.

But this case - it was getting to you.

It was likely the first time anybody on the team had ever seen you so disturbed.

“I’m fine.” You lied, trying to shrug off her touch.

“Come on.” JJ sighed in return. “I don’t need to be a profiler to figure out that was a big fat lie.”

You rolled your eyes at this.

“You’re so brilliant.” You let out a sigh of your own, and put down your files on the nearby conference room table. You stretched out your back, deciding that you would give her an inch, hoping that she wouldn’t take a mile. “I’m freaked out. So what? Doesn’t everybody have room for a bad day?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course, you can have a bad day.” Her lips pursed, and you knew there was more coming. “Is - is it anything more than that?”

“I’m tired.” You lied again, hoping she wouldn’t call you out on it this time. “It’s been - what? More than twenty hours since we landed. For these guys it’s been years, searching for this bastard. I wanna catch him.”

“We will.” JJ assured you, sounding rather dull in her declaration.

“I’m gonna drive down the street and grab an energy drink or something.” You announced, grabbing your blazer off a nearby chair and putting it on. Not that you would need a jacket with the southern weather - but your cash and your keys were in the pockets.

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled.

“It’s been one of those days.” You replied, shaking your head as you walked out of the room.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 5:13PM.

“There’s still one thing that’s buggin’ the hell out of me.” Morgan announced as he walked back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand.

“That is?” You posed, looking up from the stack of personal files - potential suspects - that you were reading in order to engage him in the conversation.

“What is with the two year hiatus from this guy?” He said, motioning to the board.

The first victim had been abducted and killed all the way back in the summer of ‘99, but none of the other victims matched up until a missing person from September of 2001. And from there, the killings picked up in frequency - and the killer had taken over twenty six victims in and around Madison up until now.

“It is weird.” You commented. “Usually after the first kill is when an UnSub is the most hungry for more. After that first taste for violence.”

Morgan raised a brow at your strange choice of words and you shrugged it off.

“Maybe he was hospitalized.” Reid said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to make this comment, studying the board with his own intense expression. “Institutionalized? Maybe he was arrested for something completely unrelated, like - drugs, outstanding traffic violations?”

“That’s helpful.” You sighed.

“It could be.” Reid replied, sipping his own coffee. “I mean, we theorized that this UnSub has pre-existing knowledge of law enforcement - if he was in prison, maybe he was reading up on the law while he was in there? Who has closer knowledge of the law than ex-cons?”

“Good point.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll call Garcia and have her widen the search.”

“She is gonna love that.” You mumbled under your breath, already frustrated with the large pile of potential suspects you had to go through.

Morgan took out his cell and walked into the other room, and you heard a distant ‘hey mama!’ as he chirped to Garcia on the other end.

Then, you heard another voice that was all too familiar to you.

“See, you’ve all just been working so hard, I thought you could use some sustenance!”

It was your mother.

You rushed out of your seat to find her in the middle of the bullpen, handing out muffins from a large basket that she had in her hand.

It wasn’t entirely surprising to you, but it made your stomach sink. She was too much of a social butterfly for your liking. She knew about the last time you had been in this police station, she talked too much. No. You couldn’t risk her telling anyone.

“See, that one’s blueberry, you like blueberry?” She was chatting idly, being her usual overly social self.

“Yes, thank you so much Ms. L/N,” Prentiss smiled as your mother pushed more food into her hands.

“Oh please, call me-”

You knew that you must have looked like a storm, walking toward her with a scowl on your face.

“Ma!” You barked, much harsher than you meant to, causing her to look up at you abruptly. “Ma? What are you doing here?”

“Well see, you’ve been here all day, and you’ve been working so hard, so I made dinner for you and your friends,” She grinned, motioning toward a large tinfoil tray filled with mac and cheese that she had placed onto one of the desks next to a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Naturally, a chunk of it was already missing.

You wanted to scream when Reid walked over and began scooping out a portion for himself.

“Ma, they’re not my friends, they’re my co-workers.” You said, exasperation ripe in your voice.

You knew that this, too, ended up sounding much harsher than you had intended. As if you didn’t think of these people as friends. But you couldn’t stand the woman babying you. It’s not like she did much of that when you were an actual baby.

“I’m an adult now, and-” You continued on, and she cut you off.

“Oh yes, yes.” She nodded, reaching out to pinch your cheek in an utterly frustrating way. “Your co-workers.”

“Please, Ma.” You sighed. “You can’t be here right now. This is a police station, not a bake sale.”

“She can stay for a few minutes, can’t she?” Prentiss grinned, peeling the wrapper off her muffin. “We can take a break for dinner. I wanna hear some childhood stories about you.”

Reid looked up eagerly at this, and you glared at both of them.

“Oh, you should hear about the time she painted her face blue with the paint from-” Your mother began to tell a delightful embarrassing story, but you cut her off.

“No.” You said sharply. “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. Important work. Once we actually catch the guy, I’ll bring everyone by the house for tea and cookies and you can show everyone my naked baby pictures, the whole nine yards. Just - not now.”

You unceremoniously ripped the basket of muffins out of her hands and placed them on the desk beside the tray of mac and cheese, and she began to argue with you, calling you rude, telling you that she had raised you with better manners while you ushered her out the door.

Prentiss and Reid exchanged a particular, concerned look as they watched you and your mother argue through the glass doors of the precinct.

“Now what do you think that was all about?” Emily asked quietly.

“For once, I have no idea.” Spencer mumbled in return.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Georgia Highway 72 - Madison, GA. 1:32PM.

“This is new.” Morgan noted as the two of you walked away from the SVU, approaching the dumpsite where the latest victim’s body had been found. “This guy doesn’t usually dump bodies out in the open. You think he was in a rush?”

The two of you had been sent to check it out while Hotch and Prentiss spoke to the family, and the others went over evidence from the many pre-existing cases at the station.

“Not likely.” You replied. “Preliminary report says there’s still no DNA, no skid marks from his tires, no shoe prints. He’s not getting sloppy.” You felt a sickly wave of vomit splash up as you looked at the woman - her ankles sticking out of the tall grass just off the edge of the highway, where she had been left, entirely visible for anybody passing by to see. “This was a present. Like a fuckin’ cat leaving a dead mouse on the porch. He wanted us to find her. And he wanted us to find her quickly.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Morgan noted, tentatively stepping into the grass and gently moving the long spokes of greenery back to get a better look at the victim. “He’s definitely escalating.”

You crouched down to get a better look yourself, and you had to agree.

Her face was almost entirely caved in, but it appeared to be from a series of blunt hits, and not from a singular swing with a heavy object. Between the pre-mortem swelling and the post-mortem rage, where he had continued to mutilate her even after her death, she was practically unrecognizable from the photo that her family had provided you with. The only reason the team had been able to confirm her identity for sure was that she had been reported missing, and she had been found wearing a unique custom charm bracelet that her parents could confirm belonged to her.

You wished that you could guarantee they would never see her body in this state.

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud.

You hummed back in confusion.

Before you could wonder any further about what he meant, he reached out and gently pried open the victim’s mouth, fishing out a small piece of plastic that he had seen sticking out from the corner of her swollen, bruised lips. He had to fight to get it out of her stiff, death rigored body, but when he was able to - a small plastic bag came out of her mouth.

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper.

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly.

Naturally, he opened the bag and took out the paper, and you looked on with nervous curiosity as he read what was on the note.

“You are the stars hidden by clouds.” He read aloud. “I know you’re there even when I can’t see you. Your shine peeks out and reaches me in the depths of my soul. Tell me your arms are long enough to reach me across oceans. Tell me someday we will be together, somehow, some way. Tell me that this love we have can survive being together as well as we’ve survived being apart. Tell me we are more than the chasm of our divide.”

Bile splashed up in your throat.

You hated that the quote was distinctly familiar to you. You hated how you knew it.

You could still hear his voice in your head, and it made your bones quake.

“Hmm.” Morgan looked over the paper thoughtfully. “It’s another page ripped out of a book. Just like the other one. I’ll call Garcia and have her look it up, maybe-”

“You don’t have to.” You said, hoping that your throat wasn’t too painfully constricted around your words. “It’s Jacqueline Simon Gunn.”

Morgan easily saw the haunted look behind your eyes - the years old terror that you were having a much harder time suppressing now.

Oddly enough, it was a feeling that he knew well. Perhaps that’s why he saw it in you so easily.

“You alright?” He bothered to ask, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’.

“I’m fine.” You lied. “We should bring this back to everyone else.”

You rushed away from the crime scene like a bat out of hell, and even though he knew he should have pressed further - he let you.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 10:08AM.

“Good morning, y’all.”

The BAU was greeted by Chief Dalton, the Madison County Chief of Police, as you all filed into the small police department.

“You can set up in the conference room over there, I hope we got y’all everything you need.” He said, flashing a warm, welcoming smile.

“This looks fine, thank you.” JJ said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” She pointed to him, and he nodded in return - of course, rather than shaking hands. “This is Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and Agent L/N. Our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Morgan will be here later - they wanted to go and interview some of the families of the victims, get some more background information.”

“L/N?” He motioned toward you, his eyes becoming fixated on you as you set down your bag and lifted one of the lids off the boxes to get a glance at some of the files. “That name sounds awful familiar to me - are you from Madison?”

“Oh yes, I am,” You grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a handshake, to which he grinned back widely. “I grew up here. This is actually my first time back in years.”

“Well, welcome home.” He said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Me too.” You easily agreed.

You thought that would be the end of it, until:

“You know I hardly recognized you. Such a pretty face, but the last time I saw you, you was beat to a darn pulp.” He remarked, giving a pained chuckle.

Your stomach swelled with anxiety, and it felt like a pure balloon of concrete sitting inside of you. You felt all the eyes in the room on you - Rossi, JJ, Emily, Spencer - all of them staring you down as this man aired your dirty laundry like it was as casual as the weather report.

“You came through here - what was it, the summer of ‘99? I’ll never forget that assault report. I’m surprised you can still see out of that right eye of yours, with the way-”

“Coffee?” You cut him off when you managed to find your voice, rushing to change the subject and praying he would get the hint. “Where can I get a coffee around here? Long flight. And we’ve had an early morning. Long flight, going over the case.”

You didn’t even realize you were tripping over your own words, repeating yourself in a rush to fill the air so he wouldn’t speak about the past anymore.

“Oh, it’s right through there. In the break room.” He said, motioning vaguely behind him.

“Would you mind showing me, please?”

You knew it was cowardly, but you were now desperate to escape your colleagues, and wanted to drag the Chief away before he spilled anything else from his loose lips.

He escorted you out of the room and it was only a mere moment before conversation ensued about the strange thing that had just happened.

“Am I gonna be the first person to say ‘what the hell’?” Rossi asked, looking around to his teammates, who all had equally shocked and confused expressions.

“It’s a small town. These people don’t exactly understand secrecy. Or tact.” JJ sighed.

“Yeah, but why would Y/N keep that a secret from us?” Spencer asked, frowning. “If she was assaulted-”

“Yeah, in the summer of ‘99.” Emily pressed. “That was a long time ago. Have you told everyone on the team every little detail about your life from ten years ago?”

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her.

“Whatever.” Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to profile her. We’re here to catch another scumbag and leave.”

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

“If she wants to tell us about what happened, she will.” Rossi added on.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Outskirts of Madison - Madison, GA. 9:52AM.

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

He had a perfect view of you through the scope of his gun.

Of course, he would never hurt you. There was no bullet in that gun that was intended for you. This was just the perfect way to see you. Up close and personal. Just the way he liked it.

This was the first time he had seen you in so long. You wore your makeup differently now - your hair was a bit different. But you were still his girl.

“You’re gonna love the present I left for ya.”

You spoke his language - violence.

You wrote your life in blood, just like he did.

You were perfect. His perfect girl.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Inside the BAU Jet - Somewhere Above America. 7:12AM.

“So, the ME dates eight of these victims from within the last year alone?” Prentiss questioned, looking over some of the files on the table in front of her.

“Well, it’s difficult to tell with the soil erosion and the heavy rain that the area had recently, but they are significantly less decomposed than the others.” JJ explained.

“What I don’t understand,” Morgan noted. “Why would he give up his gig now? I mean, twenty four victims in a mass grave in the middle of the woods, and he leaves a twenty-fifth victim in the middle of the road, clearly intending for police to find it. With a damn note attached, giving up the exact coordinates of his mass dumpsite. Why?”

“It is strange.” Reid agreed. “Typically, whenever killers have contact with the police, it is to taunt them for their inability to get caught, believing that the police are stupid and they as killers are invincible.” He said. Naturally, this rolled into a rant as more facts came to mind about the subject.

“Serial killer Dennis Rader, also known as the BTK killer, standing for Blind, Torture, Kill - he taunted police with letters over a period of three decades, between 1974 and 1991, each one that he sent to the local police simply saying ‘good luck hunting’.” Reid explained. “Occasionally, he would send them graphic descriptions of how he had posed the bodies at each crime scene. And he was only caught when a floppy disc he sent to a local television station was traced back to a computer that he had used at his church.”

Reid laughed at this revelation, finding it amusing. With all eyes staring at him, he reached the realization that this wasn’t helpful to the case at hand - and then he easily clammed up.

“So, this UnSub gives up the dumpsite because… he’s feeling remorseful? He wants to get caught?” Rossi theorized.

“The level of violence across these recent victims has no indication of remorse.” You replied. “One of the bodies found at the dumpsite was missing over half her teeth, and had all ten of her fingers broken in multiple places. Seemingly pre-mortem.”

There was a heavy silence at this.

“Perhaps he’s feeling ignored,” Hotch posed. “He feels like his crimes aren’t being well covered by the media and he wants glory. He finally wants recognition for what he’s done.”

“Well, wouldn’t he have sent some kind of manifesto or another letter to the police?” Morgan posed. “And it seems like the guy went through a whole lot of trouble for a long time, trying not to get caught. He buried them out in the woods, secluded. Wrapped them in plastic, scrubbed the bodies clean so there’s absolutely no DNA. Doesn’t seem like someone looking for glory to me.”

“Not to mention that he wrote the coordinates for the dumpsite on the back of a page ripped out of a novel.” Rossi said, squinting down at one of the files - a close up forensic photo that had been sent over by the local police department.

Prentiss held out her hand, and Rossi handed over the photo, and then she began reading the words off the page aloud.

“-I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy, but-”

“-but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” You finished the quote before she could, the words flashing through your mind with a sickly twist in your gut. It was all too familiar to you, in the worst way. “It’s Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austin.”

Everyone fixated on you with a strange gaze, wondering how you knew this off the top of your head. Especially when usually this would only be something that Reid would be able to recite so perfectly by heart.

“Maybe he thinks that he’s romancing these women?” Prentiss theorized, trying to move on from the strange moment.

“That’s plausible.” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Morgan and I will go interview some of the families. JJ, get us their contacts. I want to know if any of these women had problems with an ex boyfriend or even a bad date whom they rejected. It could be someone they once viewed as a potential romantic partner that went horribly wrong.”

JJ nodded at this, going to look through her files for the information.

“This level of torture - it’s likely a substitute for sexual gratification.” Morgan theorized, looking at the crime scene photos one again. “Maybe he is romancing these women, but in his mind, this is the ultimate form of romance? Having all of his conquests together in death - it’s a declaration of what a casanova he is. In his fractured world.”

“It still doesn’t explain why he gave up the dumpsite to the police.” Prentiss argued.

“Men like to brag about their sexual exploits.” Rossi said, nodding toward Morgan. “If these women are his conquests, in his mind, then he wants his manliness, his accomplishments, to be appreciated by other men.”

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this.

“Well, at least we know our UnSub’s not a woman.” She remarked sharply.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:15AM.

JJ stood at the front of the room, ready to present the newest case to everyone.

“Last night, a body was discovered on the backroads of South Carolina, about five miles outside of the town of Delph. She was found naked, mutilated. Heavy bruising all over her body that insinuates the killer kept her and tortured her for days. Final cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma from multiple hits to the head, but she also had several shallow stab wounds across her body, seemingly from some kind of hunting knife with a rough blade.”

JJ explained, beginning to present the case as she clicked the small remote, causing images of the crime scene to pop up on the large screen in the room.

“The victim - now identified as Ashley Prembrooke, hadn’t even been reported missing. She left her parents house in Madison, Georgia, about three days ago to drive back to her dorm at the University of South Carolina. When she didn’t show up on time, her roommate assumed that she was staying at home for a few extra days. Her father has cancer, so she wanted to be there for him.”

There seemed to be a particularly dark aura in the room at this news.

“Did the killer know that she wouldn’t be reported missing, or did he just snatch her up by chance?” Morgan asked.

“Her car was found abandoned at a rest stop a few miles from the border of Georgia.” JJ explained. “So… it seems to be random.”

“Well, I hate to ask this,” Rossi said. “But why are we being called out for just one body?”

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed.

She clicked the clicker again, and several close-up photos appeared. Photos of the victim’s mutilated body - among the harsh bruising on her torso, there was a piece of white paper, partially stained with blood. It had been folded and stapled into her flesh.

“The victim was found with this page… stapled into her skin.” JJ said, clearly finding the words disturbing to speak aloud. “Written on the back, was a set of coordinates. Local police discovered that these coordinates lead to a random patch of woods, about ten miles outside of Madison, Georgia.”

JJ queued more pictures onto the screen. It was those very woods - overturned dirt. And more than a dozen bodies, wrapped in plastic among the soil.

“It was the site of a mass grave with twenty-four other victims - all women around the same age, with the most recent ones all having the same body type, the same hair color, same general makeup as Ashley Prembrooke.”

“He has a type.” Hotch stated the obvious.

“And for some reason, he tipped the police off to his hiding place.” JJ reminded them all.

“Twenty four victims?” Prentiss questioned, clearly shocked by this number.

“That’s what they’ve found so far. The decomposition on some of the bodies seems to go back as far as a decade, but it’s difficult to date them exactly.” JJ replied.

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed.

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied.

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized.

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.”

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened.

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster.

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend.

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone.

And they were from your hometown.

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but…

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you.

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?”

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.”

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves.

“Y/N.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety.

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh.

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question.

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top.

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed.

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest.

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him.

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return.

You hated it.

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you.

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid.

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done.

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?”

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently.

“I’m human. So what?”

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home.

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now.

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-”

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home.

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?”

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair.

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.”

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.”

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog.

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this.

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile.

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired.

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn.

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile.

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you.

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope.

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut.

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name.

The way he had written it.

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.” You quickly replied.

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you.

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now?

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow.

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much.

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor.

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes.

Lover,

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon.

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell.

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me.

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

-Daniel

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page.

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant.

It was from that night. He had kept it.

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work.

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open.

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in.

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it.

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.”

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?”

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit.

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door.

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile.

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?”

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist.

“Can I see?”

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down.

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.”

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes.

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.”

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it.

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth.

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again.

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue.

You truly considered just coming out with it.

But then-

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence.

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.”

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention.

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs.

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.”

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused.

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked.

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door.

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation.

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.”

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together.

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.”

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?”

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off.

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said.

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands.

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.”

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained.

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you.

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.”

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.”

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind.

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process.

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?”

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?”

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked.

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.”

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared.

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked.

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open.

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside.

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away.

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer.

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ.

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up.

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?”

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on.

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-”

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting.

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.”

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her.

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you.

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.”

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked.

“Oh. Ugh.”

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask.

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number.

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her.

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.”

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked.

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.”

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked.

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.”

“What?” Derek prompted her.

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained.

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed.

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked.

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?”

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table.

Battered. Bruised. Broken.

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once.

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-”

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you.

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?”

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked.

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…”

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud.

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained.

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.”

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.”

It all fit together now.

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you.

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius.

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-”

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit.

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.”

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident.

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control.

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of confronting your life’s biggest monster.

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you.

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process.

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill.

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.”

“Reid-!”

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over.

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting.

“Y/N,”

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest.

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you.

But you still couldn’t escape him.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Your hand shook as you held the knife.

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet.

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.”

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls.

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would.

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then.

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-”

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point.

Spencer just didn’t understand.

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!”

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears.

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back.

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.”

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.”

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

You couldn’t give up.

You had come too far to let Daniel win now.

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.”

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone.

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it.

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.”

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing?

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it.

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.”

You didn’t look up at him.

You knew that you couldn’t.

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away.

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.”

You let out another sob at this.

You had been so alone.

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?”

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true.

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.”

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears.

It wasn’t pity.

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago.

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you.

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in.

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders.

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret of it all more palpable in your lungs.

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You should have killed Daniel.

Ten more minutes.

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would be resigned to a cage.

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives.

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing.

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body?

“Let’s start with this,” Reid asked you sharply. “Why?”

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself.

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.”

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you.

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.”

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid.

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?”

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting.

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips.

It caused you to flare with anger.

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him.

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him.

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.”

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time.

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!”

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it.

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice.

But you couldn’t stop.

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it.

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you.

Pity.

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long.

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.”

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.”

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?”

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.”

Hotch nodded at this.

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.”

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly.

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.”

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own.

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed.

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

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