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vivwritesfics · 16 days ago

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The Devil Dances With A Smile

Chapter One

He can't kill you. He can't bring himself to lay a hand on you. So, he falls for you instead (its a shame his employer really wants you dead)

Hitman!Max x reader

Chapter Two

His class wasn't listening, he could tell that much as he drew things onto the whiteboard. He ignored it, kept writing. But then the giggles started up.

It was a new class, a bunch of eleven year old experiencing their first year of high school. For the first week, they had been quiet. But now they were a month in. The trouble makers had learnt how to make their peers laugh and it was normally at his expense.

They hadn't yet seen their teacher, a professor, at that, angry. He'd gotten annoyed, had snapped a pen under his desk to help keep his cool, but had never gotten angry with his year sevens.

"Eliza, James!" He snapped, and the two fell quiet. He wasn't angry, he just needed the two of them to know better than to test him. Not today. Not after how rough his other job had been.

"Sorry Professor Verstappen," the two of them said in unison. The entire class fell silent when the two of them did, and Max got on with his lesson.

Max rubbed his eyes as his lesson came to an end and his class handed in their workbooks. He shouted a reminder about homework, but their chatter was too loud to hear it.

When the door fell shut and Max put his head in his hands. Just a few minutes of rest, that was all he needed. He let his eyes fall shut.

Even in rests that only lasted a minute, Max dreamt the same thing. The young man with the lion tattoo on his hand, begging for his life at the end of his gun. It didn't matter what he said, Max always pulled the trigger.

A knock at his door pulled him out of his dream, pulled him back into his day job. He pushed his hair out of his face and looked towards his classroom door.

The history teacher stared at Max for a minute. No, not stared. He'd asked him a question and Max had just ignored it. "Huh?" He asked, a yawn leaving a lips.

"I asked if you were okay," Charles said, his worried expression softening.

Max gave a nod. He had always liked Charles, even when they were academic rivals through secondary school. But then university came and they went their separate ways. Max went off to study geography and Charles went to off to do history. They never thought they'd be reunited as colleagues. "Just tired, that's all," he admitted.

Now, don't get it wrong, Max loved teaching. Sculpting young minds, helping them pave their way forward in life. But teaching was only part of what he did.

Most teachers went home and marked homework. Max did that too, for maybe an hour. And then it was dinner while the cats ate. Tonight he had some shitty, healthy pizza and the cats had their gourmet food.

But then his night shift began.

He didn't look like a contract killer. He didn't wear all black, didn't have a long coat with weapons beneath. No, he looked like a normal guy. He wore skinny jeans and a black leather jacket.

But their was a reason people called on The Lion. He didn't exactly need a weapon to kill anyone. He was quick, clean, and didn't ask any questions.

Christian met him in the same place each time. Max entered the office in the warehouse full of old cars, and Christian slipped the manila folder across the desk.

There was a usual routine to this. Normally Max pulled out the paper in the folder, read the information on his target. He learnt all he needed to know about his target, grabbed the weapon he thought would be best, and he set off.

But not this time.

Pulling the information from the folder, he turned the paper towards Christian. "What the fuck is this?" He asked.

On the folder was a girl in a cafe. She had an apron around her waist and a tray of empty glasses in her hands. No criminal convictions listed, no possible crimes.

No reason for Max to take her out.

"Something about inheritance," said Christian, his voice nonchalant. He didn't care what happened to the target, as long as they ended up dead by the end of it. Christian was just there to fill his coffers.

Max looked at the picture again. She was pretty, he couldn't deny that. She was smiling in the picture, seemingly making jokes with somebody the picture hadn't captured. His usual targets were criminals that had made threats against people. Those people wanted the criminal taken out before they made good on those threats. That was where Max came in. He was the one that took them out.

His other type of target was rich assholes. The kind that exploited people for money, the kind who's wealth would be better distributed to the very people they were exploiting. They weren't easy jobs, killing someone and changing their will, and they didn't get them often, but they were Max's favourite. The tougher the better.

"Christian."

Christian groaned as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Do you want to stand around and argue, or do you want to get paid?"

The Lion was on the prowl. No weapons, Max wouldn't need them for her. He climbed into his car and looked at the address of the café. A café by the train station, open for twenty-four hours out of the day. Two and a half star rating, the only good thing about the café being the 'pretty, kind waitress'.

Once the night was up, the reviews would plummet.

Max drove. A waitress at a shitty, twenty-four hour café. She couldn't be worth as much as Christian was saying she was. And, if she was worth that much, she couldn't have known.

Parking outside of the train station, Max looked over at the café. It was the same angle the picture was taken from, he recognised as he looked down at her picture in his folder. She was grinning in that picture and she was grinning now as she cleared away somebody's plates.

He couldn't do this.

***

You didn't love your job. How could you when this was your job? But you still completed it with a smile. Making coffees and running food out to people. Clearing plates and glasses, and wiping over their tables.

It wasn't forever, you told yourself as you took the plates back into the kitchen. "Desserts for table sixteen," You called to the boys in the kitchen. Jimmy saluted you as you scraped the plates into the food waste bin. It was just you, Jimmy and Frank this late at night. Jimmy and Frank were in the kitchen, while you worked the floor.

While Jimmy made the desserts, you backed out of the kitchen and surveyed the few tables you had in. Somebody was at the counter. "Sorry," you said as you rushed past him. You logged into your till and looked at him. The handsome man with the freckle on his lip. "What can I get for you?" You asked, finger poised over the buttons.

For a moment, he said nothing. It was nearly one in the morning, and he wasn't being an easy customer. He looked behind you, at the drinks you had on offer. He looked at the small version of the menu on the board behind your head.

"How about some coffee?" You tried, holding up a mug.

He gave a nod. "A coffee, please," he said and you got to work. Making coffee's was the easiest part of your day. Steaming the milk and pouring it in with the shot of coffee, creating a leaf in latte art at the end. You passed over the coffee and put it through the till.

The bell rang, signalling the desserts were ready, but you didn't run to it. Not while the handsome man in the skinny jeans and leather jacket was still paying. His phone chimed as the payment went through and he grabbed his coffee, taking a seat on one of the round tables by the counter.

You ran to answer the bell, to run the apple pies over to table sixteen, and returned to the counter, cleaning the coffee machine and the jug you used to clean your milk.

Eyes were on you as you worked. You didn't mind it too much, it happened more than you cared to admit. Teenagers that should have been in bed, coming into the café to stare at you as you served them black coffee. You let them sit in the café, since it was better than them roaming the streets.

As you cleaned the counter, you looked at the little round table opposite. Looked at the man with the freckle on his lip. He was pretty, pretty blue eyes, pretty full lips. He was well put together, better than most of the people you saw something through your door at this time in the morning. "What brings you here at this time in the morning?" You asked as you sprayed sanitiser on the counter.

The handsome man with the freckle on his lip looked around. "I'm probably here for the same reason anybody else is," he said and sipped his coffee.

You couldn't help but look around at everybody else in the café. Those getting home late from work, waking themselves up before they headed home to their families. People on break from working in the middle of the night, coming in for a coffee to wake themselves up. People that just wanted shelter, that you had undercharged for a coffee.

The man in front of you didn't seem like that.

Your eyes returned to him. You stared at him, stared at what he was wearing, at the way he was holding his cup. He didn't look on break from work, desperate for a fix of caffeine. He didn't look ready to go home, waking himself up to go and deal with the kids.

You hummed and grabbed a pastry from the counter. "Here," you said and placed it in front of him.

He looked up, brows furrowed as he continued to smile at you. "What's this for?" He asked and pulled the little, white plate towards himself.

You shrugged your shoulders. You couldn't very well tell him that you wanted to figure him out, that you gave him the pastry to keep him around.

Going back to work, you could feel his eyes on you as you cleared away plates and glasses and cleaned tables. You caught his eye several times as you ran plates back into the kitchen.

When you got him his second cup of coffee, he finally introduced himself. "I'm Max," he said and pushed his empty cup towards you.

"It's lovely to meet you, Max," you said, keeping your tone polite. You introduced yourself, gave him the name that he could have read from your name tag.

At the end of your shift, Max was still sitting there. Your conversation had been light through the evening, neither of you learning very much about each other. Just enough to keep you thinking about him as you got changed.

The morning crowd were walking in as you walked out. Max was still at your table. Part of you wanted to stop, wanted to tell him how you hoped to see him again another time.

But Max stood. He put his empty mug at the end of his table. "Can I walk you to your car?" He offered, taking long strides to catch up with you.

You gave him a smile. "You can walk me to the bus stop, if you'd like," you said and he answered you with a nod.

The two of you kept talking, the topics light as he walked you to the bus stop just a little way down the street. Even at the bus stop, Max stayed talking to you until your bus pulled up.

"I'll see you around," Max said as you stepped onto the bus.

Waving, you paid for your ticket and found yourself a seat.

You should be dead, he couldn't help but think as he walked away. Max ignored his buzzing phone as he walked back to his car.

Christian was going to have his head, he knew as he started heading back to his apartment.

He couldn't kill you, he was sure of that now.

a/n we're starting over with taglists. no permanent one. comment if you wanna be added for the series

taglist: @nurse-floyd @biancathecool

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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mygnolia · 2 months ago

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LOVE ON A FRESH SLATE ༄ TEASER

༄ SYNOPSIS -› Sim Jaeyun might not have many critically acclaimed films in his IMBD, but if there’s something to change that, it’s his upcoming film, ‘diving in love,’ a fresh summer romance that’s caught the attention of everyone on the internet. The only problem is, no one believes the chemistry will be up to rom-com standards. Maybe he’ll save his career by fake dating his cold-hearted co-star, aka you, to sell it?

༄ PAIR -› actor!sim jaeyun x fem actress!reader

༄ GENRE -› fluff, banter, angst, comfort ༄ TROPES -› enemies to lovers, heavy on the fake dating (i LOVE fake dating) ༄ WC -› estimated 15-20k idk lolz

༄ INCLUDES -› will be added!

༄ RELEASE DATE -› november!

༄ REN SAYS... me when summer also haha get it slate cuz they're actors but also it's e2l so misunderstandings heheheh am i funny (im not) | LIBRARY

join the taglist for this fic!

“You’re going to tell me you signed me up for the cult of Scientology, I assume,” You introduce yourself, shaking hands with the man next to Sunoo.

Once again, there is just one empty seat before Jake Sim walks in, out of breath. “Jungwon, please don’t tell me–” He notices you after he barges in, taking in your poised manner as you wait for him to continue. But he doesn’t. The words die on his tongue when he sees you and the same manager from last week's meeting.

“Please don’t tell me what?” Jungwon asks, raising an eyebrow as Jake sinks into the only chair left. The latter shakes his head, not wanting to elaborate any further.

Sunoo sits up, putting his hands together after he finishes the last sip of his drink. “Open up the files, ____.” He motions to the manila folder on the table, and with much confusion, you peel back the cover to find a neat stack of black and white articles.

Jungwon, who you can only assume is Jake’s manager, gets Jake to lean in and read what’s on the pages. “This,” he starts, spreading out the rest of the articles, “is every article in the past week with a negative outlook on whether or not the film will be up to par with the standards of the 2000’s.”

You scoff, eyes trailing over an article with your face as the cover. “Really? People hate me that much?” Your dry humor really only resonates with Sunoo, who sends you a look before trying to organize the flurry of papers.

“I doubt they’ll keep going,” Jake tries, fidgeting with his ring. Maybe his second rich person problem was figuring out how to get the media to like him again if the movie turns into a failure and he has to scour for another source of income.

“Unless I solve world hunger, I doubt the media will turn away from the wine scandal any time soon.” Jake considers dropping out and cutting his losses early with the way you comment on your impending future.

Jake’s manager shakes his head, closing the manila folder and essentially blocking it out before coming up with the worst possible plan in existence.

“You two can fake date. Then, no one will question your chemistry, because they’ll think you’re in love.”

There were only so many things you refused to do in your lifetime, but fake dating your co-star made it to the top of your list in record time.

You shook your head. “Absolutely not.” At least Jake could agree with one thing you said.

The silence almost turns awkward before Sunoo speaks up in agreement, ignoring you. “I like it, it’ll give them a chance to pretend to bond more. Plus, they’re both young and attractive, and Jake is a change of pace from all of her shitty ex-boyfriends.” If Jake still wanted to jump off a building after hearing their proposition, you��d unknowingly want to join him.

You cough in your arm, hiding the embarrassment of his last comment before nodding to look at the actor. “You think just because I’m dating someone, it’ll make the movie more watchable?”

Sunoo rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather watch a rom-com if it was confirmed that the actors found love on set. It’s a good story.”

Jungwon interjects. “Good publicity.”

The actor beside you finally speaks up. “And you want to start this arrangement…when?”

“As soon as possible,” your manager answers, and his response might be some of the worst news you’ve heard in a while. “Hear me out, ‘____ ____ and Jake Sim falling in love the moment they’re casted. It’s fate. They’ve been in love since the beginning. I have to see it, their chemistry will be so good.’ ”

Before you nor Jake are able to come up with a rebuttal, Jungwon adds, “I know both of you can act, and even despite this fake relationship, the movie will be good. But if you can get away from the negative thoughts surrounding the film’s pre-release, it’ll generate so much more hype around it.”

“Better for your conscience, ____. You don’t need angry Sunghoon fans sending you anymore death threats.” If Sunoo kept airing out your problems like that, you’d drag him out by the ear without any fake boyfriend in tow.

You really think about it, questioning if one PR stunt could get you out of the nepo baby ditch you’ve been trying to fight for years; it wasn’t even that you were bad at your job, your mother just never had anything nice to say to anyone. If anything, she was Hollywood’s actual mean girl.

“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly.

Jake on the other hand has no idea what he’s getting out of this. How does fake-dating a girl he’s never liked help his reputation at all?

Maybe it’s because he couldn’t find an answer to it, or maybe Jake was comfortable enough asking something so brash in public. “What the hell do I get out of it?”

You lean back in surprise, not used to hearing him so flustered by something. It was all your fault, Jake thinks as he once again pulls at his hair.

The room is silent as everyone’s gears turn. Jake puts his hands on both sides of the armchair, about to get up and pretend this failure of a ruse ever existed. “If there’s nothing, I’m-”

“Wait,” you cut him off, eyes still fixed on something as you think. It’s good for you, and mainly you. Jake has a good reputation, people love natural chemistry and love a cute couple even more, and your name would be in summer-y titles for the next two months if your scheme worked out. But him?

What could Jake Sim possibly want?

“You want money? Connections? An interview with Justin Beiber?” You try, spewing what every boy would want when they were 13.

Somehow, his head perks up when he hears his favorite celebrity’s name from your lips.

“You could do that?” He asks, bewildered.

“I thought you hated me for having a famous mom.” He stays silent.

“Look, you’re up and coming. If this movie does well, I’ll send a letter to the top producers in the industry and tell them about how stunning of a performance you gave.”

It’s a deal that’s extremely hard to pass on–hell, he’s literally getting paid to act in the movie anyways, so it’s not like he loses much if he says yes. But you’re snarky, and although you’re not outright rude, you never seem to be excited for anything, and Jake has no idea why the mood is so sour when he’s with you.

Whatever, it’s not like it’s real, anyways.

Jake shrugs and pinches his nose bridge momentarily before sighing. “Where do I sign?”

You thought that Jake had been oblivious to the whole thing as much as you were, but it seems like he knew about a hidden contract. Jungwon fishes out a crisp white sheet of paper from his bag. “You know me so well, and I didn’t even tell you anything,” and his response has you thinking that maybe the actor just knows his manager well.

Suddenly, the next year of your love life is signed and tucked away into two identical copies for Jungwon and Sunoo, before the two shake hands and smile. “I’m excited for how things will go,” your manager comments before you two leave.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you let out a long exhale, suddenly finding interest in your manicure.

“You’re annoying, Sunoo. But I don’t doubt you.”

The boy smiles and links arms with you, walking to the entrance of the studio building before you both catch wind of the paparazzi.

A swarm of reporters and cameras catch your casual outfit and sunglasses when you emerge with your manager behind you. Questions bombard you, and you hear amongst the commotion a few reporters who are desperate for their next article to feature you. ‘Is it true that you’ve hated Sunghoon for years?’ ‘What do you have to say about your new film?’ ‘Do you have anything to say about Jake Sim?’

You pause momentarily on the way to your car, reconsidering if you should answer any question. “Me and Sunghoon have never had a disagreement, and I know he appreciated the Prada we sent him a few weeks ago.” Smiling at the memory, you choose to answer a few more questions before you have to go. “As for the new film? I’m fairly excited. Me and my boyfriend are more than ready to be filmed together."

The gasps from the crowd leave you content as you slip into your car with Sunoo. “But don’t tell anyone I’m dating!” You yell out for good measure, knowing that by morning, everything will have changed.

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago

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Locker Room: Part Two

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, rough kissing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, desk sex

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: originally for @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge, this is the follow-up to Locker Room

Part One // SImon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Like the steam from the locker room, your irritation soon evaporates. It floats away until all that’s left is this gnawing, twisting sensation in the pit of your stomach.

What the fuck were you thinking storming into the men’s locker room like that, demanding that Lieutenant Riley show his face?

You weren’t thinking. That’s the entire problem. You were angry—and rightfully so—but you didn’t even consider where your actions were leading.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Just thinking those words sends your stomach twisting all over again. You need to cool off. To calm down. While you’re not exactly angry anymore, there is a needy sensation crawling beneath your skin.

Lieutenant Riley was entirely too forward. And this nonsense about staking a claim? Hardly. You are your own person. Lieutenant Riley isn’t allowed to have a sliver of you unless you say so. Speaking it into the air doesn’t make it the truth.

You slam your office door shut and lean against it, resting your head in your hands. Taking a deep inhalation through your nose, you exhale through your mouth. Repeating the process helps, but it is momentary. Fleeting.

You’re tense the rest of the day. On edge. You keep glancing over your shoulder thinking that Lieutenant Riley will appear like a phantom. It’s silly, because he doesn’t. You don’t see him at all. Even as you push through your lunch and consume dinner in your office, you don’t see him.

He doesn’t come by. No one mentions him.

But the sticky note is there. It’s still stuck to the front of the manila folder.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

With your newly blooming irritation comes the creak of door hinges.

“What?” you snap, glancing up.

Lieutenant Riley stands in your doorway. He as one hand on the handle and the other on the doorframe. For some reason, you expect the towel, his wet skin, and the steam from the locker room, not this behemoth of a man covered nearly head-to-toe.

He does not reply to your sharp tone. Lieutenant Riley saunters in, shutting the door behind him. Without looking, he pulls the little strings on the blinds, cutting off the view of the hallway. He even locks the door, and in this, he still doesn’t glance back. Every movement is fluid. Smooth. Natural.

It’s sexy. And fucking irritating.

“Come to fix your reports?” you ask, leaning back in your chair. You twirl your pen end-over-end. It’s keeping you from looking away from him.

Lieutenant Riley says nothing. He strides forward—all of three steps as the office is a fucking closet—and snatches the manila folder off the desk. He opens it up, glancing down at the content.

You cross your legs and attempt to relax your shoulders. You don’t want Lieutenant Riley to know that he has an affect on you. Already, your body wants to lean in his direction. It wants to give him attention.

And that will not do.

“What’s wrong with them?” he finally asks, flipping a page.

You stop twirling the pen. Start clicking the end. “My notes are right there. Can you not read?”

It’s not very nice of you, but it’s simply defense. Fuck the reports. If they’re garbage, you’ll submit them anyway. You just need Lieutenant Riley out of your office. You need some goddamn space. It’s far too hot in here. Too cramped.

Lieutenant Riley glances up from the report, and it is then that you know you’ve completely fucked up. It’s that same piercing stare from the locker room. You’re stabbed through. Gutted. He sees you for who you are, and there is no way out. No path for you to take.

Slowly, Lieutenant Riley closes the folder. He holds it out and then drops it onto your desk. His arm returns to his side.

He is so large like this. So much more intimidating.

“Are we fucking here? Or elsewhere?” His delivery is so bland and straightforward that you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly.

You stop clicking the pen. “What?” you nearly squawk, sitting up in your chair.

“I said—”

“I fucking heard you, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he growls. “I told you to call me Simon.”

In the steam and heat, he did say that. And you grabbed his dog tags, yanked him down to your level, kissing him through the balaclava in response.

You also told him to fix the reports. And here he is.

“Simon,” you begin, and then pause because his hips sway slightly as he shifts toward you. “What are you doing?”

Simon comes around to your side of the desk. There is a sultry sway to it, a confidence that steals your autonomy. He walks right up to you. Leaning forward, he reaches out, placing his hand on the top of your chair, boxing you in.

“Are we fucking in this room?”

“We’re not—”

“—or am I taking you home?”

You swallow, heat flaring up your neck to flame your cheeks. “Aren’t you here to fix the reports?”

It’s a diversion. A way to turn the conversation. But Simon doesn’t take the bait.

“Pick,” he says, voice low.

“Simon.”

“Want me to pick for you?” He arches a single eyebrow.

All the steam and bluster are gone. You’re melting. Submitting. You feel it deep in your bones.

“Back up,” you murmur, but even you hear the weakness in it.

Simon shakes his head. His other hand comes up, the backs of his fingers brushing along your jawline. It’s a gentle touch. You reflexively lean into it.

“I think you want my cock now, love.”

You jerk backward, but Simon is quick. He has you out of your chair and sitting on your desk in moments. You’re completely flustered, hands digging into his biceps as Simon settles himself between your legs, his hands on your waist.

“Better,” he says, sounding content.

You blink and then smack his chest. “Simon Riley!”

“My full name?” he purrs. “That’s a nice change.”

“You presume too much.”

“Do I?” he counters. He releases your hips, placing his hands firmly on either side of you. “Then explain that kiss earlier.”

You swallow, knowing that he’s caught you. There is a need that sits between your bones. A need for him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“It meant nothing.”

“No, love.” He shakes his head. “It didn’t. Try again.”

Simon is caging you in. Splitting you open. Why should you run? Why should you not admit your feelings? If anything, the two of you can fuck on this desk and get whatever this is out of your system.

“I was angry. I wanted to push you.”

The balaclava around his mouth stretches. He’s fucking grinning.

“Here I am.”

“Here you are,” you agree.

Simon’s dark gaze shifts to your lips. “Without the balaclava this time?” His gaze returns to your face, and there is intense need there.

You reach out, slip your fingers underneath, and push the balaclava up. Slowly, you reveal Simon’s chin and lips, then the tip of his nose. There are scars, but that is not what you’re focused on. You’re focused on his lips, and he yours.

Leaning in is agony. You long to close the distance, and yet there is hesitation in the way you bring your face closer to his. Simon senses it too, because he grabs the back of your neck, and closes the distance.

There is no gentleness in the way Simon kisses you. His need is apparent. Aching. He is a devouring beast, and you meet him with equal enthusiasm. Simon’s tongue passes between your lips and you open for him. You taste mint and black tea with the faintest hint of smoke. You commit this taste to memory.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, squeezing waist, thighs, and hips. There is no pattern to it. There is only desperation.

Growling, Simon pulls away. He grabs hold of the collar of your button up shirt. Tugging, Simon pops the top three buttons. They go flying, disappearing from you.

“Simon,” you gasp, but it’s all you can manage. His mouth is on yours again, and that large hand is slipping inside, palming your breast.

“Fucking hell,” he moans into your mouth. “I need to be inside you.”

Begging. Simon is begging. You’ve never heard this. Simon is the stoic one. Calm. Cold. Calculated. But he’s kissing you with hunger, and his hips rock against you, the sensation almost more than you can handle.

“Then fuck me, Lieutenant.”

Simon chuckles, and he smiles—actually smiles—before grabbing your waist and bringing you to your feet. With his hands still on your waist, Simon turns you around, facing you away from him.

His hand slide forward and easily undoes the front of your slacks. Simon tugs them down enough to expose you to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, fingers sliding between your thighs to play with your pussy.

The contact is electric, and you push back against his hand. Simon rests his face against the back of your neck.

“You’re already so fucking wet for me,” he says against your skin.

His fingers find your clit, and the moan you let out is obscene. Simon strokes until your pussy clenches as your wetness floods his palm.

Glancing over your shoulder, Simon brings his sticky fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean.

“My turn, love.”

With a sharp tug, Simon forces your slacks down to your knees. He bends you forward slightly and your hands press into the top of the desk to keep yourself steady.

The angle is tight, overly so. When Simon notches the head of his cock at your entrance and beings to push in, it feels far too large.

“Simon. Simon. Fuck—oh. Fuck.”

“You can take me, love. Just breathe. That’s it.” Simon moves your hair to the side and his mouth comes down on your neck, leaving behind gentle kisses as he rocks his hips.

Once he’s in to the hilt, Simon adjusts. One arm crosses over your stomach, his palm coming to rest between your hands that are pressed against the top of the desk. His other hand is on the front of your throat.

His lips brush against your ear, and then Simon thrusts. It’s not slow. It’s not gentle. This one makes him grunt with effort, and the desk hinders all forward movement.

Simon’s teeth nip at your earlobe. The distraction works, causing your mind to temporarily drift from his withdrawal. The thrust forward makes you gasp, and then it is unending.

There are no words spoken, only heavy breath. Sweat blooms on your brow, and runs down the back of your neck. Simon’s weight is relentless, and the pleasure building in your core again is a taunting thing. It wants to explode, to roar outward, to consume you.

You don’t have space to slide your hand between your legs. Instead, you arch your back, bringing your ass up slightly. It gives Simon a different angle, and this time you shiver. Shake. Thighs quivering as your orgasm crawls up and out your throat.

The moment you start to cry out, Simon turns your head toward him, his mouth coming down on yours. He swallows your pleasure, matching it with his own. He grinds forward, his release flooding your pussy.

Your chest heaves as Simon pulls back.

There is nothing else in room. There is only him, and his dark eyes.

Slowly, Simon eases himself from your pussy. He reaches over and grabs a tissue, cleaning you up the best he can before tossing it into the trashcan beneath your desk. Then his hands are drawing your pants into place.

He guides you around to face him, closing the zipper and putting everything to right. He even fixes your buttonless shirt as best he can.

“I’ll replace it,” he says.

“It’s fine, Simon.”

The two of you stare at each other, the silence stretching. You’re not sure what he might be thinking, but his gaze hardens.

“You’re off tomorrow,” he states, not asking.

“I am. How—what are you doing?”

Simon has his phone out. He’s tapping away at the screen and then the little whoosh of a text sending off reaches your ears.

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“You—”

“Told Price I’d be in late tomorrow.”

“You can do that?”

Simon shrugs. “Price can manage.”

He takes a step back, his gaze observing you. “You’re a right mess.”

“No thanks to you,” you mutter, smacking his chest as you push past him.

You snatch up your purse and work bag, glancing up at Simon just as he returns the balaclava to its original place.

He saunters up beside you and extends his hand. You take it, and Simon draws you against him, gaze never leaving your face as he guides you to the door.

You doubt that you will come back from this.

Simon is not out of your system.

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@yawning-grave81 @ash-tarte @azkza

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glossysoap · 5 months ago

Text

claiming ink 💉

them hearing you say once (once is all it takes) that you ‘don’t belong to them’ and in that split second after that silly remark, they’re deciding to tattoo their bite marks into your skin 💉

insp for this came from those trending videos of people getting their partners bite marks tattooed 🫣

18+ tw: dark fic, forced claiming via forced tattoos, stalking, groping, kissing, ex husband price, obsessed artists ghoap, stalker gaz, soulmate price/stalker price. simon’s the one doing a lot of the tattooing because it’s what made the most sense to me for the specific scenario.

some aus (that i’ve already discussed/mentioned) that this could work with are below. the links are provided at the beginning of each section. they’re very short skims, though it’s not completely necessary in order to read this:

ex husband price coming up with the idea the very second you try and hand him the manila folder filled with divorce papers and your ring. a long, tension filled car ride later, only a mere thirty minutes pass once you’re being guided (read: all but scruffed and pulled) inside his home.

suddenly the home you used to feel so comfortable in, so safe in, left you with chills running down your spine. with your eyes all wide and a sinking feeling in your gut - yelling at you to run for the hills.

simon waits at the dining table. it felt right right to trust him with something like this as price’s second in command. next to simon’s seat at the table sits a tattoo kit. the gun is already plugged in and the inks are already prepped. the table is already sterilized and ready for you to lay. your eyes widen and your stomach drops.

before you know it, your ex husband is holding you down while simon picks up the tattoo gun. john’s broad, big shoulders and strong muscles making it impossible to move as you’re pinned down to the table. “now, now. quit your squirming.” he slides your ring back on where it belongs, ignoring your cries and pleas.

(….)

soulmate/stalker price bringing a stick n poke kit as he tracks you down to that motel. it weighs heavy in the duffel bag he’d swung over his shoulder (along with some ropes and cuffs - just in case you weren’t cooperative. he could count on that.)

he wears a grin on his lips as he stalks to your motel door, the cold of night making his breath come out in fog. a few clicks is all it took for him to pick the lock.

he swings the duffel bag over his shoulder once more before pushing the door open slowly, finding the motel room bathed with darkness, save for your bedside lamp. he squints, eyes landing on the bed. his eyes crinkling at the edges as he sees your unconscious form laid out on the cot. your brows relaxed and mouth parted, face free of tension.

his feet move before his body as he finds himself at your bedside. merely an arms length from you. his mouth quirks into a smile, all sharp and gleaming. hungry. to see you right in front of him, vulnerable in your sleep and empty of your usual fight… ripe for the taking. he all but purred as he gently let go of his duffel bag to the floor.

a few minutes passed once he got the kit set up on your nightstand. needle sterilized and ink prepped. gloves slipped on. before all of that, a metal cuff locked around one of your wrists attaching to the bedpost. in your sleep, your other hand was hanging off the bedside - letting him easily pluck your wrist off the bed.

he held your arm with such care and grace, such a contrast to the demanding tone he’s reserved for you and the pawing hands he gropes you with whenever he tracks you down.

his eyes scan your face to ensure you’re still in a deep sleep, as if you waking up would stop him, before picking up the needle in his other hand.

since he didn’t bother numbing you, it doesn’t surprise him that you’re quick to jerk out of your slumber, gasping and crying from the needle poking through your skin. he heaves a sigh and pulls the needle away as you thrash, only to find yourself handcuffed to the bed.

“c’mon. settle down, now. you made me wait long enough, pup.” he growls as he yanks your hand to stay still for the needle. he was getting real tempted to skip ahead and actually bite you instead of just tattooing it on.

(….)

stalker gaz seeing you post on social media that you were getting a tattoo, and he sends an anonymous ask recommending a local shop, one that simon owns.

when you get there, the owner has many stencils prepared - one that looks suspiciously like teeth marks. you make some remark about it looking very realistic. “what, you get someone to actually bite down on the paper?” you joke, not knowing that kyle’s teeth had clamped down on the tracing paper earlier that day.

a few hours later, kyle checks your instagram story to see you posting your new ink. he feels his smile splitting his face, grinning from ear to ear as he sees his bite mark embedded into your skin. and you didn’t even know it was his.

“that’ll have to do until the real thing, i suppose.” he murmurs aloud as he imagines digging his teeth into your plush flesh, dragging moans and whines out of you every time.

he can’t wait to taste your skin under his tongue as he leaves open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders, biting your flesh and leaving indents in his wake. he knew his hands would be gripping you tightly all the while, with an almost bruising hold.

(….)

obsessed artists ghoap deciding that a stick n poke isn’t much different than a painting as they mark your (their muses) skin. johnny’s arms wrap around your middle to both comfort you and to keep you still for simon’s steady hands. johnny’s face buries into your neck and his teeth skim the sensitive skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses along the span.

“mmm, bonnie.” he groans into your neck in approval at your taste. his arms tighten around you, his hands coming up to paw at your tits through your shirt.

if anything, his groping did at least momentarily distract you from the needle simon held getting closer to your skin. momentarily was the operative word.

once the sting of the needle reached your wrist, the whimpers and gasps started. simon’s scarred mouth quirks up into a grin as he watches the art come into place. the blood seeping from where needle meets skin. the ink bleeding before being wiped away. the mix of your cries and the buzzing of the needle filled the room.

as the needle passed over veins, you jerked and twitched involuntarily. simon’s skilled hands thankfully pulled back the second it started, jaw clenching in frustration.

“keep ‘er still, johnny.” is all he murmured before letting the needle pierce your skin again, tracing the stencils that formed both of their bite marks.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 4 months ago

Text

to many more | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

“what’s your favorite book?”

spencer looked away from his open files to turn in his chair to see you standing behind him, a couple of manila folders held close to your baby blue long sleeve dress shirt. he had to keep his eyes from dropping lower to get a glance at the curves that hugged to your black pants.

he coughed as he blinked a few times behind his glasses, “uh, well there’s- there’s too many to choose from. if you’re asking about general literature i’d probably say-“

you held a hand out with a shaky smile, “sorry. don’t mean to interrupt. but um, i’m asking if there’s a book or story that’s very meaningful full for you.”

spencer straightened his mouth, feeling it form into that usual line. he let his mind scour for a moment, “uh maybe… alice in wonderland. my mom used to read it as a bed time story from time to time in between narnia and fifteenth century literature. she used to read me valentines poems.”

he saw your brows raise for a moment, “that’s sweet. which did she recite the most?” you readjusted the files.

spencer tapped his fingers over his thighs, “mostly chaucer’s parlement of foules. The poem, which is in the form of a dream vision in rhyme royal stanza, contains one of the earliest references to the idea that St. Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers…” he stopped short when he saw a bored expression draping your face. “sorry, rambling.”

your eyes widen and you took a step closer, “no, no. you’re fine. your voice soothes me, probably looked a bit drowsy.”

spencer scrunched his face, “most people would look tired cause i’m boring them to sleep.” he saw your face fall at his words, he didn’t like the sight.

“well i like hearing your information. i find what you know quite fascinating, like last week you told me that flamingos feathers are actually white or pale gray, but appear pink cause of algae and shrimp. i would’ve never know that.” your smile pushed your cheeks, pupils beaming alight as he felt them ghostly tracing his face.

bashful your eyes directed to your feet, “i enjoyed our date last week.” moving some fingers to run behind your ear, “i’ve always wanted to visit the planetarium, but never found the time.”

spencer smiled fondly, “i’m glad i was able to get you the chance. sometimes they do thirty minute segments on each zodiac sign, it’s when i see a lot of ‘psychics’.”

you chuckled lightly, spencer’s grin widened. “i should take you to one for fun. just to test how real they are.”

he couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “don’t waste your money.” you shrugged simply, “could be a fun third date. she can verify that we’re a match.” giving your upper body a slight twisting at the waist.

before spencer could say anything in reply, you both turned to see hotch calling you from his upper office. “shit, forgot i had to drop these off. i’ll see you later.” and you stepped into his space to lean in an leave a kiss to his forehead. he could feel the residue of your fading gloss. he was happy there wasn’t many people in the bullpen, he didn’t want to deal with morgan’s teasing right now.

the only possible person to have witnessed that display would be hotch. “reid, a word,” his stern voice causing him to flinch in his seat. he quickly made his way up the steps and into the office, closing the door behind him and standing beside you with his hands behind his back. he wasn’t planning to have this conversation a month early.

“is there something you both would like to inform me on?” hotch letting either of you confirm your new relationship instead of assuming.

“uh,” you started to say before spencer interrupted more confidently, “y/n and i are currently seeing each other. it’s only been about two months.” he turned to you, eyes locking and both of you smiled at each other, “but i’d like to believe this will last awhile.”

“well,” hotch cleared his throat, “since you’ve probably read through the handbook spencer, there isn’t anything wrong with fraternization between employees. i would just need both of you to fill out some paperwork.”

you both nodded in agreement. “and please, try not to let this distract you in the field. otherwise you’ll have to be in separate rooms, hotel and assignments.”

“yes sir,” giving a playful salute as he dismissed you both. you decided to pull spencer by his hand in the direction of your, shared office, already knowing jj was busy elsewhere.

“i hope that was-“ you spun into spencer, palms on his cheeks as your lips pressed onto his. he went still for a moment, but you knew he just needed a second to process. his fingers curled along your hips, his warmth seeping through your fabric and onto your skin.

you sighed into his mouth as he worked your lips apart, taking the lead he moved both of you further into the office. your thighs hit the edge, a small gasping allowing for spencer to boldly slip his tongue into your mouth, your heart was pumping in your ears.

if you weren’t in the office you’d let your greedy fingers start to work at unbuttoning his shirt, but instead you were stopped short when someone groaned out, ��holy shit!”

spencer was the first to jump away and you saw that penelope and jj were at the threshold with jaws dropped and bugged eyes. “you freaky love birds!” penelope screeched.

“i need to burn this room,” jj groaned as she turned on her heels.

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x liaison!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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avis-writeshq · 9 months ago

Note

omg omg please for track four of your event 🙈 we know that sparks fly!reader calls spencer ‘Walter’ but can we get the first time he calls her ‘angel’ please???? 💕💕

l.d.s.k – spencer reid [bonus 'sparks fly' chapter]

summary: in other words, the first time spencer calls you an angel pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff warnings: rated 15+ for general criminal minds violence, canon compliant with s1 e6 ‘L.D.S.K’, a hint of Derek slander oops, not beta read wc: 2.2k a/n: many many apologies for the delay anon! i hope this can live up to your expectations! sparks fly masterlist | event page

“Reid failed his qualification,” Elle tells you as she makes her way into the bullpen looking flawless as ever.

Her words bring you out of your daily crossword puzzle, your brows furrowing. “He failed?”

“Well, he can re-test in two weeks,” Gideon says dismissively, making his way over to the water dispenser.

Elle shrugs, craning her head to look at him. “They took his gun this morning,” she replies. She looks back over. “Be gentle.”

“I’m always gentle,” you tell her, harshly erasing a wrong answer in your puzzle. “Was that not already obvious?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Elle responds swiftly, her gaze set on Derek’s forehead.

Derek is quick to raise his hands in surrender, but the glimmer of amusement sparks in his eyes. You narrow your own just as Spencer comes walking through the glass doors with Gideon following behind him. The young doctor looks dejected as ever, the grip he has on the strap of his bag so tight that his knuckles blanche.

He slumps down onto his desk beside you, turning the computer on with a scowl. You open your mouth to say something, an attempt of making him feel better, but Derek beats you to it.

“We’re all here for you,” Derek says, noticing the way Spencer avoids his gaze. “I’m serious.”

It starts off well. Spencer finally begrudgingly looks Derek in the eye, an unimpressed look on his face.

“If you ever need anything,” Derek continues, fishing something out of his pocket. You lean over the desk divider to get a better look, but apparently you don’t need to. A shrill whistle sound fills the air, and Morgan snickers in jest. “Just blow on that.”

Spencer’s face falls into a stern frown as he hurries to rip the whistle off his neck, throwing it onto his desk.

You try once more to offer any form of condolences but your efforts are once again cut off by JJ carrying a stack of manila folders and passing them off to the team. You don’t pay much attention to what she’s saying (something about a shooting and three victims?), your gaze fixed on Spencer’s troubled face. The others rattle off about long distance serial killers and profiling, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for your lack of contribution, but your thoughts are filled with more pressing matters.

After the briefing and Hotch saying a simple, “Wheels up in twenty”, you turn in Derek’s direction as you stuff your bag with files and random pieces of stationary. Elle sits within earshot, packing her own things.

“Why are you so mean to him?” Your voice carries no malice and you don’t look in his direction at all, head down as you furrow through your go-bag.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“To Spencer,” you clarify, “like, just now. He was already in a bad mood. You didn’t really have to say much else.”

“I’m just… toughening him up,” Derek says with a shrug.

“This job would do that by itself. Spencer doesn’t need to ‘toughen up’, and this job doesn’t need your help to do that, either.” You lift your shoulder noncommittally. “I think you’re just insecure.”

Elle cackles at that, stifling her laughter behind her fist while Derek snaps his head in your direction. “Alright then, I’ll bite. How am I insecure?”

“You’re a classic alpha male, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you’re an alpha male who is in a work environment where almost every other man is also an alpha male. Spencer is the opposite; he’s more timid which, again, not a bad thing, and he’s also more intellectually gifted.” A wry smile spreads across your face as you hoist your bag off your desk and sling it over your shoulder. “You’re insecure that he’s smarter than you and because he’s the quote-un-quote ‘weakest’ of the pack, you just can’t help but pick on him.”

“Reid and I are friends,” Derek says defensively. “And come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t his ramblings a little bit annoying.”

You hum. “I don’t find them annoying. Even if I did, I wouldn’t cut my friends off when they’re talking about something they find interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He swears that it was never his intention– he just forgot his wallet on his desk after everything that happened that morning. Regardless, hearing you defend him in such a way is enough to make his stomach flip.

He’s barely known you for two years. He joined the team a little after you did, granted, he was a permanent addition to the team while you at the time was just interning as a part of the course you were taking. It was only after a very long discussion with Hotch that you became a solid member of the BAU (you told Spencer all of this while you shook out your hands and by extension the nerves you experienced when you were seated in front of your boss’s desk with your resume. It took everything in him to not grab onto your hands and hold them firmly in his).

Even when you were an intern and only at work two out of the five workdays, Spencer was able to find solace in you. He didn’t really understand the logistics of it, much to his chagrin, but he has chalked it up to you being a little younger than him and feeling that slight twinge of ‘protectiveness’ over you. It doesn’t make sense, he gathers upon second thought, you don’t need protecting. Despite that, he finds himself gravitating to you as if you were the earth and he was the moon. You, full of life and all things wonderful, and him, a dim light that he hopes could brighten up your darkest nights.

He doesn’t think that that comparison is accurate enough, is the conclusion he comes to when he hears you chastise Derek for his lack of compassion. It isn’t so much ‘chastising’ as it is stating a fact. Spencer thinks you’re an angel and that everyone should kiss the floor you walk on. His head spins with facts about angels and their origins. He mumbles the facts under his breath, considering all the different backgrounds of angels and the connotations of viewing you as such. Spencer scrunches his nose in annoyance. He’ll be thinking about this the entire flight.

***

You sit next to him during the flight. Your hands are in your lap as you fiddle with your fingertips, almost as if you’re contemplating something. Spencer glances at you expectantly from the corner of his eye, ignoring the book he is supposed to be reading.

“I know I shouldn’t really have to say this, but don’t worry about Derek,” you tell him through a hushed whisper. “He’s just being an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, trying to not look fazed about the situation. “I know.”

You shift again in your seat before playfully flipping his collar upwards. “I like this shirt on you. Red is totally your colour.”

He thinks it’s pathetic, the way his eyes light up and the way he physically preens at your compliments. “There have been studies on the colour red and how it may impact one’s perceptions of others. Actually, it has been found that seeing the colour red can cause an elevation in blood pressure, enhanced metabolism, and a spike in heart rate which are all physiological changes associated in increased energy levels. Another study showed that those who wear red are perceived to be more sexually appealing than those who wear other colours.”

His cheeks flare in embarrassment upon realising the insinuation of his words and he hurriedly backtracks. “Not that I was expecting anything! It was just interesting and–”

“Walter, it’s fine.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’s okay! You’re right, it is interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t think you’re an angel anymore. He knows it. He manages to crack a smile. “You think so?”

You nod enthusiastically, looking over at him. “Tell me more.”

He thinks that he might faint.

***

The hospital is under lockdown. Your head spins when you see SWAT making their way through the lobby, armed in heavy bulletproof uniform and guns that are at least half your height. You’ve never had to work a situation where they had to be called and the severity of the situation sinks in.

“Hotch and Spencer will be okay, right?” You ask worriedly, glancing over to where Gideon is trying to negotiate with the captain.

“They’re good at what they do,” JJ reassures gently, squeezing your arm. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Gideon returns with a disgruntled frown, gesturing with annoyance towards the SWAT team. “They’re taking the ER in three minutes.”

“That’s it?” Your words are quiet as you try not to attract the attention of the people in said team. “So, what, Hotch and Spencer need to talk down a crazy armed sociopath in three minutes?”

“It’s like they don’t even want our help,” Elle says through a grumble. “What’s the point of asking us here if they’re not even going to listen to us?”

Somehow, those three minutes are both the longest and shortest three minutes of your life. There’s nothing you can do except wait and even then, the hospital is borderline silent. You’re not necessarily sure if that’s a good thing. You watch with the others as SWAT trek up the stairs in formation, and you wring your hands out nervously. Time continues to tick by and just when you’re sure that you’ll be stuck here for the next however many hours, a loud bang rings through the hospital. It’s so sudden that you jolt on the spot, your head snapping towards the door.

A few civilians, all accompanied by SWAT agents, make their way through the doors and towards the ambulances stationed outside. You follow them out, taking in a breath of fresh night air while a shiver runs down your spine from the cool breeze. Everything seems to be in order and everyone seems to be calm and collected. That must be a good sign, right?

Spence grimaces from his spot on the back of an ambulance, rubbing at his lower torso. The pain isn’t that bad anymore, but it does feel a little raw from where Hotch repeatedly kicked him. His face is bruised from where Phillip Dowd hit him with the back of his rifle. The gun he used feels heavy in his pocket and he genuinely isn’t used to it being there.

“You alright?” Hotch asks. He’s using a softer tone, one that Spencer isn’t particularly accustomed to.

Spencer nods, his arms crossed over his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Nice shot.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I was aiming for his leg.”

Hotch looks a little amused before he continues, “I wouldn’t have kept kicking but I was afraid you didn’t get my plan.”

“I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire,” Spencer says genuinely, nodding.

“Well, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly,” Hotch says guiltily.

Spencer can’t help but laugh quietly. “Hotch, I was a twelve year old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school. You kick like a nine year old girl.” He pauses, offering the gun back to him.

“No, keep it,” Hotch says, patting Spencer squarely on the shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned you passed your qualification.”

Spencer offers a smile as his boss walks away, his gaze meeting yours as you hurry over to him. “Hey–”

“Walter, your face,” you lament with a frown, reaching a hand out to brush against the bruising.

Spencer flinches, hissing softly and you pull back. “It’s still a little sore.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, glancing again at his injuries, worry laced in your tone and etched upon your features.

“You’re an angel,” Spencer says softly in a daze, watching the way the flashing lights from the ambulance.

Heat travels up towards your cheeks at his words and you press the backs of your hands against your face in an attempt to calm yourself down. “I’m not an angel.”

He’s in too deep to try and backtrack so he nods. “You are,” he says honestly, looking up at you from where he sits on the ambulance. “And if you can call me by my middle name, doesn’t that mean I can give you a nickname too?”

“Well, I guess,” you relent, your heart still aching at the sight of the bruise on the side of his face.

He beams at you as he pockets the gun. “Alright, then, angel.”

Your cheeks grow hot again and this time you feel the blood rush to your ears. “It’ll take a while to get used to it.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“I heard what you did in there,” you say swiftly, effectively changing the subject. “You don’t need that whistle anymore.”

Spencer nods and smiles. “Yeah. Thanks, angel.”

“Anytime, Walter.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

sparks fly masterlist | event page

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bingbongsupremacy · 6 months ago

Text

Marry Me?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Warning: I haven't seen criminal minds in a bit so idk if the Spencer in this is 100 percent accurate

Summary: Spencer asks you to marry him at the most random time. Garcia does not approve.

*Not Proof Read* ABC List Criminal Minds

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

" That's horrifying. " I wrinkle my nose at the sight of the bloody decapitated woman in the photos lying scattered around the table. This is why I work with Garcia.

Sticky notes are messily pasted onto the photos, illegible scribbles covering them.

" It is. " Spencer agrees.

" Why did you call me in here? " I ask, confused why my boyfriend called me in if he isn't going to expand further on the topic.

Spencer picks up a large Manila folder and shuffles through the contents. " I think I might have figured out the pattern we were looking for. " He pulls out a small stack of papers, each with the name of a high school in the corner. " The Unsub is killing girls from the same high school. Each girl attended the school at a different year. It's like he's going down the line of years. If I'm right, he'll been picking a girl from 2002 next. "

I scan over one of the papers he hands me. " Shit, you're right. " Excitement fills my body. We've been working on this for hours. He figured it out! " Spencer, this is fucking amazing! You figured it out! We need to tell the others. "

" Yes. I also think I might know who the next potential victim is based on other patterns I picked up along the way. " Spencer rambles on. " I think he might be going after Piper Johnson next, the woman we saw on the news interview. We need to check if she's okay. By the way, do you want to get married? "

His words come out so fast it takes me a second to process.

" W-What? " My eyes widen. Did I hear correctly?

Spencer is looking at me his gaze steady. He looks serious. " I know it's a little random, but this case really had me thinking. We don't know how much time we have together. God forbid one of us gets hurt or worse. I don't want to waste any more time with you. I love you and I want to be with you. I'd be the happiest man on earth if you said yes. "

For a moment I forget we're surrounded by gruesome shit. All I can think about is Spencer and our future. All of our plans.

A large smile makes its way onto my face. " Of course I will, Spence. I love you. " I smash my face into his, our lips meeting and immediately sending shivers through my body.

" I love you too, Y/N. So fucking much. " His voice rumbles against my lips.

" You did not just fucking ask Y/N to marry you in a room surrounded by dead women. Spencer, what the fuck. " A surprised voice interrupts us.

Surprised, Spencer and I pull apart to find the owner.

Garcia stares at us, her mouth hung open in surprise. " And you accepted his proposal? Are you insane? Don't get me wrong, you guys are perfect for each other. This proposal was just...so...gory. " She glances at the pictures around the room. " I'll help you plan out a real proposal, alright? Let's press pause on this until tonight. I'll have it all ready by the time you guys get back. " She says confidently, taking on the task we didn't ask her to do.

" It's really not that big of a deal- " I begin.

" It'll be done by tonight. " She says sternly, holding her hand up to stop any argument. " Now, you go let the others know what's going on with the unsub. " She points at me. " You are staying here with me while we set everything up. "

She gently pulls me towards the door, snatching the pack of information out of Spencer's hand.

" But-! "

She doesn't let me finish, swiftly kicking me out of the room.

Behind her, Spencer stand watching me in surprise.

Garcia shuts the door in my face, leaving me standing on the other side alone.

This day has been so confusing.

#fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #x you #x female reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #fem reader #female reader #reader insert #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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xsleepinggoodx · 6 months ago

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Mikey x reader short drabble!

timeskip: 19 year old Mikey. Yknow that one Mikey before manila? The one with the short blond hair? That one!🥰

Slight NSFW warning!

………………………………………………………………………………

You and Mikey were in the most heated make out sessions you ever been in. In his garage room, in his bed, on his lap, and door locked. The tension was real. His shirt was off and his veiny arms were around your waist, squeezing every so often. Your hand cupping his cheeks as you both fought for dominance—he wins every time though.

You letting out whimpers every so often as unravels you. Your hips grinding from time to time. You guys done it before, but not really often. You’re busy with college as he is he. He spends time hanging out with Toman, you’re there too ofc, but every so often, you two share intimate stares. He’s drilling his eyes on you when you’re laughing with Baji or Mitsuya. You’re admiring him as he tells a funny story. Again, the tension is there but you guys simply didn’t have alone time together, especially not sexually.

Now you guys finally were able to hang out, alone. Telling him stories from your college as he listens, replying with similar stories, him telling you crazy moments from his fights with Toman. Playing games with him, reading together. But it just got so heated, his loving gaze on you as you read the book and when you finally looked at him back, he pounced.

That’s how it led you guys here, tongues wrapping around each other as saliva drips down your lips. When you final let go for air, panting heavily with your lovesick eyes, he smiles lovingly as he catches his own breath.

“You said you had a bad day?” You asked, tracing his collarbone.

“I already told you about it, I really don’t wanna think about it.” He pouts, already rolling his eyes.

He told you about how annoying this one gang was, the leader trashed his bike terribly. Now it was in Draken’s motor shop in repair, he couldn’t ride it for a week.

“How bout I help you relieve some stress?” You asked innocently. “You always help me…I wanna make you feel good..” you said, your eyes resting. He

He looked confused but then it finally clicked.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“ he started before he got interrupted.

“But I want to, I wanna make you feel good..please~?” You stared at him, with your begging eyes. Oh your eyes, only if you knew how much he adored and admired you.

He nodded slowly. “Please baby, I need you.”

You giggled as you got on top of him, your hips sitting on his. His head looking up at you as you captured his lips again, before trailing your soft lips down his chin, neck, finally his chest. You sat up and clutched the hem of your shirt.

“Do you want me to take it off?” You said, teasingly.

“You really don’t have to.” He said hesitantly.

“Mikey~~” you teased as you giggled.

“Yes please” he begged shamefully. You knew Mikey was good with his words, getting him to beg was always tough, but you knew how to melt him. That’s why he loved you so much, you always challenged him. Which is not something he received often. You smiled as you chucked taking your shirt off, revealing your baby pink bra. The bra stap perfectly falling off your left shoulder.

You smiled as he admired your face, then his eyes traveled down, admiring your goddess-like body. He always knew he hit the jackpot, but now it’s official. He couldn’t help himself as he rose up and kissed you, trailing down your chin, then to your neck. Leaving hickies behind. You let out a soft hum as he continues, nipping your sweet spot, his hands where they were once on your waist were now softly cupping your breast.

He grinds his hips on yours, earning whimpers from you.

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby” he said, his voice muffled from his attacks on your cleavage. You softly scratched your fingers through his messy golden hair. Rewarding yourself with his kisses.

“I l-love you too~” you said. Love honeyed your voice. You were definitely down bad for him. The best part is that so was he….

��………………………………………………………………………….

Enjoy everyone, sorry I didn’t go all the way. I’m not confident in my NSFW writing skills🫣

#tokyo revengers x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers mikey #manjiro sano #Mikey x reader best ship

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rangerbarbz · 18 days ago

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Professor Pines

Author’s Note: hey y’all! This is the start of a professor Ford AU that I’m working on. Thank you so much for being patient, and I am so excited to hear what you think about this! Sorry if some of this is inaccurate. I have not gotten my masters yet

“Prologue”

You sat outside Dr. Pines’ office bouncing your leg to expend the anxious energy flooding your mind. You were rearranging your manila folder of papers for the third time already. You couldn’t decide what would be the best order for him to read them in. Not like it really mattered anyways. It was just a nervous fidget to keep your mind off of the fact this was the last shot for you to get a sponsor for your Master’s research. He was finishing up a meeting with another student; you could hear pieces of his deep voice through the oak door. You hadn’t gotten to meet Dr. Pines yet. Your conversations hadn’t breached your Email inbox, but you were eager to finally have a discussion face-to-face.

The door creaked open and a young man walked into the hallway, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. “Have a good day! I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Dr. Pines called out to him. You exhaled through your mouth and placed the folder in a binder that held laminated pictures you had taken. You stood up from the cushioned bench you were sitting on to enter his office. Any confidence you might have regained was lost when you ran face first into what could be your research mentor. Your face and arms collided with his broad chest and caused the papers kept snug in your folder to spill out onto the linoleum floor.

“Oh good heavens, I am so sorry,” Dr. Pines apologized, bending down to pick up the scattered papers at your feet. This could not get any worse.

“Oh, no it’s fine. I- I am sorry. I should’ve announced myself,” you replied, a furious blush spreading across your face. You had also joined him on the ground to pick up the remaining papers.

He chuckled. “You’re quite alright. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you as you both stood up. He had a small smile on his face as he handed you some lined notebook paper filled with your rushed scribble. His fingertips brushed against yours in the process. You could feel they were calloused; a sharp contrast to your soft ones.

“Why don’t we get started,” he said, walking towards his desk. “I’m excited to hear what you have to say.” He sat down at his swivel chair and scooted forward. “I spoke with some of my colleagues from the biology department after receiving your email, and I think you have some very interesting ideas.”

You beamed at him as you began to shuffle through your belongings. “Yes, yes! I know you are a lover of cryptozoology like myself, and I wanted to speak with you about studying some creatures that I came face to face with while visiting the Appalachian Mountains earlier this year.” You handed him your binder which he immediately began to flip through. He was careful and nodded along as you continued to speak about your experiences in east Tennessee. It was nice that he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

You had not had that luck with other professors you had spoken with about your findings. They either didn’t care or believed it was a hoax. It was until you had checked out a book at the library about a town in Oregon written by none other than Dr. Stanford Pines that you realized he was the key to fulfilling your plans. You had never had a class with him when you were an undergraduate, so you didn’t know much about him besides the fact he was very intelligent and had six fingers.

He��s not so bad looking either. He was wearing a light blue button-up with a brown tweed coat over it. He had thick, gray hair with a lighter silver streak and wire rimmed glasses balanced on a strong nose. He ran his hand over his stubble and raised his eyebrows towards your photos.

“This is…” Dr. Pines paused. His eyes met yours as he closed your binder. “Incredible.” Your eyes widened and you failed to suppress the ecstatic grin forming across your face.

“T-thank you, sir,” you replied.

He then stood up from behind his desk to sit in the chair beside you. “Y/N, this is truly remarkable. I mean,” he began to flip through your notes from the folder, “the amount of thought and organization that went into this is unlike what I've seen in other students.” He gazed at you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry my foolish colleagues didn’t see your potential, but I’m glad that I could be the one that did.”

You felt like you could cry. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” you responded shakily. “Does this mean you will be my faculty sponsor?”

He gave you a toothy smile and got on his feet to extend a hand towards you. “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get the answers you deserve. This summer, I am proposing we travel out to the Appalachia and take a look ourselves.” You hopped up and took his hand into yours, giving him a firm but enthusiastic handshake.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Pines. I am so grateful for this opportunity.” You started to pick up your things. “Really, I am just so excited, sir.”

He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively at you. “No more formalities, Y/N. You can just call me Ford. We’ll be spending quite a lot of time together this summer, so I’d rather you just use my real name. It’ll be easier for both of us.”

Your face became slightly warm and you gave him a small smile. “Okay. Sounds good, Ford,” you said, trying out the name for yourself.

“Y-yes very well.” His voice had faltered. Was he blushing? “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re busy; I’ll be emailing you.”

“I’ll be expecting you. Have a good day, Ford. It was nice to meet you, and thank you again for this,” you said sincerely, placing your hand on the rickety door frame. He grinned. “You too, Y/N. I look forward to working with you.” You gave him a little wave before walking out of his office. This was going to be the start of something wonderful.

Author's Note: There will be more but this is just setting up the story!!

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erensonly · 8 months ago

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thinking about sweet data analyst!reader being quiet as a mouse always scaring the boys. scares them so much they think abt getting her a bell. lets get into some backstory bc this may be a mini series 😈

contains: extreme fluff, ooc writing, love is used as a pet name, no pronouns used, references to DV pls read at your own discretion.

you were the new data analyst for the 141. before, you only worked with Kate, gathering and analyzing data for her but she thought you would be so much more helpful to the task force since their old analyst had retired. you were hesitant at first, not really wanting to be around a group of men. why should you leave your comfort zone?

this did not work with laswell. she had taken you in after you stumbled to the gates of the base, attempting to stop crying to give them an explanation and sporting bruises on your face and hands. luckily she had been there to meet with john when she had heard the guards complaining about a crying woman refusing to leave. she had helped you in more than one way. even allowing you to stay with her until you could find a job and move by yourself.

when she had found out you knew your way around computers, her face lit up like a christmas tree, telling you she had the perfect job for you. you were hesitant to take the job, knowing the work she did involved the military, you didn't know if you wanted to take the job. you had tried to convince her that it was fine, but once laswell has her mind made up, that's it.

thats how you ended up here, wanting oreos. you didn't mean to scare them at first. they were a little scary and you wanted nothing to do with them at first.

you just wanted the oreos but ghost was in the way, facing the opposite way with his head in his phone. you stood there awkwardly at first,not wanting to ask the big man to move but you really wanted those cookies. you stand there for a bit debating if you'll wait for him to leave the room or grow some balls and just ask him to move. you decided on doing neither.

you made your way towards him as quickly as you could; the plan was to just reach up and grab the chocolate cookies so you could go back to your desk before ghost could say anything. trying to get closer to the cabinet, you find yourself pushed up against the counter, a large hand wrapped around your wrist. when he realized it was you, he let you go with a big sigh. "scared the shit out of me. when did you get in here?"

"uh.. not too long ago." that was all you could muster, the man was too intimidating. you awkwardly shuffled towards the cabinet with the cookies and reached up to get them. mission accomplished, you thought to yourself. slithering back to your desk, you leave ghost stunned and only able to mutter a quick "bloody hell" before going back to his phone.

----

the next time you interact with the 141 outside of working it's with gaz. from the small conversations you had, he seemed very nice with a kind smile and calming aura. this time you were trying to make your way to price's office to give him a manila folder with the information he requested. you had walked to the door but heard talking, maybe he was busy. you decided that you would wait to give him the folder so you wouldn't have to speak to whoever was in the office.

it felt like time was going so slow and by the time the person had walked out, you were leaning against the corner of the wall, head against the wall in a way that you had have to almost round the corner to be able to see you. you looked up, and the man look like he just had a heart attack. clutching his chest like he was clutching his pearls and purse and breathing heavily. "Jesus, love,gotta say something. have you been waiting out here long? you could've just came in, y'know?" all the questions were becoming overwhelming when you just gripped his lips to silence him.

it took his look of surprise and a bit of thought to realize what you did. you had just grabbed the lips of a soldier. not just any soldier but a heavily decorated soldier who was apart of The john price's task force. he could kill you faster than you can say you're sorry. "oh my god, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to, you just kept talking and i didnt know what to do. please don't kill me." you had finished your mini rant only to see him doubled over in laughter. he was in tears.

"did you just silence me?" he asked between laughs. you didn't understand what the hell was funny, this man is going to kill you. while he was still laughing and trying to get soap on the phone, you tiptoed into price's office to give him the folder, telling him that if he found you dead on base it was gaz before scurrying out of his office. john was left looking confused because he had just heard kyle laughing a few seconds ago.

----

next was soap. sweet, sweet soap. he genuinely did his best to welcome you into their group, but you didn't really seem interested. he eventually just took any interaction you two had and replayed it in his head over and over again. you were just so sweet, how could he not? you still got lost on base sometimes since everything was one monotone grey and everything looked the same. and it was just your luck that the only people around were new recruits and other people you never spoke to. turning, you see soap heading toward the mess hall.

when you sped up to catch him, he's surprised. he even did that cartoon cat jump they do before running off. he started saying something in a language you don't understand when you cut him off. "not sure what you're saying but i agree. anyway, where's the gym? i need to ask ghost a question." he was shocked to see you turn around and wait for him to lead the way. he couldn't help the smile that came across his face. such a hasty girl; you always said everything you needed to say as fast as you could before turning away, giving him a look at allat movement back there.

he laughed again before helping you find ghost. and you still don't get why these men find you so funny. there is nothing funny about them being so scary.

----

lastly, we got my husband john. he was made aware of your situation and why you acted the way you did before you started working under him. he couldn't help but think you were a sweet, hard working little thing. never with much to say, and so skittish. he may have told you that he doesn't know how to access the files on his computer just so he can see you come to his office with a folder. is it a crime to want to see such a sweet face?

john had told you he would like to see you after debriefing and that he would just let you know. but you had already finished your work of the day an you spent your free time playing whatever games you could access on your computer. you eventually started to feel restless so you decided to sit in price's office until he got there. there was a couch in a corner of the room, worn but comfortable. you could imagine the boys laying on the couch talking mindlessly to john.

you had sunken into the corner of the couch, curling up in a way that you would have to step completely into the office to see you sitting there. it had been a good 10 minutes of sitting in silence before you heard footsteps approaching the door. you couldn't hear exactly what was being said, but it sounded like john was on the phone. he, not long after, walked into the room, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear with a stack of folders in his hands.

"-exactly. yeah i'll be on it right away. bye." and as he's turning around, you're sitting up straighter and he yells. and i mean one of those old people, "help i've fallen" type of yelps; and he drops his files on the floor. you just give him a blank stare.

"good God. when did you get in here?" you just shrug, brushing over the question. "what was it that you needed from me sir?" that's when he knew, you were going to be the death of the 141. literally.

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giuseppe-yuki · 2 months ago

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anesthesia

kimi antonelli x tiger shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2.3k

warnings: none, really.

part of my shapeshifter!reader spinoff series

summary: kimi + anesthesia? not a good combo.

photo credits from pinterest :)

in the spacey kitchen of kimi‘s family house, you bustled around with your boyfriend‘s mother, preparing the night‘s dinner- homemade gnocchi. both of you chatted idly as you waited for the lightly salted water to boil on the stove- it had to reach a certain temperature to be considered hot enough to put the pain-stakingly hand rolled gnocchi in.

however, your peaceful moment was ruined when kimi busted though the kitchen doorway with a thin piece of paper in his hand.

he clears his throat, wrinkling the paper in nervousness.

you wipe your floury hands on a wet rag and hurry over to kimi. you didn‘t want to assume the worst, but what if he was hurt? did something happen at the mercedes facilities? gently putting your hand on his arm to comfort him, you question kimi. “are you okay, baby? what’s wrong?”

thrusting the paper onto the dirty counter so both you and his mother can see, he explains. ”so…i just went to my dentist and he said i might have to have my wisdom teeth removed- like tomorrow afternoon.“

you huff in exasperation, lightly shoving your boyfriend aside in a joking manner. ”kimi! you had me worried for a second!“

he rolls his eyes.

his mother laughs, having just finished reading the appointment overview. ”no, mia cara, he‘s just scared because he has to be put under anesthesia!“

kimi’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly tries to stop his mother from saying anything else. ”mamma, no!”

kimi’s mother just bats her son‘s hands away. smiling at you as if sharing a secret, she continues on. “last time kimi had to be put under anesthesia was when he broke his arm in a kart crash, and let’s just say- he went a little crazy.“

you had never seen kimi so nervous before. not during your first date, not during the negotiations period with toto, and not even in the moments before doing fp1 in a formula 1 car for the first time ever!

kimi twiddled his thumbs and adjusted his seat every two seconds as you drove him to the dentist office in your custom mini cooper.

keeping your eyes on the twisty roads of italy, you reach over with one hand to squeeze his hand. “it‘s alright, kimi,” you comfort, “i‘m sure the procedure will go fine! and, if you are scared of the anesthesia, don‘t be. everything will be okay.“

everything was actually not okay.

it started when the dentist’s assistant had fetched you from the nicely decorated waiting room of the dentist office.

“you are his… girlfriend, correct?” the assistant asks, flipping through a manila folder neatly labeled as ‘antonelli, andrea kimi’.

you nod, trailing behind the woman in light blue scrubs through the maze-like hallways.

“great!” she exclaims, opening a fancy white door and gesturing inside. “your boyfriend is here.”

when you walk in, kimi was slung over a dentist chair, eyes half closed and mouth stuffed to the brim with white gauze. his head lolled backwards and he was subconsciously twitching his fingers. even so, you applauded his ability to look so adorable under such conditions. you walk towards the chair, which was placed smack dab in the middle of the room next to some glistening metal tools and a big dental light that was shining directly into kimi’s face.

a lady in a white lab coat approaches you before you can talk to your boyfriend, hand out. “hello, you must be kimi’s girlfriend!” she says, beaming at you and enthusiastically shaking your hand. “i’m glad to say that the operation was a success!” letting go of your hand and scribbling something down on a piece of paper, she continues on. “i do have to say though, we did administer anesthesia in order to keep him comfortable for the procedure. he will be a little disoriented- ”

before the doctor could finish her sentence, kimi roughly pushes himself up from the dentist chair, glaring at you.

“WHO are YOU?!” he shouts, voice a little muffled by the gauze in his mouth. “get AWAY from me- i have a girlfriend!”

you look at him in disbelief. beside you, the doctor and the nurse muffle their laughter.

“this is normal- usually the anesthesia lasts for a few hours, and he’ll be back to his regular self in no time!” the nurse explains.

you turn around to kimi aggressively punching the air around you, but missing every time.

“im warning you!” he slurs, “if you don’t get away from me, my girlfriend is gonna- is gonna eat you!”

the dental assistant and dentist both raise a brow at kimi’s lowkey concerning words, but brush it off as another side effect of the anesthesia.

“shut up, kimi!” you hiss in his ear, now trying your best to haul him out of the door in his disoriented state.

he seems to cooperate with you momentarily from the operating room to the parking lot outside, until you reach your mini cooper.

“EWWWW!” he yells at the top of his lungs, causing several other people in the parking lot to look over. “I CANNOT BE SEEN IN A MINI COOPER! I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH MERCEDES.”

you slap your hand over his mouth, quickly mouthing sorrys to the people who probably had their eardrums explode from kimi’s screech.

“kimi,” you reprimand. “you have to be quiet! we are in a public space and you are disrupting other people. now, you get inside the car right now.”

he grumbles, but slowly stumbles his way into the passenger seat.

you softly close his door and hop into your driver’s seat, sighing in exasperation. perhaps his mother was right. he did get a little crazy under anesthesia. maybe you should have called ollie for backup.

after a bit of a struggle putting on kimi’s seatbelt, (he seemed to think it was a snake trying to strangle him) you back up from your parking spot and slowly make your way to the exit of the plaza.

in the passenger seat, reclined all the way back with his feet on the dash like a passenger princess, kimi promptly bursts into tears.

trying not to get hit by a random dude in a light blue vespa, you can only spare glances at kimi thrashing around in his seat like an eel, the only thing stopping him from flipping into the center console was the seat belt.

“what??” you exclaim, head turning back and forth trying to see what’s possibly wrong with your boyfriend while also focusing on the road. “is there something wrong, kimi?”

“yes!!” he sniffles, wiping the streams of tears of his face. “you called me kimi and that’s not my name! my name is andrea. apologize right now!”

good god, you think, feeling peeved. you couldn’t wait until his anesthesia wore off.

putting on your best apologetic face, you quickly apologize. “okay, i am so sorry for that, andrea. how should i make it up to you?”

just like you flipped a switch, he immediately stops crying. “yay! thank you!” he says giddily, kicking his legs. “how about you get me ice cream??”

you don’t have to think twice before accepting his offer. the night before, you had researched a little bit about wisdom teeth surgery aftercare, and apparently ice cream was really good for you. besides, you felt like you deserved a treat after using so much energy to drag kimi out of the dental clinic.

you reroute to the nearest ice cream shop, and kimi thankfully stays silent for most of the car ride, but occasionally messed with the seat adjustment buttons a few more times than you thought was necessary.

however, ten minutes to ice cream shop, at a stoplight, kimi suddenly jolts from his position looking out the window. a shiny silver mercedes g-wagon sits glistening in the sun next to your tiny mini cooper.

as if he just had neuron activation, he snaps his head towards you. “hey! you! did you know, i am a formula 1 driver for mercedes?”

the light turns green, so you step on it, the g wagon following at the same acceleration as you.

“umm, yes! i do know that actually,” you say, navigating to the left-most lane.

your boyfriend giggles mischievously, even though nothing was funny in the first place. “well,” he drawls out, holding up one finger. “i actually know how to drive very good. i can show you if you want?”

before you have a chance to react, your boyfriend grasps your steering wheel and yanks it aggressively to the right, almost running you into the expensive g-wagon.

“kimi- i mean andrea! do not do that! ” you screech, prying his fingers off of the wheel and hurriedly correcting the car before it can cause any damage to any other vehicles on the road.

he laughs and claps his hands at the g-wagon honking its horn at you, as if he didn’t just almost create a five car pileup in the middle of the road.

thankfully, the rest of time goes smoothly without any incidents. well that is, until you got into the shop.

“what flavor do you want, andrea?” you question, putting emphasis on the ‘andrea’ part. you did not feel like dealing with a breakdown just because you called him by the nickname that literally everyone called him.

“stracciatella!!” he trills, twirling in a circle.

ignoring the strange looks from other customers in the store, you place your and kimi’s orders, collect them, and snatch a comfortable looking bench outside of the store to eat your ice cream.

of course, half-way through shoveling his ice cream into his mouth, (he smeared at least a fourth of his ice cream on his shirt) he decides that his memories of you would disappear again like it did in the dentist office, and he starts yelling bloody murder.

“EEEEEEEE!” he announces to every passerby in a five mile radius, jumping up and down while waving his arms. “i do NOT know this woman! she is trying to kidnap me!”

you place your ice cream down next to you, snatch his flailing arms and shove him a tad roughly back onto the bench. “so sorry!” you shout to onlookers. “he’s under anesthesia right now- wisdom teeth removal!” your line seems to work, as no bystanders call the police on you, but he still continues to yell.

you try every possible method you can think of, like begging him to stop screaming, trying to bribe him, and attempting to drag him to your car, but none of the above work, and he kept insisting that he didn’t know you.

having no choice but to use your last resort, you make sure assure kimi that you will be right back (not that he particularly cared in this mindset) and dashed into a side street.

padding quickly out of the alley by the ice cream shop, you approach kimi. he reacts exactly how you hoped he would- eyes widening in realization and a smile lighting up his face- a direct opposite of his suspicious glares and nasty side-eyes from before.

“baby!” he shrieks, stumbling a bit towards you before clutching onto your fur. “i missed you soooo much!”

you wrap your tail around his body protectively to steady him, so he doesn’t fall.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he mumbles, petting you. “because a really weird lady literally tried to kidnap me! can you even believe that?”

you practically roll your eyes. he didn’t recognize you in your human form, but he did in your tiger form? unbelieveable.

carefully, you unwind your tail and softly nudge kimi onto your back. once you are sure he is secure on your back, you wind through several gaping tourists and an annoyed looking old nonna on the cobblestone street towards the parking lot. you purposely bow your head, trying your best to not look hostile to the passerbyers (it was kind of hard considering you were literally a tiger in the middle of a street in bologna, and with a groggy boy that looked suspiciously like the famed racing driver kimi antonelli sprawled on your back)

when you reach your hastily-parked mini cooper, you practically drag him off your back and use your teeth to yank him into the vehicle. double-checking to make sure no one was looking, you shift back into your human form, and speed back to kimi’s house in a record time that would probably make toto reassign you as the new merc formula one driver.

kimi’s mother cackles in laughter when she sees your disheveled-looking self trudge through the front door, one hand towing a tired kimi behind you.

“i hope kimi didn’t cause you too much trouble,” she laughs from her position at the kitchen island, one hand on her hip.

your boyfriend slumps onto his living room couch, one hand still stubbornly clasped in yours. he falls asleep within seconds.

“it was… alright,” you reply, raking your free hand through his curls. “if kimi ever needs to be brought home under anesthesia again though, i will definitely be bringing backup,” you admit.

his mother nods, smiling. “i’m just glad he has a girlfriend like you to take care of him,” she states before walking away.

you blush a bit at her words. you were pretty lucky to have such an amazing future in-laws and talented boyfriend. honestly, dealing with

daintily, you take a seat next to kimi, cooing when he subconsciously nuzzles his head into your lap. maybe kimi under anesthesia wasn’t so bad, after all.

“i love you, kimi!” you whisper to your boyfriend.

suddenly, his eyes snap open and he shoves himself off your lap. “my name is andrea!” he pouts, glaring at you.

placing your head in your hands, you sigh defeatedly. you definitely take back your statement.

a/n: sorry y'all i had the most shitty week (i failed my physics test 🥲) so i haven't been that active recently. i finally mustered up some energy tonight to type this one out lmao.

side note, i have reattached the taglist from my previous series just in case you guys would like to read the spinoff. feel free to let me know if you'd like to be removed or added to the taglist for this series! :)

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin@ale-522@formula1-motogpfan@aceyalonso@my0hmary

@mbappebby@madkohi@rakshatos@heartsforleclerc@papaya-twinks

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #kimi antonelli x reader #📝

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ebodebo · 4 months ago

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Tough As Nails—Cowboy Like Me

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… | part four |

<- previous

The beginning of August usually brings the peak of summer warmth, but unfortunately for you, it seems the end of July supplied the real heat—just not in the ways you had expected.

Even all of two weeks after your encounter with Sam, you seethed. Harsh anger and heat spread through your being, boding for a tiny little catalyst to ignite your flame. And you weren't the only one feeling the feverish heat.

To say that Simon was angry would be a gross understatement. A storm has been brewing inside him ever since he pulled up to that shitty dive-bar, seeing you sitting on the dirty curb, smudged mascara dripping down your plump cheek, tainting your beautiful face, eyes blood-shot and swollen. Your voice strained and cracked as you said his name, questioning if it was really him.

The real nail on the coffin was what you had confessed to him in his truck. Sam had insinuated you were a slut. Simon's muscles tightened, and his jaw clenched every time he remembered what that deprived asshole told you. The only reason he didn't flip the truck around and speed back to that dive-bar, grab Sam's sorry-ass out of the seat he sit in, and slam him into the wall, was because you had pleaded he didn't.

He was gracious to you by respecting your wishes, but this ordeal festered in him too much to leave it untouched. Simon was a God-damn machine with no impulse control. A loose-canon. And this canon was ready to blow right through that city-slicking prick's front-fucking-door.

Which was preciously what he did.

Simon threw himself inside his truck at about eleven at night, a Manila folder tucked gently away in his jacket, not even bothering to strap on his safety belt as he drove to that bastard's house. Simon hoped, prayed, that Sam was asleep so that he could be the one to jerk him out of his peaceful slumber and make him wonder if he was in a nightmare.

He halted as his truck brushed against the curb in front of his house, turning off his engine and stepping out of the truck. He scoffed as he took in the sight of the house. It was huge, no, enormous. Creamy, muted blue paint coated the paneled front and sides of the house, and a classic picket white fence encased the backyard.

Two white Range Rovers and a white Porche sat in the driveway, along with two golf carts sequestered to the right side of the house. Simon noticed the Porsche's shit parking job and dirt-covered windows and noted it was Sam's car, just for future reference.

After his observations, he casually strolled up to the front door, pressing a little bell encased in a palm leaf cover. It didn't take long for Simon to hear the soft pad of feet descending down what he assumed was a staircase.

The door swung open to reveal a disheveled Sam; clearly, he was asleep. Simon smiled internally. Sam's eyes looked like saucers when he realized it was Simon. His face paled like he had seen a ghost or something.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Sam spit, perplexed at Simon's presence.

"Came to chat," Simon says cooly. "Preferably outside."

"Fuck no." Sam gnarls. "You need to leave my property."

"Ah." Simon tuts as he reaches into his jacket to grab the nicely tucked-away Manila folder. He carefully opens it and reads the first couple of lines.

"Ryan Jennings worked for Capitol Guild Investment Firm before it was found he had embezzled a million—"

"Hey, hey. Where the hell did you get that?" Sam quickly supplied, stepping away from the door to try and snatch the folder from Simon's grasp. Simon jerked away from him, holding his finger up as he continued reading.

"—dollars from the firm's clientele, though no legal action was taken, Jennings was to return all assets, estimating one million dollars, and issue his resignation promptly." Simon neatly closed the folder, eyeing Sam.

"So, as I said," Simon began. "Let's talk outside." Sam sighed deeply before turning to close the door gently.

"I have my resources." Simon casually says, stepping into the grass on the front lawn, with Sam following suit.

"So, what, what do you want? Money?" Sam timidly asks, running his hands through his hair.

Simon lets out a gruff laugh. "Money? You think I want money?"

"You don't?" Sam questions, unable to believe a man like Simon could be doing this for more than monetary gain.

"You don't talk to her. Ever." Simon roughly says as a sly smirk spreads across Sam's face.

"Is it that good?" Sam smugly asks, placing his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

"The fuck you talkin' about?" Simon cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at Sam.

Sam shrugs. "Her pussy."

Without warning, Simon lunged forward, his fist aiming straight at Sam's jaw. An immediate stinging pain spread that radiated through his face and head, making him falter back. Blood seeped out of his mouth, and a faint ringing noise could be heard in his ear. But, he quickly gained momentum, his own fist coiling like a spring.

He unexpectedly connected his punch to Simon's face head-on with a swift, decisive motion. Busting his bottom lip, with blood seeping down his chin and jaw. Simon quickly spit out some extra blood onto the grass before grabbing Sam by his shirt.

"I know guys like you." Simon roughly says, his own blood and spit spurting onto Sam's face. "Pretentious little bastards who only think about themselves."

He gripped his shirt tighter, making him slightly hover above the grass. "I bet you'd blow yourself if you could." He grits out, forcefully throwing him onto the ground.

"Stay the fuck away from her." Simon wipes his lips with the back of his hand as he turns to go to his truck.

"You know I'm not like that anymore," Sam speaks, making Simon roll his eyes. Simon turns to face Sam, who is still on the ground.

"You can change your name. Run from the city with your tail between your legs, but nothin' can change the greedy fuckin' animal you are."

With that, Simon turned away and went straight for his truck, leaving Sam to sulk with the ants.

On the drive back to the ranch, Simon regretted not doing more to Sam, but Sam had a worse punishment than Simon releasing his venom on him: living the rest of his life as a nobody with his legacy cloaked in disgrace.

Simon pulled up in front of his house, hissing as the cold air brushed against his busted lip, as he stepped out of his truck. He pulled open his front door to meet you sitting on the couch in the living room.

"You haven't been answering your phone." You somberly say from your position on the couch, not noticing his busted lip and bruised face because it was dim where he stood.

"I know." He ducked his head, not moving closer to you, not wanting you to see him so clearly in the light.

"Come here." You pat the cushion next to you, tilting your head as he turns to go to the kitchen instead. You stand, following him to the kitchen, observing him as he fills a glass full of water at the sink, his back to you.

"You should be asleep," He gruffly says, taking a sip of the water, swirling it in his mouth to remove some of the coppery taste, and spitting it into the sink.

"Don't change the subject." You scowl, moving closer to him, bringing your hand to touch his own gently.

"Why won't you look at me?" He takes another sip of water, this time swallowing it.

"Cowboy?" You softly urge, your fingers gently brushing his forearm. He takes a deep sigh, though his lip quirks at your nickname.

"Please look at me." There is a pleading note in your voice. He takes a longer sip of the water, swallowing, before slowly turning to face you. Your eyes widen as you observe the purple bruises covering various parts of his face, his busted lips caked in dry blood, and the blood dripping down his chin and jaw pooling onto his shirt.

"What happened?" You quietly question, raising your hand to brush your fingers along his lip delicately.

"Ah, just some shit." He vaguely says. You narrow your eyes at him, but you see it in his eyes. He was tired. Worn-out. It could wait until tomorrow, you thought.

"Okay. I won't push tonight, but tomorrow, we will talk about it." You affirm, giving his arm a soft squeeze. He nods as you grab his hand, lacing your fingers and dragging him into the bathroom.

"In the meantime, let's get you cleaned up."

You made him sit on the toilet seat as you reached under the sink to grab an emergency kit. You opened the kit and grabbed some alcohol and some gauze.

"Si, you need stitches." You say, observing a muscle of his lip sticking out.

"You can do it." He assures, looking up at you.

"Last time I checked, I don't have a medical degree." You laugh out.

"It's easy. Just need some dental floss and a needle." He reaches into the kit and grabs a needle, bending it into an arc, and a pack of dental floss. "Learned it in the military."

"You were in the military?" You question washing your hands before taking the needle and cleaning it with some alcohol to sterilize it.

"Course I was." You smiled down at him as you wiped his lip with some alcohol.

"How long?" You ask, throwing away the cotton pad.

"Long time." He vaguely answers with a slight smile.

"You're always so vague." You roll your eyes as you step between his legs, bringing your hand up to grip under his chin, tilting it up slightly. He brought his hands to rest on the sides of your thighs, lightly massaging the fat.

You hold the sides of his lips together, carefully suturing the skin back together. You had no idea what you were doing, but Simon didn't say anything, so you assumed you were doing alright.

Simon flinched as the needle pierced his skin, coming in and out of his lip. His eyes fell shut as you worked, occasionally twitching, his hands still kneading your thighs.

Once you finished, you cleaned up the area, put away the kit, and threw away the needle.

"Forgot somethin.'" Simon huffed, still sitting on the toilet seat. You raised your brow, giving him a curious look.

"What?" You question, leaning against the counter facing him, your hands on your hips.

He pressed his pointer fingers to his lip, slightly puckering them. You brought your hand up to cover your mouth as you let out a laugh, walking over to him and pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I could use some more." His lips form a smirk, just beckoning you.

"Ya, I bet you could."

a/n: idk why i include an authors note bc i literally don’t say anything interesting

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

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goodnessgraves · 4 months ago

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This is my first time writing a fic, go easy on me!! (please ignore any errors in any of the parts in spanish, i promise i tried 😭)

Valeria Garza/F!Reader, Praise, Literally the slightest degredation, Power play if you squint, Age gap if you squint, Vaginal fingering (reader receiving) Let me know if I missed anything!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT! 18+ MDNI!!! 🩷

You’ve always had a crush on your boss, how could you not? She was everything you liked in a woman. She was taller than you, shockingly strong, beautiful, and absolutely fucking terrifying. But, she probably doesn’t like women. (You convince yourself of that, anyways.)

The office is dark and cold as you step inside, the interior is surprisingly comfortable and homely. The woman in the chair doesn’t say anything as you walk in, just letting out a soft grunt as a greeting, she’s working on something.

“Excuse me, Ms. Garza?” She raises her head, a slight annoyed but still attentive expression on her face.

“Sí?” She says, looking up at you, who’s standing there nervously with a manila folder in your hands.

“I have the files you asked fo-“ You start to speak but she cuts you off before you can finish.

“Sit, chiquita.” She says, clearly not asking but commanding. Her expression goes from annoyed to something you can’t quite pick up on as she watches you sit and place the folder on her desk.

She quickly snatches the folder up, opening it and examining it. She sits there silently, reading through all the files and diligently taking note of the color coding.

“Good work.” She places it down and looks at you. You know it shouldn’t affect you like that, but even the slightest of praise makes you weak in the knees.

“You know, cariño,” She lets out a soft sigh before continuing, “You’re doing so good.” She softly smiles at you before looking you up and down, almost sizing you up.

Her eyes are filled with a hunger you haven’t seen from her, you feel like a prey animal encountering a coyote, or a cougar.

“Thank you, ma’am, I really try my hardest.” You smile at her, ignoring the feeling of arousal seeping deep into your bones.

She stares at you with an increased hunger, feeding off the blush littering your cheeks, nose, and ears.

“You’re too pretty for a life of crime, you know? Podrías ser una modelo.” She says, matter of factly, watching the way you look away out of embarrassment.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, muñeca. I only have two rules, look at me when I’m speaking, and listen to me when I’m speaking. I would hate to have to punish you for disobedience.” Her expression slightly darkens, reaching over her desk to grip your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“There we go, esa es una buena chica.” She coos at you, mockingly. You squirm at her touch and her praise, feeling nothing but pure arousal at her actions. She pulls back softly and leans back in her chair, patting her lap, gesturing for you to go sit.

“Come on, don’t be shy, chiquita.” She encouraged, watching you get up from your seat to brush out the wrinkles in your skirt before walking over to her, your heels clicking softly against the floor.

You climb onto her lap, straddling her as her hands grip your waist, she’s smiling up at you.

“I normally don’t let people bother me in my office, but I’ll make an exception for you, hermosa.” She whispers in your ear, feeling you shiver as her breath tickles your neck, and she takes that opportunity to lean in and plant a soft bite on your earlobe, listening as a soft whine leaves your lips.

At this point, your brain is completely useless, this beautiful woman has you in her lap, grabbing your hips, all while teasing you. You feel like you’re in fucking Disneyland, this is the greatest place on earth.

“Ma’am?” You manage to mutter out, despite how flustered you are.

“Mmhm?” She lets out a soft hum, pulling away from your neck to look at you, ready to answer her question.

“Can I have more?” You ask quietly, your voice almost a whisper. You feel like you could die right there out of embarrassment. She interrupts your extremely cloudy train of thoughts by letting out a dark chuckle, eyeing you up.

“You know, when you wear skirts and dresses like that, I can’t keep my eyes off you, princesa. Do you know what you do to me?” She murmurs seductively, moving her hands down from your hips to your thighs, massaging them roughly for a moment before speaking up.

“Stand up, bend over my desk. Now.” She commands and you quickly oblige, knowing she wants you as bad as you want her makes your heart beat faster and your pussy flutter.

You’re bent over her desk, as she stands up and positions herself behind you, one hand on your back, holding you down, and another one teasing you through your panties.

“So wet already, all for me? Such a needy girl, huh? So needy and I’ve barely even touched you.” She smirks while taunting you, listening to you whine.

Eventually she hikes your skirt up and pulls your panties down, taking them and putting them in the drawer of her desk. She tells you it’s a keepsake, a trophy of sorts, but you’re only half listening.

She says something you don’t quite hear before pushing a finger inside your aching pussy, you yelp, not expecting that. She tuts at you.

“Niña tonta, what did I tell you about listening when I speak, huh?” She teases as she pushes another finger in, making you writhe under her as she laughs.

“Chica patética.” She coos at you, her voice dropping to make fun of you while thrusting her fingers in and out of your cunt.

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times you’ve came on her fingers. All you know is that this is something you could definitely get used to.

#call of duty #valeria garza #valeria garza smut #valeria garza x reader #valeria mw2 #awooga #call of duty modern warfare II #cod mw2

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anniebeemine · 3 months ago

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It Takes A Village- Part One

Girl Dad!Spencer, they chant with fists in the air.

Summary: Spencer Reid had given up on finding love and having a family. His life is turned upside down when Naomi appears.

Age: 0-4

The fluorescent lights of the BAU flickered softly, casting a familiar, sterile glow over the desks as Spencer Reid made his way into the bullpen. The day had been long, the case grueling, and all he wanted was to drop off his paperwork, head home, and maybe find solace in a good book. His mind was already wandering toward the stacks of unread novels in his apartment when something unusual caught his eye.

A baby carrier.

It was perched right on his desk, nestled among his neatly stacked files and the coffee cup he’d left behind that morning. Spencer frowned, confusion knitting his brow. The sight was so out of place that Spencer's tired brain struggled to make sense of it. The BAU wasn’t a place where one typically found baby carriers, and certainly not on his desk. He glanced around, expecting to see one of his colleagues hovering nearby, but the room was nearly empty, save for a few agents buried in their own work.

He hesitated, his eyes darting back to the carrier. Maybe someone had left it there by mistake? As he approached, he noticed something else—a small, pink bundle inside the carrier, shifting slightly. His breath caught in his throat. There was a baby in there.

His first instinct was to look for a note, something that would explain why a baby was on his desk. But there was nothing in sight, just the carrier and the tiny life nestled inside it. A wave of panic surged through him, his mind racing through possibilities. He had no idea who this child was or why she was there. Was it a joke? A mistake?

His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, pulling back the soft blanket to reveal a tiny face, delicate and serene in sleep. The baby—she couldn’t have been more than a few months old—had dark curls that reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t place who just yet.

As the initial shock wore off, Spencer’s gaze fell on a folded piece of paper, partially hidden beneath one of his files. He snatched it up, unfolding it quickly. The handwriting was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. His heart thudded in his chest as he began to read.

Spencer,

I know this is probably the last thing you expected to find on your desk today. The last thing you’d ever expect from me. But I didn’t know where else to turn. This is Naomi. She’s your daughter.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to complicate your life, especially with the kind of work you do. But I can’t take care of her anymore, and she deserves a chance at a good life with a parent who can provide for her. I’m leaving her with you because I know you’ll give her that. Please don’t try to find me. I can’t be part of her life—or yours—anymore.

I’m sorry, Spencer. I hope you can forgive me one day.

The letter ended there, signed simply with the name of an old fling—someone Spencer had barely thought of in months. He sank into his chair, the letter clutched in his hands as the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t someone else’s child. Naomi was his daughter.

Spencer's hands shook as he gently set the letter aside and scanned his desk. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and concern, trying to process the shocking revelation that Naomi was his daughter. The small, pink bundle in the carrier shifted slightly, a soft, comforting sound from the baby breaking through the fog of his thoughts.

As he tried to steady himself, his eyes fell on a manila folder that had been tucked inside a binder, partially hidden behind a stack of case files. With a sense of urgency, he pulled the folder free and opened it, hoping for more information that might help him understand what to do next.

The folder was surprisingly organized. Inside, there were several neatly arranged documents. Spencer's heart raced as he flipped through them, each page providing a window into Naomi’s short life. The first section was a detailed medical history: her birth date, weight, and height, followed by her immunization records and a note about her recent check-up.

One particular page caught his eye—a list of formula brands with notes on her reactions. Some formulas had caused gas and discomfort, while others seemed to be well-tolerated. A section marked "Allergies" revealed a startling detail: Naomi was allergic to the same medication that he was. Spencer’s breath hitched; it was an eerie coincidence, but it also made him feel a strange sense of connection.

The next few pages included a list of essential baby supplies and instructions for her care, along with tips for calming her when she was fussy. There were notes on her sleeping patterns, preferences for certain types of lullabies, and even a small section detailing how to manage colic—a challenge he was unfamiliar with but was now keenly aware of.

Spencer was overwhelmed, but the structure of the folder gave him a small sense of control. It was clear that whoever had left this for him had done so with great care, ensuring that he had everything he needed to provide for Naomi.

Panic clawed at his chest. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t prepared for this—didn’t know the first thing about being a father. The thought of trying to raise a child, especially on his own, was terrifying. And yet, as he looked down at Naomi’s peaceful face, something else stirred in him too. A fierce, protective instinct, one that told him he couldn’t just turn away from this.

But he couldn’t do this alone. He needed help.

Spencer pushed himself up from his chair, the letter still in his hand as he made his way to his boss’s office. His heart pounded erratically in his chest as he stumbled toward Hotch’s office, the world feeling like it was closing in on him. Each step felt like an effort, his legs heavy with a mix of fear and disbelief. The letter, a stark reminder of the life-altering revelation he had just uncovered, seemed to weigh him down more with every stride. Hotch was seated at his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting a shadow over his face as he looked up at Spencer’s sudden entrance.

Spencer’s face was flushed, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Panic was evident in his strained breaths, which came out in short, ragged gasps. He could barely catch his breath, his chest tightening as he tried to speak.

“Hotch…” Spencer’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blur of tears that threatened to spill over. “I—I need your help. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“Reid?” Hotch’s voice was calm, but Spencer could see the concern in his eyes as he noticed the expression on his face. “What’s going on?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he handed the letter to Hotch, who took it with a frown. As Hotch began to read, Spencer’s gaze drifted back toward the bullpen, where he could still see the baby carrier sitting on his desk. Hotch’s eyes widened as he took the letter from Spencer’s trembling hand, his gaze shifting between the letter and Spencer’s distressed face. He glanced up at Spencer, his expression a mixture of concern and empathy. Spencer collapsed into the chair, his breath still coming in shallow, uneven bursts. He buried his face in his hands, trying to regain his composure. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him, making it difficult to think clearly.

When Hotch finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. “She just left her here?”

Spencer nodded, his throat tight. “I don’t know what to do, Hotch. She’s my daughter. But I… I don’t know how to take care of a baby. She’s only six weeks old.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, considering the situation. “Did anyone see her come in?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “She must have come in while we were still out on the case.”

Hotch stood up, moving toward the door. “Let’s check with security. See if we can figure out how she got in without anyone noticing.”

The two of them made their way to the security office, where the footage from the building’s cameras was stored. It didn’t take long to find the moment when the woman had entered the building, a hood pulled low over her face as she carried the baby carrier inside. She moved quickly, her face never clearly visible on any of the cameras. It was as if she had planned it that way—leaving no trace of herself behind, except for the baby she left in Spencer’s care.

Hotch frowned as they watched the footage. “We might not be able to find her,” he said quietly. “She knew what she was doing.”

Spencer’s heart sank. He had hoped, against hope, that there might be some clue, some lead that would help him understand why she had left Naomi in his care. But it seemed she had taken every precaution to ensure she wouldn’t be found. The reality of her disappearance was setting in, and with it, the gravity of the situation.

He stared at the blank screen, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. He had so many questions—about her motives, about the timing, about everything. But as he considered the implications of forcing her to confront her decision, a realization began to form. She deserved privacy, even if he didn’t understand or agree with her choices. It wasn’t fair to drag her back into this, to force her to be a mother if she wasn’t prepared to be one. And on the other hand, it wasn’t fair for him to be forced into the role of a father without warning or preparation.

Spencer took a deep breath, letting go of the need for answers. He would respect her choice, even if it left him grappling with the unexpected responsibility. With a heavy heart, he nodded at Hotch, signaling that he was ready to move on.

“Alright,” Spencer said quietly. “I’ll respect her decision. I won’t go looking for her.”

Hotch gave him a supportive nod, understanding the weight of Spencer’s decision. “Let’s go back and check on Naomi.”

They walked back to the bullpen, where the baby carrier still sat on Spencer’s desk. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Spencer’s steps were slow and deliberate as he approached the carrier.

Hotch gently pulled the blanket away from Naomi, revealing her tiny, sleeping form. The sudden exposure to the cooler air made the baby shiver slightly, her delicate lips smacking in a tired, reflexive gesture. Hotch’s face softened with empathy as he quickly reached for a pacifier from the nearby supply of baby items.

He placed the pacifier gently in Naomi’s mouth. The moment the pacifier touched her lips, she instinctively began to suckle, her tiny gums working at the soft object. The soothing motion seemed to calm her immediately, and she settled into a more relaxed state, the shivering subsiding as the warmth of the pacifier brought her comfort.

“So what happens now?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch turned to him, his expression serious. “Legally, we have to report this. The child would either go into the system until we can locate the birth mother or any other relatives. But given the circumstances…” He paused, studying Spencer carefully. “You could take her home, Reid. She’s your daughter. If you’re willing to step up, she doesn’t have to go into the system.”

Spencer’s mind raced. Take Naomi home? It seemed impossible, overwhelming. But as he thought about it, he knew he couldn’t let her be taken away. She was his responsibility now, whether he felt ready for it or not. He had always been the type to analyze every detail, to consider every consequence, and now he found himself grappling with the gravity of his situation. The thought of Naomi being taken into the system filled him with a deep sense of dread.

He knew all too well what could happen to children in the system. The stories he had encountered through his work were a grim reminder of the horrors that could await them. He had seen the psychological scars that children carried with them, the way their trust could be shattered and their sense of security upended. He had witnessed the impact of neglect, abuse, and the cold indifference of a system that, while well-intentioned, often failed to provide the warmth and stability that children desperately needed. The cases he had worked on had exposed him to the darkest aspects of human nature. He had seen the way people could exploit, harm, and exploit vulnerable children, their lives twisted into a series of traumas that were nearly impossible to undo. He had heard the stories of children who grew up in foster care, their experiences marked by a constant struggle for belonging, love, and safety. Each story had left a mark on him, a reminder of the fragility of childhood and the need for protection.

As he looked at Naomi, so small and innocent in her carrier, a surge of protectiveness washed over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being subjected to the same horrors that he had seen, of her becoming another statistic in a system that could not always safeguard its most vulnerable. He knew the emotional and psychological toll that could result from being shuffled from one place to another, from feeling like an outsider in a world that should have been a place of comfort and care.

“I’ll take her home,” Spencer said, the words coming out with more certainty than he felt. “I’ll figure it out. I can’t let her go into the system, Hotch.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You won’t be alone in this, Reid. We’re all here to help. Let’s get the paperwork started.”

Spencer felt a mixture of fear and determination settle in his chest. His mind raced with questions and uncertainties about how he would manage this new responsibility. He still didn’t know how he was going to do this—how he was going to be a father to this tiny, innocent life that had been suddenly thrust into his world. But as he looked down at Naomi, still asleep in her carrier, he knew one thing for sure.

He was going to do everything in his power to give her the life she deserved.

Spencer’s hands shook slightly as he tried to figure out how to strap Naomi’s car seat into the back of his car. The piece of durable plastic seemed to mock him with its complexity. He had read countless books on a wide range of topics, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of trying to secure a car seat. The instructions that came with the seat might as well have been written in a foreign language, and the diagrams didn’t help much either.

He fumbled with the straps, his frustration growing with each passing minute. Naomi stirred in her carrier, making a small sound that tugged at his heart. He couldn’t help but feel like he was already failing her, and they hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

After several more attempts to secure the seat, Spencer sighed in defeat and pulled out his phone. A quick search led him to a video tutorial, and he followed along step by step. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get the seat installed correctly. He double-checked it, tugging on the straps to make sure everything was secure, then let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He glanced back at Naomi, who was still fast asleep, her tiny fingers curled into a fist as she slept. He could see her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, soft whimpers escaping her lips as she dreamed. It was all so surreal. Spencer had barely wrapped his mind around the fact that he had a daughter, and now he was taking her home.

The drive back to his apartment was nerve-wracking. Every little sound Naomi made caused Spencer’s heart to race, and he found himself constantly checking the rearview mirror to make sure she was okay. Each sound, whether it was a slight shift or a soft sigh, felt magnified in the quiet of the car, adding to his growing anxiety. His mind raced with an endless stream of questions and concerns. What did he need to do now? How would he manage this new responsibility?

When they finally arrived at his apartment, Spencer carefully unbuckled the car seat and carried Naomi inside. The place suddenly felt too small, too quiet, as if it wasn’t ready to accommodate a baby. He had no crib, no bassinet—nothing to make sure she could sleep safely. He’d never had a reason to prepare for this, and now he was scrambling to figure out what to do.

Spencer set Naomi’s carrier down in the living room, looking around as if the answer might be hidden in the furniture. The apartment, usually so orderly and familiar, seemed suddenly alien and inadequate. His gaze settled on his bed, and he remembered something he had read in one of his many parenting books about co-sleeping being risky. But at the same time, he couldn’t exactly leave her in the carrier all night. She needed somewhere safe to sleep, and he had to act quickly. He scanned the room again, his mind racing for a solution. It wasn’t long before an idea struck him.

e gathered some blankets and a large laundry basket from the closet, hoping they might serve as a temporary solution. With quick, determined movements, he lined the basket with the softest blankets he could find, making sure to tuck in the edges to create a snug and secure space for Naomi.

It wasn’t an ideal setup, but it would keep Naomi safe for the night. He knew he’d need to find a more permanent solution soon, but for now, this would have to do.

Exhausted, Spencer collapsed onto the couch, watching Naomi sleep. He felt like he was in over his head, but he knew he couldn’t afford to fall apart now. He needed to be strong for her, to figure out how to give her everything she needed. Hours passed, and Spencer found himself dozing off, but the sound of Naomi’s cries jolted him awake. The tiny wails filled the apartment, growing louder by the second. Panic surged through him as he tried to remember everything he had read about calming a crying baby.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” he murmured, lifting Naomi out of the basket and cradling her in his arms. She continued to cry, her face scrunched up in distress. Spencer’s heart ached at the sound, desperate to do something—anything—to make it stop.

He checked her diaper and found that it was wet, so he quickly changed it, hoping that would soothe her. But Naomi’s cries only grew more frantic. Spencer then tried feeding her, but she only took a few sips from the bottle before pushing it away and continuing to cry. He bounced her gently, tried burping her, even sang softly to her, but nothing seemed to work. Spencer was at a loss, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. He felt utterly helpless, the weight of his new reality crashing down on him.

After what felt like an eternity, Spencer realized he couldn’t do this alone. With shaky hands, he reached for his phone and dialed JJ’s number. She answered on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep.

“Spence? What’s going on?” she asked, concern creeping into her tone.

“JJ,” Spencer’s voice cracked, tears spilling over as he spoke. “I need your help. I— I have a baby, JJ. She’s my daughter, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Did I hear you right? You have a baby?”

“Yes,” Spencer choked out, cradling Naomi closer as she continued to cry. “Please, JJ, I need you to come over. I can’t— I don’t know how to calm her down. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” JJ said, her voice firm with determination. “Hang in there, Spence. I’m on my way.”

Spencer hung up, relief flooding through him as he clung to the hope that JJ would know what to do. He tried to soothe Naomi as best as he could, whispering soft words of comfort, but her cries didn’t ease. He paced as he waited, sniffling as he failed to soothe her. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her against his shoulder.

True to her word, JJ arrived in record time, letting herself in with the spare key Spencer had given her years ago. She rushed over to where Spencer sat on the couch, Naomi still wailing in his arms.

“Let me see her,” JJ said gently, holding out her hands. Spencer passed Naomi to her, his heart heavy with guilt and worry. JJ held Naomi close, rocking her back and forth with a practiced ease. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Aunt JJ’s here.” She hummed softly, swaying from side to side, and within minutes, Naomi’s cries began to quiet.

Spencer watched in amazement as JJ soothed Naomi, the baby’s wails gradually turning into soft whimpers. “How did you do that?”

JJ smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Spence. You’re doing your best. Babies just have a way of knowing when someone’s scared, and she can probably sense that you’re nervous. You just need to be patient with yourself—and with her.”

Spencer nodded, wiping his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this, JJ. I don’t know anything about being a father.”

JJ placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to learn, just like every new parent does. And you’re not alone. You’ve got us—me, the team, everyone who cares about you. We’ll help you get through this.” She chuckled as she placed Naomi in the laundry basket. “Raising babies takes a village, and you have one of the best out there.”

Sure enough, Spencer had all the support he needed. JJ had gone home in the morning after helping him calm Naomi, but she returned a few hours later with Will and Henry in tow. The sight of them brought Spencer a sense of comfort, like a lifeline had been extended just when he needed it most. Will carried in Henry’s old crib and JJ had a large bag filled with baby items slung over her shoulder.

“We figured you might need some of Henry’s old things to get you by,” JJ said, setting the bag down and giving Spencer a warm smile. “We’ve got more at home, but this should be a good start.”

Spencer was beyond grateful. He hadn’t even had the chance to think about where Naomi would sleep beyond the makeshift solution he’d created last night. Now, with a crib being set up in his bedroom, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

As Will assembled the crib, Henry sat on the floor beside Naomi, who was now lying on a blanket JJ had spread out. He was curious, poking gently at Naomi’s cheeks as she slept. “She’s so small,” Henry whispered, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She is,” Spencer agreed, watching the interaction with a soft smile. Despite most of the items being “boy things”—like blue onesies and trucks—Spencer was immensely grateful. The practicality and sentiment behind each item were what mattered most, and Spencer couldn’t thank them enough.

Henry gazed down at Naomi, his curiosity and fascination evident in his wide eyes. He studied her delicate features, her tiny fingers curled into soft fists, and her peaceful, sleepy expression. Spencer watched the scene unfold, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, awe, and a deep, newfound love for the little girl lying before him. After a moment, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy car, one that was clearly well-loved. The paint was slightly chipped, and the wheels had been rolled over countless surfaces, but it was still in good shape. Henry hesitated for a second, glancing up at his father and then at Spencer before turning his attention back to Naomi.

“This is my favorite car,” Henry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the car in his hand, then gently placed it on the blanket beside Naomi, close to her tiny hand. “But Naomi can have it. I think she’ll like it.”

The simple, selfless gesture brought tears to Spencer’s eyes. He wasn’t expecting it—hadn’t prepared himself for the emotional impact of watching Henry, so young and yet so full of love, offer his favorite toy to Naomi without hesitation. Spencer blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but a few escaped and slid down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself, but the overwhelming emotion was too much to contain.

“Henry,” Spencer said, his voice thick with emotion, “that’s… that’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Hotch, understanding the gravity of Spencer’s situation, had already granted him a few weeks of leave to adjust to his new role as a father. It was a small relief, but a vital one. Spencer knew that taking time off was the only way he’d be able to navigate the challenges of his new reality.

The team visited separately over the next few days, each of them bringing something unique to help Spencer and Naomi. Emily arrived with a large box of clothes for a baby girl, ranging from newborn to a few months old. “You’re going to need these sooner than you think,” she said with a grin, pulling out a tiny pink dress. “This one’s my favorite.”

When Spencer looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open, Emily offered to watch Naomi so he could get a few hours of much-needed sleep. “Go on, I’ve got this,” she insisted, and Spencer, though hesitant at first, eventually relented. The nap was one of the deepest sleeps he’d had in days.

Penelope arrived a few days later, her arms full of bags containing frozen dinners. “I know you’re probably too tired to cook, so I made sure your freezer is stocked,” she explained, stacking the meals carefully. “Just pop them in the oven, and you’re good to go.”

Upon inspection, she had written the instructions on each lid along with an inspirational note.

Derek came by with a stack of children’s books in his arms. “You’re never too young for a good story,” he said, placing the books on Spencer’s coffee table. “These are some of my favorites from when I was a kid. I figured you’s start reading to Naomi now—she’ll love hearing your voice.”

Rossi’s visit was a bit different. He brought an assortment of girly items—bows, ribbons, and even a small, plush pink blanket. “Every little girl needs a bit of flair,” he joked, showing Spencer how to tie one of the bows in Naomi’s fine hair.

When Hotch came by, he brought a few books he’d found helpful when Jack was born. “It’s a lot to take in,” Hotch said as they sat down in Spencer’s living room. “But you’ll get the hang of it. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and parenting is something you’ll learn, just like everything else.”

It was then that the overwhelming weight of everything finally hit Spencer. He had been holding it all together, trying to stay strong for Naomi, but the fear and uncertainty were still bubbling under the surface. Hotch had always been someone he looked up to, someone who had managed to balance fatherhood and the demands of their job with grace.

Spencer’s composure broke, and tears filled his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Hotch,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I’m so scared that I’m going to mess this up. Naomi… she deserves better than someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Hotch placed a reassuring hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Spencer, every parent feels that way at some point. It’s normal to be scared, especially when everything is so new. But you’re not alone in this. You have a team of people who care about you and Naomi, and we’re all here to help. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

Spencer nodded, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. “It just feels like there’s so much I don’t know. Every time she cries, I’m terrified that I won’t be able to figure out what she needs.”

Aaron gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’ll learn, Spencer. And Naomi already has everything she needs—she has you. You’re doing your best, and that’s what matters. The rest will come with time.”

Spencer looked over at Naomi, who was nestled in the crib that Will had set up. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, and a sense of awe washed over him once more. He was still scared, but Hotch’s words gave him a sense of reassurance that he desperately needed.

For the first time since Naomi had come into his life, Spencer allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could do this. It wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of his friends and his determination to give Naomi the best life possible, he knew he had a fighting chance.

The next year unfolded like a beautifully chaotic whirlwind for Spencer and Naomi. The early days were filled with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and countless moments of doubt. But there were also countless moments of joy, wonder, and discovery as Naomi grew and began to show more of her personality.

By the time Naomi was a little over a year old, she was walking—wobbling at first, but quickly gaining confidence with each step. Her laughter filled their home as she toddled around, exploring every corner with boundless curiosity. Spencer’s heart swelled with pride every time she reached a new milestone, no matter how small.

Their mornings settled into a comfortable routine. Spencer would wake up early, usually to the sound of Naomi babbling in her crib. He would scoop her up, her tiny hands reaching out for him, and they’d head to the kitchen together. Breakfast was always a shared bowl of oatmeal, something Spencer had learned Naomi enjoyed from their earliest days together. He’d feed her small spoonfuls, making sure it was just the right temperature, and she’d giggle or babble happily between bites. Spencer would carefully spoon out the oatmeal, blowing on it to cool it before offering a bite to Naomi. She would eagerly open her mouth, sometimes making a mess, but always with a smile or a babble of excitement. The sight of her chubby cheeks and bright eyes, so engaged in the simple pleasure of breakfast, made Spencer’s heart ache with a fierce, protective love.

After breakfast, it was time to get ready for the day. Spencer had developed a surprising skill in doing Naomi’s hair, carefully parting and brushing her soft curls before securing them with colorful clips or tiny bows that Emily and Penelope had gifted her. Naomi would sit patiently, sometimes holding a brush of her own, as Spencer fussed over her hair. He always made sure to give her choices in what she’d like to wear—holding up two outfits and watching as she pointed to the one she preferred, her brow furrowed in concentration.

As Naomi grew, so did her curiosity. She was always on the move, exploring every inch of their small apartment with relentless energy. Spencer found himself marveling at how quickly she learned and adapted, often trailing behind her as she ventured into new areas of their home. He would follow her, ready to ensure she stayed safe while encouraging her independence.

The days were filled with laughter and learning. Whether it was playing with toys, reading picture books, or taking walks to the park, each moment was an opportunity for Spencer to bond with Naomi and witness her development. The challenges of parenthood were many, but the rewards were even greater. Spencer felt a profound sense of fulfillment in watching Naomi grow, knowing he was providing her with a loving and supportive environment.

Reading became their favorite activity, a habit Spencer encouraged at every opportunity. He read to her during meals, while she played, and especially before bed. Naomi had her favorites—books with bright colors and simple stories—and she would hand them to Spencer with an expectant look, knowing he would happily oblige. It became their special time, a moment of calm before she drifted off to sleep. Spencer’s voice would grow softer as he read, his fingers gently brushing through her curls, and soon enough, she would be fast asleep, her tiny hand clutching a stuffed animal close to her chest.

The team remained an ever-present force in their lives, each member growing attached to Naomi in their own way. Emily was the fun aunt who always brought new clothes and toys. Penelope, who couldn't resist showering Naomi with love, would often arrive with new books or stuffed animals. Derek played the role of the cool uncle, bringing Naomi toy cars and balls to play with. He taught her how to roll them across the floor, and Spencer would often find her giggling as she tried to mimic him. Rossi spoiled her with little trinkets and treats, calling her “principessa” and telling her stories about his adventures. He’d bought a gold plated bracelet for her, her name engraved on the outside. Spencer refused it at first, but Rossi insisted. “It’s already engraved,” he said. Naomi never wanted to take it off. Hotch, always thoughtful, would visit with Jack, and the two children would play together under Spencer’s watchful eye.

The team would drop by often, sometimes just to spend time with Naomi and give Spencer a bit of a break. They celebrated her first birthday together, throwing a small party in Spencer’s apartment. Naomi had a cake—pink frosting smeared all over her face as she tried to eat it with her tiny hands. Everyone had laughed, and Spencer had taken so many pictures he’d lost count. Spencer had decorated the apartment with pastel streamers and balloons, transforming the living room into a vibrant, festive space. Naomi’s excitement was palpable as she waddled around, her giggles echoing through the apartment. Her outfit—a frilly pink dress and matching headband—made her look like a miniature princess.

Naomi was thrilled to see familiar faces. JJ, Emily, and Penelope were among the first to show up, each bringing a thoughtful gift and a warm smile. JJ had a colorful stack of board books, Emily brought a plush toy that Naomi immediately hugged close, and Penelope had a small, handmade quilt that she had been working on for weeks.

As the team settled in, Naomi’s eyes widened with delight when she saw Henry and Jack. Though they were much older, the two boys had always been fond of her. They were enthusiastic participants in her birthday festivities, eager to play with their tiny friend. Henry and Jack took turns pushing Naomi in a toy car, their laughter blending with hers as they navigated the apartment. Naomi’s face lit up with pure joy as she played, her tiny hands clapping and her laughter ringing out each time they went around the room.

As the months passed, Spencer found that his life, once so carefully ordered and solitary, had become fuller, richer, and more chaotic than he could have ever imagined. Naomi brought light into his world, a light that radiated out and touched everyone around them.

And every night, after Naomi had fallen asleep and the apartment was quiet, Spencer would sit beside her crib, sometimes reading one last book just for himself. He’d look down at his daughter—his beautiful, strong, spirited daughter—and feel a deep sense of peace. Life had changed in ways he couldn’t have predicted, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Naomi was his world, and he was hers.

The years with Naomi seemed to fly by, each one filled with memories that Spencer held close to his heart. By the time she turned four, she had blossomed into a bright, lively little girl with an insatiable curiosity and a contagious laugh. She had inherited Spencer's sharp mind, often surprising him with the things she picked up and remembered. But more than anything, she had retained the pure, innocent joy of being a child—a joy that brought so much light into Spencer’s life.

Today, they were playing hide and seek, a favorite game of Naomi's. Spencer was “it,” walking slowly through their apartment, calling out playfully as he searched for his daughter. Naomi’s giggles echoed faintly from somewhere nearby, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile.

As he looked for her, he found himself stumbling across small reminders of the years they had spent together. Bending down to peek under the bed, he found a tiny newborn sock, no bigger than his palm. He picked it up, marveling at how small she had been once. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet also like it was just yesterday. Next, he checked in the kitchen, opening a cabinet where Naomi liked to hide sometimes. Inside, tucked in the back, he found an old baby bottle, its lid slightly askew. He remembered the nights he had spent in this very kitchen, warming milk for her when she was just a baby, pacing the floor as he tried to soothe her back to sleep.

Smiling to himself, Spencer moved on to his office. He didn’t expect her to be in here—Naomi knew it was a space her dad liked to keep neat and organized—but he checked anyway. Opening a drawer, he found a pacifier, one of Naomi’s old binkies, hidden away from when he was trying to wean her off of them. She had cried for it at first, but eventually, she had adjusted, like she always did.

Each of these small items served as a poignant reminder of their journey—of the sleepless nights, the first steps, the first words. They were memories of challenges and triumphs, of moments where Spencer had doubted himself but had found a way through, often with Naomi’s innocent determination leading the charge.

Finally, Spencer made his way back to the bedroom. He scanned the room and saw a suspicious lump beneath the blankets of his unmade bed. Smiling to himself, he called out, “Okay, Naomi, I give up! I can’t find you anywhere!”

He waited, expecting her to pop out from under the blankets with a triumphant cry. But instead, he heard a burst of giggles behind him. Spencer turned around just in time to see Naomi leap out from a laundry basket, her eyes shining with mischief.

“I win, Daddy! I win!” she chanted, bouncing up and down with excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Yes, you win,” he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. Naomi squealed with delight, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

As he held her close, Spencer realized that it didn’t matter who won or lost their little games. In the grand scheme of things, he felt like the true winner every day. He had Naomi—his daughter, his light, his reason for everything. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he cherished every moment, every memory they created together.

He looked into her bright eyes and smiled, knowing that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other. And that, more than anything else, was what made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Part Two

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #fanfic

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pamwritessometimes · 22 days ago

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Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 2

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope, description of murder, very light smut.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Read Chapter 1 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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The October wind chilled through Colter’s jacket as he made his way inside Mitchell’s. Meeting up in a diner–he certainly felt a sense of deja vu. Though, this time, they opted for one with roof. It was fall, for god’s sake.

Once he stepped inside, he scanned the area for the familiar chestnut-haired face he was looking for. It didnt take long to find it–in fact, it found him, waving at him with a nod.

Russell looked pretty much the same as he last saw him a couple of months ago. Maybe his hair got slightly longer.

Colter approached the table and slid into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Didn’t leave me much of a choice” Russell chuckled as he munched on the burger in front of him. “You said it was important. What’s this about? Not that I’m complaining. Working together from time to time. Kind of like a family business” he mused.

Without addressing his last words, Colter reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder. He placed it on the table between them, pushing it toward Russell. “You need to see this.”

Russell eyed the file, a slight suspicion crossing his face as he put his burger down. He then flipped the folder open. As he started to skim through its contents, his brows furrowed. The file contained pictures, reports, details…everything about a missing girl.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Emma. She’s been missing since yesterday. Abducted from her house. No leads yet.” Colter said and then after a few moments of silence, he added. “I think the people responsible are connected to something you were involved in years ago.”

Russell froze mid-page turn. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been involved in anything for a while. You know that.”

“I’m talking about The Horizon Group, Russell.”

At the mention of the name, Russell’s face hardened. “What does this have to do with them? I told you, I cut ties. I can’t give you intel or anything like that on them.”

“Look closer.” Colter said and nodded towards the file.

Russell frowned but flipped through the file again, but this time even more carefully. It was when he hit a particular page that he stopped cold. His eyes locked onto a name he hadn��t seen in years.

Y/N Y/L/N.

The file listed Emma’s mother as Y/N. Russell’s heartbeat quickened, his mind racing through memories that rushed back to him about the woman he’d left behind long ago.

“What’s this about?” Russell asked, still trying to sound neutral. “Y/N. I, uh… Yeah, I knew her. A long time ago.” he admitted. “This— uh, this is her daughter?”

Colter nodded slowly, watching as the realization began to hit Russell. “Yeah. Emma’s her daughter.”

Russell’s hand shook slightly as he flipped through the file again, looking more closely at the girl’s picture this time. She was small. Had wide, innocent eyes and an undeniable resemblance to Y/N. Her eyes were shaped just like her mother’s, same with her lips… But her iris–pale green–and her nose… It wasn’t her. They seemed eerily familiar, though.

“She’s… four?” Russell asked, doing the math in his head, suspicion rising in his mind.

“Yeah” Colter confirmed. He could see the wheels turning in his brother’s head.

Russell leaned back in his seat, his face paler than usual. “Colter, why the hell are you showing me this? Why does this have anything to do with me?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Because I think you need to ask yourself if there’s a chance… that you’re Emma’s father.”

The words hit Russell like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. His mind scrambled to piece together the timeline.

The last time he’d seen Y/N. It wasn’t a peaceful break-up, not in the slightest.

“Are you saying—” Russell’s voice cracked, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Are you saying that I might be her father?”

“I don’t know” Colter said, but in fact, according to your own words, it was more than a possibility. “But the timing fits. And if you are, this isn’t just about a missing kid anymore, Russell. They didn’t just take any girl…they took your daughter.”

Russell stared at Colter, the weight of his heavy words sinking in. He had spent years running from his past, trying to bury it. But now, it was staring back at him right in the face in the form of a little girl he hadn’t even known existed.

His hands gripped the table, knuckles going white. “I… didn’t know” he said quietly. “I didn’t know she existed.”

“I believe you” Colter said. “But if Horizon took Emma, there’s a chance they’re using her to get to you.”

Russell’s heart almost skipped a beat. “They’re using her…because of me?”

Colter nodded. “It’s possible. It’s leverage. You were involved with them once, Russell. You know how they operate. They think they can use Emma to force your hand. And if they’ve gone this far….”

“...they’re not going to stop until they get what they want” Russell finished his sentence. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. It was too much, all at once. The realization that he had a daughter, that she had been taken because of his past…he had never felt so powerless. “I–I have a daughter” he whispered.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again “I never wanted this” he added, his voice laced with emotion. “I left so Y/N could be safe.”

Colter reached across the table. “I know. But now we need to focus on finding Emma. This isn’t just about the past anymore. It’s about finding her.”

Russell lifted his head, his eyes as determined as ever. “What do I do?”

“We start by figuring out what Horizon wants” Colter said. “You need to think. Are there any old connections, anyone from that time who might have known you were still around? Anyone who could’ve tipped them off?”

Russell thought back, his mind racing through the faces and names of people he had cut ties with long ago. “I don’t know. I kept my distance. I thought I was careful.”

“Well, someone wasn’t” Colter said. “They found Y/N and Emma, and now they’re making their move. We need to be one step ahead of them.”

Russell nodded, the knot in his chest tightening. “We’ll find her. We have to.”

Colter stood, signaling to the waitress for the check. “We will. But it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

As they left the diner together, Russell couldn’t shake the image of Emma’s face from his mind. He didn’t know her, didn’t even know if he had the right to call himself her father.

But one thing was clear: he was the reason she was in danger.

And that meant he would do whatever it took to bring her home.

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“Fuck, Russ” you murmured against his shoulder while he relentlessly pounded into your deepest parts. His thick, veiny arms held you steady, his soft grunts and curses going from your ears straight to your core.

The bedroom was a mess, sheets tangled and clothes scattered around the floor. You were lost in the moment, completely. But then, the bliss was shattered.

A loud crash echoed through the house, making you both freeze. Your heart raced as the sound of shattering glass filled the air, and a surge of adrenaline shot through you.

“Russ!” you gasped almost in a whisper, pulling away to look at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, and in an instant, he was off the bed, putting on his pajamas in record time. You never saw him like this before, this…focused.

“Stay here” he commanded, his voice low and serious.Where did this tone come from?

You nodded, but fear gripped you. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

You slipped out of bed, instinctively grabbing one of his discarded shirts and pulling it on as quickly as your trembling hands allowed. You peered into the hallway, your heart pounding as you heard footsteps echoing through the house.

“Russ!” you called softly, straining to hear him over the rush of blood in your ears.

Then you heard it— a loud bang followed by a deafening silence. The next moment, you saw him move down the hallway, his expression set and focused, a stark contrast to the intimacy you’d just shared.

“Get back!” he shouted as he rushed toward the sound, and you felt a chill run over you.

Something was terribly wrong.

You stepped into the hallway, heart racing as hell, when suddenly, you saw the flash of a figure moving quickly toward him. Instinct kicked in, and you were about to scream when Russell pivoted, drawing a weapon you never knew he had.

In a split second, he fired. The sound of the gunshot echoed like thunder in the small space, making you jump.

The intruder stumbled, and then collapsed to the floor in a heap.

You stood frozen, eyes wide, as the realization of what just happened hit you. YOu just witnessed a murder. There’s a dead body. In your house.

The body of the intruder lay motionless, and a knot of horror tightened in your stomach.

“Russ…” you breathed, struggling to process what you’d just witnessed. He turned to you, his face pale but his eyes dark, filled with an intensity that was absolutely foreign to you and terrifying.

“I’m sorry” he said, breathless. “I–” he stammered. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Who was he?” you asked, voice, hands, body, trembling. “W–Why did you shoot him? We could just... we should have just called the cops!”

Russell stepped toward you, his gun still in hand, his breath coming in quick bursts. He contemplated what to say. But the months of keeping you in the dark… it was enough. It was time to finally tell the truth. Even if it hurt like a son of a bitch.

“He… He was here to kill me. Kill us.”

Your heart sank, and the pieces began to fall into place. You had known Russell had a past, but this? You had never imagined he was mixed up in something this dangerous.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you echoed. "From what?"

“From Horizon... From... all of this." he said motioned to the now blood-soaked carpet. "I didn’t choose this life” he sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “I wanted to leave it behind. But they won’t let me. They never will.”

The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, and you felt your world tilt on its axis. You couldn’t comprehend the reality of what was unfolding before you.

The man you loved, the man who had shown you such tenderness, was also a part of something dark and deadly. The man you thought you knew— he killed a man. He shot a man right in front of your very eyes. And he did it precision. Without any hesitance. And it scared you. No, it terrified you.

And… what the hell was Horizon?

“We need to go” Russell said urgently, glancing at the still body on the floor. “They’ll come looking for him, and we can’t be here when they do.”

“What? Where?” you asked, feeling the panic rise in your chest.

“Anywhere but here” he said, taking your hand and leading you toward the back door. “Trust me, Y/N. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No” you said stopping in your tracks as you pulled your hand out of his hold. “Why would I trust you? I– I won't go anywhere with you.”

“What?” Russell stopped in his tracks to turn around and face you. “Y/N, we don’t have time to argue right now, I–”

“No, Russell. You fucking lied to me, kept secrets from me. I won’t go anywhere with you. I–” you trailed off. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Y/N”

“I said get the hell out of here!” you shouted.

“There’s a body in your house. I won't leave you here like this. At least– fuck, at least let me take care of it” he said frustratedly. Though her words stung, he knew he deserved it all. Still, he got her in this mess… the least he can do is to try to get her out of it. “Then… I’ll take you to your sister’s” he added reluctantly.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

You were in the middle of scrolling through social media on your couch. All of your friends, mutuals and family members had shared the news of Emma’s disappearance. It was desperate, you knew, but all means necessary to find your daughter. You were about to share the post in another Missing Persons Facebook group when the doorbell rang.

You opened the door, expecting only Colter standing there. But he wasn’t alone. It was the man behind him that made your heart skip a beat.

Russell.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak peek from Chapter 3):

“Why are you here?” You spat, your voice trembling with anger. “Are you actually worried about her… or are you just feeling guilty?”

“Because I didn’t know” Russell replied, his expression softening. “I didn’t know what I was missing until Colter called. He told me about Emma, about how scared you must be. And hell yes, I feel guilty. I— I wish I knew about her” he sighed. “Maybe I could have protected her from all of this.”

Just as you were about to answer him, to tell him another wave of fuck yous, Colter marched into the house. “I think you should see this.”

Both you and Russell turned to the younger Shaw, and you eyed him warily. “What?” you asked, still heated from the argument you and his brother had.

“There are new footprints on the front porch.” Colter said and motioned for you to follow him outside.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Aaand the plot thickens.

Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Tuesday's Gone, I hope you liked it!

Read Chapter 3 here

Xx Pam

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