#something something save me spencer reid something something etc etc

[djarinova]

In shades of grey in candlelight / I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

Spencer Reid x gn!reader content - reader is in an unfulfilling long term relationship, thoughts of cheating, best friend!Reid, friends to lovers, slight angst from reader longing to be loved properly again, cheating is slightly romanticised, confessions, teeny amount of angst words - 3k (how did this even happen omg) reputation event masterlist

♡—How long should you hold on to something after it's proven time and time again to be the source of your pain? And why does missing your best friend hurt so much more than missing your boyfriend?

It had been almost 4 weeks since you'd last spoken to Spencer—a mix of his work, the weekend he spent visiting his mother and the looming sense of… something… that had been hanging over your head like a dark cloud had kept the two of you apart for longer than usual.

Spencer would have been able to identify the issue that had been plaguing you, he's always been good at that—even before he'd joined the BAU.

He had been able to figure out that you'd failed a maths test when you were 12 years old. He had been able to tell when your parents had had a fight when you were 15 years old. He had been able to correctly work out that you'd ordered yourself the wrong flavour of milkshake—over the phone, without seeing your face—when you were 18 years old. And as you got older, your problems getting more and more adult, he had been able to figure out through missed calls and unanswered texts that you'd had your heart broken again. And again. And again.

That's what he would have said was the cause of your behaviour over the past few weeks—you've changed your hair, thrown out a bunch of old clothes, rearranged and then rearranged again almost all the rooms in your flat and you've been out drinking with your friends twice already this week (not that this is a particularly bad thing, or even entirely unlike you, but you mentioned to Spencer once that going to a bar or pub for a drink was only really fun when you were with him, and it had lit a spark deep within him that he refused to acknowledge). But this time you know he'd have gotten it wrong. You haven't broken up with anyone, you're still very much coupled up and there's no sign of your boyfriend wanting to dump you at all.

That's the problem.

You roll your eyes, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. I'm the only one that can fix it.

You scoff. The faint smell of your neighbours baking wafts over you, and you can hear him and his boyfriend giggling through your shared wall. A lump in your throat begins to form, and the familiar sting behind your eyes returns as you busy your hands with tidying away the washing up (that you had accidentally washed three times now.) The tears that fall feel like they're burning your skin as they run down your cheeks, as though the droplets are going to leave small scalding streaks from your eyes to your chin.

A new wave of bitterness envelopes you and a strangled yell escapes your lips before you have the chance to think. You hear your neighbour's pause, likely raising their eyebrows at each other as if to say what the hell is wrong with next door before quickly returning to being the lovey-dovey super cutesy couple that they are. And they are. Super cutesy. You've seen them around the building before, even one time accidentally ending up in the same café after a building wide fire alarm went off. They invited you to sit with them—your boyfriend was with his mates—as they didn't want you left on your own so late at night. It was nice, awkward, sure, but nice. Conversation was easy, they seemed to bounce off of eachother in ways that you and your boyfriend never have—at least not for many years now. Their laughter was contagious and yet as you said your goodbyes and slunk back to your lonely apartment you couldn't help the twinges of envy that plagued the back of your mind.

He doesn't look at me like that. He is never that enthusiastic about dating me. He would never gush about our first date like that. (And deep down you know he could say the same things about you.)

So, yeah. That wasn't very fun to sit with.

You somehow feel happy knowing that Spencer would incorrectly guess the reason for your ongoing sadness. For some reason the thought of being unknowable to him has you frenzied… A strangled noise escapes your throat—a laugh! Christ. It was a laugh, despite how bitter and angry it sounded.

Maybe frenzied isn't the right word… But god! You don't know! At least he would actually care. At least he would want to try and get to the bottom of your feelings, to try and understand why you've been jumpy and on edge and almost hyperactive in the way you've been non stop moving recently.

Tap tap tap.

The noise makes you jump out of your skin, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes dart to the clock. It blinks back at you.

20:37

You chastise yourself, it's probably next door coming to ask if you could keep your yells of frustration down while they're having a relaxing evening. Embarrassment floods over your face and you can feel the tears threaten to fall again at the thought of being confronted about your outburst. You can imagine the look of pity on their faces—although a hidden part of you hopes that they're coming to invite you over, to welcome you into their warm home, to smell their freshly baked bread and taste the chocolate chip cookies.

Your feet pad heavily against the wooden floor as you walk out of the kitchen towards the front door—tap tap tap. A further set of knocks has you almost tripping over your feet as you rush the final few paces. You swing the door open without a thought, not wanting the neighbours to have to knock again.

You spare no thought to the tear stains that have marked your face…

“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be—Spencer? Wha–what are you doing here?” You splutter.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Have you been crying?”

“I—well, yes I have but it's fine—I didn't expect to see you, you've been so busy lately.” You take a deep breath, for a brief second—and it was brief—you had been relieved to find that it was only Spencer behind the door, but it didn't take long for the embarrassment to claw its way back up your spine and sink its teeth into your flesh once more.

His eyes bore into you as if he's trying to look inside you. He scans your face, your movements, he watches your hands fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt—before you notice him noticing you and you flatten your palms against your sides in an awkward, unnatural manner.

“May I come in?” He asks, his voice is gentle and it's almost enough to make you fall to the floor in despair.

A hum is all you can manage in response. You quickly side step out of his way, locking the door behind him as he removes his jacket and scarf and hangs then neatly on the third hook from the left—the one that's always left bare, just for him.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Spence?”

He pauses mid stride—he’s already halfway to the kitchen and if you had known he was coming over then there would a cup of coffee on the side waiting for him, in his favourite burgundy mug, the one with a chip on the lip—and tilts his head at you as if to say isn't it obvious.

“I'm here to see you.” He states, incredibly matter of factly, as if the mere question coming from your lips is completely ridiculous. Why else would he be here?

“I—” You start, but Spencer disappears around the corner before you are able to get any more words out. You huff, feeling slightly unnerved by his sudden arrival and subsequent behaviour since setting foot on your doorstep. There is nothing else in the world that can make you as happy as he can. Something which both terrifies you, and excites you a great deal.

You step foot into the kitchen and you are unsurprised to find Spencer already in the process of making himself a coffee. He pauses once more when he catches sight of you and he holds a second mug out towards you in question. You shake your head. You don't think you'd be able to stomach anything until you can get him to speak to you properly.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and it may be the first time you ever fully allow yourself to truly think it. Because although it's not unusual for Spencer to visit you in the evening, sometimes even coming over as late as 1 or 2 in the morning—he gets back from cases at the most unpredictable times—do people think you're seeing each other? The two of you have been friends for years, it's not weird for a friend to come over at all hours of the day… right?

“Spence, are you alright?” You pause, eyeing his very full cup of caffeine. “Haven't you just got back from a case? I can make up the sofa bed if you want to get some sleep.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Why do I feel so weird about asking him to stay over? We're friends. It's what friends do.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He ignores your questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed at him. Not when his knuckles are white from how hard he grips the cup and his eyes flit from your hands to your eyes to your mouth and back to your hands.

Wait—your mouth?!

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He repeats. He closes the gap between the two of you with only a couple of steps. His steaming coffee is still clutched in his hands, but his fingertips seem restless, as if he knows where he wants them to be, but he just can't—or won't—move them there.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Your mouth feels dry—maybe turning down Spencer’s offer for a coffee was a mistake… He's barely an arms length away from you now, if you were to reach your hand out towards him it would brush up against the navy cardigan he has on. It looks so soft and you can't help but wonder how it would feel around your shoulders. Would it be baggy? Would it fit perfectly? And would Spencer want to come back from a case to find you curled up on the sofa while wearing it?

Your neighbour’s laughter ripples through the air like thunder. It's gone before you have time to register the noise fully, but it's enough to snap you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from Spencer's torso. It was as though he was waiting for you to make eye contact with him again, because he immediately puts his cup down on the side—more clumsily than usual, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an extra chip on the lip now—and takes the smallest of steps towards you. You are almost toe to toe now.

“I–uh–meant to ask you earlier… about your boyfriend.” He hesitates. “Presumably he's not around…”

There's two ways you could take his question.

Part of you wants to lie, to say that no, he's not around, you dumped him months ago—when your friends first told you that you should—and that you weren't expecting any company tonight. It would be just you and Spencer, no interruptions. Besides, Spencer knows that your boyfriend doesn't live with you, it's been the topic of many a heated discussion, but… could you just pretend you misunderstood? Could you say that no, he's not around, he's probably out with his friends somewhere. Could you admit that he hasn't texted you back in almost 4 days? Could you say he's not around, in fact, he hasn't been around you for 12 days?

But Spencer doesn't give you any time to think through what to say. You gasp when his hand touches your arm and he laces his fingers through yours without so much as a word, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if he had done it a thousand times. The certainty with which he touched you has your heart pounding. What is he thinking? All you can do is blink up at him. His eyes are swimming with questions, but the only one he voices is, “Is this okay?”

Your head moves before you can think and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. You haven't felt as calm as this in months, and yet somehow it feels like you're suffocating. His touch is warm and the dusting of pink on his cheeks has you feeling a rush of anxiety—but the good kind, the kind of anxiety you get when your crush looks at you, the kind that comes hand in hand with a first kiss… And yet you know you need to pull away. Before something more happens.

You force yourself to pull your hand out of Spencer's and the emptiness returns immediately. You stumble away, bumping into the counter as you do so, and you utter a small yelp when your hip hits the corner. Tears sting your eyes and before you know it Spencer has his arms around you. Somehow knowing what you need before you are even able to think it. You choke out a broken apology—for what, you don't even know—and all Spencer can think to do is squeeze you against his chest, whispering soft comforts into your ear.

You stay like that for a while—long enough that the pain at your hip is now only a dull ache. Your throat is dry from all the heavy breathing and you feel a slight throbbing pain in your head, but you do, somehow, feel a little better.

That is until your emotionally fried brain catches up with itself. And then you cringe, hard. Embarrassment floods your veins and you feel your cheeks heat up by an alarming degree—like someone, somehow, is holding the sun directly against your skin. You are acutely aware of how closely Spencer is watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, unsure of whether there's a look of hurt, confusion or pity on his face—unsure of whether it matters—and all you can do is stare through your blurry eyes at what you think is your feet, but what could just as easily be a pair of furry, blue alien slippers.

You scold yourself. You fell apart all because he... held your hand? God. What a mess he must think you are. And—oh! How he probably thinks you are the worst person in the world for even entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you when you aren't even single. If he even thinks that what you did was entertaining the possibility. Or maybe you completely misread the situation and he was only trying to comfort you as a friend... But what if he thinks you have no interest in him? What if he thinks he's ruined your friendship and your relationship? What if you're reading into things far too much and he doesn't like you like that and he thinks you're a bad person for even thinking about kissing him–not that he would know that, he can't read your mind–and you've certainly never thought about kissing him before and especially not right now–he doesn't know how much you long for him to sweep your off your feet—

"I like you Spencer."

You blink. Slowly you bring your head up and meet his gaze. He takes a shallow breath, as if he had been holding it for quite some time.

Christ.

You only meant to think the words, and yet somehow they slipped past your tongue out into the space between the two of you. An accidental confession of something you hadn't even consciously thought until 0.2 seconds ago.

Well I can't take it back now.

He holds your gaze. His vision blurs ever so slightly and he blinks back his unshed tears before they get the chance to overwhelm him. He clears his throat before speaking, but even then his voice is low, quiet, as if trying not to spook an animal.

"You... do?"

You nod, and he takes another obvious sigh of relief, deeper this time.

"I do. I like you a lot actually."

It's as though hearing you voice your feelings for him has broken down the very last wall between the two of you. Your mind flits briefly to thoughts about your boyfriend, before shutting them down so violently that you almost feel sick. You taste metal in your mouth and you realise with a start that you'd bitten down so hard on your lip that you'd drawn blood. You reach for the closest available source to wash the bitter taste away—Spencer's coffee. And he watches as you take a sip, your eyes are closed but somehow he can sense that they are closer to shedding tears than his are. He reaches an arm towards you and gently begins to rub soothing circles on your waist. The touch sends an electric pulse throughout your entire body and you almost drop the mug in shock. It's like all at once you realise just how stupid you were for allowing yourself to be so miserable for all this time. Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who barely touches you when one touch from Spencer has your insides burning? Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who doesn't care about your feelings unless they are positively affecting him, when the first thing Spencer asked you tonight was if you had been crying?

For right now all you care about is the way Spencer's eyes glisten when they look at you, how warm his hands are when they touch your face and how the quiet laughter from your neighbours no longer makes you feel as lonely as it did before.

You felt like such a fool. But it seemed like realising this fact was enough to set you free. It seemed like the acknowledgement was enough. You didn't give any thought now to the things you would have to do this coming week—the breaking up, the collection of your things from his place (although at this point there is only a toothbrush and a single pair of joggers that haven't moved from their place on the back of his sofa since you washed them and left them there). Hell, even the possibility of having Spencer there with you hadn't crossed your mind.

[reiderwriter]

In Case I'm Mistaken

Chapter Five of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your first run-in with Spencer Reid since he left you so spectacularly is fraught with tension. Sexual and otherwise.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI pregnancy symptoms, morning sickness/ throwing up, fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, choking, slapping, creampie but she's pregnant already, mild case details, etc.

A/N: We're halfway through! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys how stupid and oblivious Spencer is being because I can't promise he'll wise up anytime soon lmao. If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the comments ♡

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When you left Spencer's apartment, you expected a call or a text or an email in the next three days. Penelope told you that's most likely when they'd wrap the case and when he'd be back at his apartment to see the stunt you had pulled. 

You tried to force yourself back to work in the meantime, and it almost worked. Until you had to spend three hours a day crouched over a toilet bowl, emptying your stomach lining again and again. You had spent almost a full month like that before you realised you hadn't heard from him. 

First, it was cases, then it was casework, and then it was cases again, but if probed, Spencer truly would have no idea you'd tried to get in contact with him at all. And it seemed he didn't care in the slightest.

He'd been home, but he hadn't been looking for anything out of place, so he hadn't seen anything out of place. Certainly not a bookshelf spelling out “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.” It was your choice to leave the cryptic message though, and you hadn't exactly left him any notes to say that you'd dropped by. 

But finding out you were pregnant on a night you'd half-expected to throttle the man who'd impregnated you (verbally) and then having cried on his couch with one of his very close female friends? Yeah, you were confused and lost, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

With emotions and hormones running high, you couldn't even tell if Spencer was purposefully ignoring you or not. 

The only saving grace in that month was your promotion. 

It literally could not have come at a better time, and you'd enjoyed signing the papers greatly knowing you'd be blindsiding your boss with a pregnancy announcement in the next three months, should you be able to carry the baby successfully to that point. 

You'd had your first check-up without a call from Spencer. You'd picked out your first baby outfit without a call from Spencer. You were pretty confident that you'd give birth to the goddamn baby without a call from Spencer. 

Which is why when you found him in your office a month later, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him. 

Between classes, you'd taken to running to the bathroom to hang your head in shame, not over morning sickness at all yet. You'd taken to keeping cereal bars and pregnancy safe snacks in your office in case you needed something else to help you power through the morning. 

That morning was worse than others, with less than half your students in attendance and still two hours to waste standing up in front of a podium - department rules. 

You'd thought you were going to expire in front of that toilet bowl, sending up your prayers as you checked your watch and realised you'd have a class again in an hour or two that you weren't fully prepped for. 

So you slinked back to your office and tried to throw yourself onto the sofa, but unfortunately for you, a large man was blocking your way. 

“Can I help you?” You eked out, voice weak but still able to convey all the annoyance you felt at the door. 

“Sorry, sorry, this is your…?" The man said, smiling down at you. You had to give it to him, the man was good looking but you just waited for him to stand aside again. 

“Do you mind?” You said, gesturing to the door you now knew the man was blocking. He wasn't letting you in for some reason, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why. It was your goddamn office for christ's sake. Your snacks were inside. 

“Sorry, following orders.”

“Right, and whose orders would those be Mr…”

“SSA Luke Alvez,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You'd have introduced yourself politely under any other circumstances but in reaching out his hand and giving his title, you'd seen the flash of his FBI badge on his hip and knew exactly who was behind this. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, ducking under the man's arms and slamming the door to your office open to find Doctor Spencer Reid huddled over some files, two women flanking him on either side. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The two women looked taken aback, straightening immediately as they looked between you and Spencer. He was slow to take his eyes off whatever it was they were working on, as if playing with you once again. 

You really regretted keeping his desk around, seeing how comfortable he looked there, how normal it was for you to see him there.

“Doctor Y/N. Nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to-?” You scoffed and slammed the door once more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

One of the women quickly excused herself from the situation, almost as soon as she realised that once you'd finally locked eyes with Spencer, neither of you looked away. 

“I'm sorry to intrude, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I'm the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. We really wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.” 

You had to give it to the woman, but she caught on quickly and stepped between the two of you, breaking eye contact and forcing your attention onto her. You introduced yourself quickly. 

“Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I trudt that if you're here, something bad has happened.” 

You noticed a flash of something as Emily shook your hand, hearing your name. It was subtle, and it was quick, but you saw her eyes flick to your stomach and then back up, and you froze. 

She knew. Penelope hadn't exactly broken your trust - you never told her to keep a secret from anyone but Spencer - but you felt your guard go back up twofold. 

“Emily, can I talk privately with Y/N for a moment?” Spencer asked, and you resisted the urge to cradle yourself, to cover whatever it was she may have seen in your appearance or the way you held yourself that became your tell. 

You wanted to tell Spencer you were pregnant, sure, but you'd wanted to tell him a month ago. Now? Now you were pissed off. 

The older woman quietly bowed out, reminding Spencer to reconvene with her in another hour. She shut the door quietly after she went, and you listened carefully to the retreating murmurs of her and the other agent down the hall until you were confident you were more or less alone. 

And then you picked up the nearest book and threw it. 

“Y/N! Listen, I can explain-” 

You threw another book, and this one hit his arm. He winced and rubbed it quickly as he flinched away from you, picking up your third weapon. 

“Explain what? Explain why you've commandeered my office for secret FBI business? Explain why you left me behind like a discarded cum rag after we had sex? Maybe you-” 

“Y/N, I had a case, I didn't want to-” You threw another book, but he batted it away this time. 

“Can we just talk like adults, please?” He stepped forward and grabbed your wrist just as you reloaded with another book, forcing the tome from your grip in a few seconds. 

“The Norton Anthology? Really? You'd bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

“It has some interesting essays on psychoanalysis and literary theory. You should be honoured that I'd even think of throwing it at you.” 

He just scowled and sat you down on the couch, following you there to sit next to you. 

“Why are you still so frustrated? I thought we moved past this- this resentment?” 

For the last few weeks, you'd hoped that Spencer was just clueless about what you were going through. That he'd been swamped with work and hadn't seen your message. But getting the confirmation in real time was winding. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, and you had to fight to fill them again, refusing to let yourself be so downright pathetic.

“What resentment did we move past exactly, Spencer? Because I remember the sex, but I do not remember your apology.”

“Why should I apologise?” The sincerity in his voice had your fingers itching to knock his lights off for him.

“Well, gee, for a starter, maybe for finding my address online and showing up to my house uninvited and unannounced.” 

“I did announce it. You just blocked my number and email.” 

You scoffed and threw yourself back in your chair. 

“Number, yes. Email? No. You sent it from an unauthorised network email. All your emails sat in my spam folder until last month.” 

He furrowed his brows at the news, but you just crossed your arms and waited for whatever he'd say next to get out of taking responsibility. 

“I'm sorry.” 

To say you weren't expecting that was an understatement. You felt so uncomfortable with the words you fidgeted in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well…” 

Standing, you moved to your desk and grabbed the snacks you'd come here to find, slamming your desk draw shut and keeping the desk between you, sitting in your chair. 

“We're working a case.” 

“I can tell.” 

He leant over the desk and grabbed one of your snacks, opening a cereal bar quickly and taking a bite. 

“Three of the students in our faculty have gone missing in the last 30 days.” 

You nodded as you listened, but your eyes were on your snack, in his hand, in his mouth. The bastard. 

“I need to use the office for a few days. I won't disturb you, but we need some space as a base on campus, and this is our best option.”

“Not afraid I'll walk away with critical documents this time?” 

“This time, I have everything memorised. I've read all the documents. You can't ruin the case this time.”

You stood and grabbed your snack from his hand as he lifted it to take another bite, throwing it straight into the trash can. 

“What was that for?”

“For being a jerk.”

You stomped over to your bag and pulled out your headphones, putting them on as he attempted to keep talking to you. 

“Y/N, you're being immature-” 

“You just stole my snack like it's playtime at recess, Spencer. I'm not the immature one.” 

You turned the music on as he attempted to talk to you, but you didn't budge or take them off, returning to the couch to lay comfortably once more. 

Something about the infuriating, beautiful man had you wanting to act out, reaching new levels of immaturity. 

You felt the dip in the couch as he joined you there, felt him waving in front of your face. You smiled at his growing frustration as you heard him raise his voice just slightly. 

Then, your legs were pulled out from under you, and you squeaked in shock as Spencer Reid pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him. Your eyes blew open, and you grabbed at his shirt for balance, leaving you open to his attacks as he knocked the headphones off your head. 

“You're such a…a..” 

“Jackass? Okay, sure, but I'm a jackass you're going to listen to.”

“Make me.” 

The words were a dare, a challenge you didn't think he'd rise to. But his hands snaked around your neck, and he pulled your lips down to him, silencing you completely with another angry kiss.

Your lips parted immediately, all too happy to take in his wondering tongue as you battled for dominance. His hands trailed up and down your body, cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing your already sensitive breasts, pushing your skirt up so his hands could roam underneath. 

You squirmed in his lap, memories of the last night you'd seen him rushing back. His tongue, his hands, fuck, his cock. Pregnancy hormones or just plain old lust, you wanted it all over again, and you didn't stop to think about it for a second. Any second he was kissing you was a second he wasn't talking. 

You ground your hips into his as he worked a finger into your underwear, scraping against your clit as he pulled his head away, burying it in your neck as he began nipping and licking your skin, on a mission to taste every inch of you. 

“Spencer,” You gasped as he began rubbing your clit faster, your body providing all the juices he needed to make you feel good. 

“Spencer, we should- fuck!” It'd been only minutes, but he'd already pushed you over the edge, and you died your first little death cumming on his fingers. 

“We should fuck? Yes, yeah I can get behind that,” he said, laying you down again and slowly pulling down your damp underwear. 

“That's not what I was going to say, you bastard,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“I know, but this is much better, don't you think?” He pulled away and fumbled with his pants, pulling them down only far enough to free his cock before sliding into you. He sheathed Himself inside you, pushing inch by inch until he was at your limit, and then he stopped. 

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your neck and collarbones, he took his time with each spot, making a line down your body, a record of every place he had possessed you without moving an inch. 

“Spencer, you can't- need to-” you whined, not minding sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum when he was giving you a pretty great reason to do so. 

He had eaten your snacks and now he was just keeping his cock warm inside of you, not even bothering to rub your clit anymore, his hands more focused on keeping his weight up. 

“I need to do what, Y/N? Tell me, but be quiet about it. This office isn't soundproof, remember.” 

 “Shit, shit, shit, shit-” 

You tried to roll your hips under him, to take the pleasure you needed, but he stopped you, letting his hips press deeper into yours, making himself heavy. You tried another tactic. 

“Oh, come on Spencer, you can't even fuck me properly now? Pathetic.’

“Watch it-” he said, but you cut him off again.

“Watch what? You're not doing anything. Maybe I'll ask that little friend of yours outside for some help instead, I'm sure Agent Alvez would be more than happy to-” 

A short, soft slap to your face cut your words off as he spoke, the hand that hit you immediately pushing down to your neck and squeezing lightly. 

“You're. Mine,” he spat, and started immediately rolling his hips into you quickly. 

You wrapped your legs up and around him, your hands lifting to grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place around your throat.

He fucked you harder and your breaths became shallow, eyes locked with his as he panted and writhed above you. He didn't look away. You couldn't. You were drunk on his cock, completely unable to sober up and just waiting for your orgasm to strike you once again. 

You weren't two civilised people in that room, but animals, forcing one another to submit, to give in to temptation. 

His hand on your throat came loose as he came, chest falling down to yours as he flooded your insides with cum once again. To give him credit where credit was due, he kept his cock inside of you and rubbed your clit again to completion, swallowing your every moan and whimper with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of you convulsing on his cock. 

When you were both finally done, he let himself rest on top of you, burying his head in your neck and inhaling your scent as you both dropped back down into reality. 

“Get up,” you said first, pushing him up and watching him peel out of you as you reached back to the coffee table for the box of tissues there. 

“We need to clean up,” You said attempting to tidy the cum leaking out of you away, as if it were merely a spilt drink. 

He sat up, giving his cock a wipe down before putting his clothes back together. You both sat side by side, minding your own business, making yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible and ignoring the elephant in the room. 

He broke the silence first. 

“The girls, they're all our students. The only thing they share is that they all took both of our courses.” 

Your heart dropped as you remembered he wasn't here for you, that he had other jobs and responsibilities. You were merely a pleasurable afterthought. 

“Shit,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You stretched out and stood, sore but still able to make your body work for you. 

“You're sure there's nothing else? No clubs, no extra curricular?” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, unsure about how much to tell you. 

“They fit a basic profile which tells us the unsub is killing people as a scapegoat and…hasn't got to his intended target yet.” 

You nodded as you took in the information, standing and leading yourself back to your desk and grabbing your bag again. 

“Look, just… just use the room until you get your guy. I'll work from the library or a study room or something, just…” You ran another hand through your hair, exasperated. 

“Y/N, no, we don't need to out you out, we shared the office space before, we can-” 

“We can't. Five minutes alone in this room together today proved… that we can't. Don't get distracted.” 

You grabbed more books, turning away from him to avoid the guilty looks he was shooting you. 

You'd almost collected everything, hesitating as you grabbed your pregnancy vitamins from your draw, stuffing them quickly into your bag before moving closer to the door. 

It opened before you could open it, and Emily Prentiss made herself known again. 

“Good, you're already packed,” she said, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over her own. 

“I didn't know you all wanted rid of me so badly,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even and pleasant as possible and greatly failing. 

“We don't want to get rid of you. Y/N, I'm afraid it's quite the opposite.” 

Your heart slowed to a stop, and your blood ran cold as she offered you a sympathetic glance. You must've stumbled a bit backwards because Spencer's hand was immediately on your lower back, his body curved protectively around you as you too wrapped your arms around yourself, around your baby. 

“We've had contact with the killer, and we think you're his intended target,” Emily explained in as even a tone as you'd ever heard someone give a death sentence. 

“We've contacted WitSec, but until then, we'll be taking you into protective custody ourselves. I have a spare room, and we'll grab some of your things before you move in, everything you need to feel comfortable. Do you understand?” 

“No,” you said, but it wasn't your voice. You felt grateful, though, because you didn't understand. There was someone trying to kill you, and you absolutely didn't understand. You'd just had sex with Spencer Reid again, and you hadn't told him you were pregnant with his child, and nothing made 6 there was someone trying to kill you. 

But it wasn't your voice saying no, so you stopped thinking and kistened. 

“No, she'll… she'll stay with me,” Spencer said, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer, nearly crushing you in his arms. 

“Spencer, it's not up to you,” Emily said, her voice a clear warning even to your buzzing ears. 

“Y/N? Y/N, listen to me, please,” he said, gripping your shoulders again and twisting you around so he was all you could see, ducking his head lower so you were directly in his eyeline. 

“Y/N, I'll keep you safe. Come and stay with me.” 

You thought about his apartment and the message you'd left. You thought about the month you spent waiting for him to call, and the month that you'd spent wanting to rip his throat out. You thought about his hands on your skin, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his cock buried inside of you. You thought, too, about the doctors appointments you'd have to reschedule. You thought about the baby clothes you'd have to leave behind. You thought about how you'd have to hide your morning sickness, and your growing baby bump, and your hormones, and all the supplements recommended by your Doctor because you already loved your baby and you wanted them to be healthy. 

You thought that if you went with him, you'd have to tell him and confront whatever decision he made regarding you and the baby.

You thought logically that you shouldn't do it. But his hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwined, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, and you were nodding. 

“Yes,” you said when you should've gone with Emily. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and immediately bundled you out of the office and out of your comfort zone. 

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @alondralolll @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @pleasantwitchgarden @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @fabulouslynerdy @batrensworld @cattosmush @im-this-girl @sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere @lariclifford @daphnesutton

[darkmatilda]

ׂ╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 1: first day of investigation

part 2 here!

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mental illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 4k

“And how's school?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“It could be worse,” said Jeremy after a moment, in an indifferent tone. You sighed, wondering if, as a teenager, you also answered everything, even more serious, open questions with vague remarks, driving the person asking how you were doing to frustration.

Answering that question, no, you didn’t do that. When you were a teenager, you didn’t have anyone who cared about you. Precisely for this reason that you practically tormented your brother with phone conversations, feeling immense guilt for leaving him with your parents. The same parents with whom you ultimately decided to cut off contact. You had never faced a more difficult decision — cutting them off or continuing a relationship that tragically affected your mental health? After each interaction with them, you felt weak, defenseless, insignificant, and above all, exhausted. It wasn’t even about your mother’s illness. They were just terrible people.

Your sixteen-year-old brother didn’t have that option. He had to deal with them until he turned eighteen and moved out. You regularly made sure he was okay. However, lately, you had the impression that his voice was becoming more and more devoid of emotion. Depressed. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Prentiss appeared right in front of you. She noticed you were on the phone, so to avoid interrupting you, she tried to convey something silently. With her thumb, she pointed toward the main deck of the jet. From the movements of her lips, you were able to read, “Hotch is calling everyone.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let this topic go,” you said again to your brother. You could imagine him rolling his green eyes. “I have to get back to work; I’ll call as soon as I have time. Don’t get into trouble and take care. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and noticed a smile on the brunette’s face. Together, you joined the rest of the team.

“I heard part of your conversation,” she confessed. “Don’t tell me you have a kid that you’re hiding from us?”

“Who’s hiding what from whom?” Morgan chimed in as he walked in, holding two huge cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Reid.

Prentiss nodded in your direction.

“Did you know that y/n has a kid?”

You nudged her.

“I don’t have any kids. I was just talking to my brother,” you explained briefly. You didn’t like discussing your family, even with friends. In fact, you were often accused of being too secretive.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Reid added, frowning. 

He, along with the rest of them, looked at you with mild surprise. You muttered something under your breath, shrugging. You felt a bit embarrassed that your family was the center of the discussion. You were saved from the awkwardness by your own boss.

“Can we start?”

JJ handed out the case files. As soon as you opened yours, you were met with an exceptionally graphic scene.

“ The bodies were discovered by someone from the forestry service, but according to the local police, anyone could have found them. It wasn’t hidden very carefully, as if someone didn’t care about it being discovered. A man and a woman, both decapitated. Before you ask, the heads were found in the same place as the rest of the bodies. Except for that, no serious injuries, just a few minor bruises and scratches. As if they were trying to defend themselves while they still could. “

No one spoke; the only sound was the turning of pages as the whole team focused intently on analyzing the photos. Your brows lowered in concentration, your entire face tense. Maybe you looked at things like this every day, but that didn’t mean it had become pleasant or that it didn’t disgust you. Sitting across from you, Reid was the first to speak.

“What do we know about the victims?”

At that same moment, as JJ spoke up again, you flipped the page and were met with two photos that looked like they’d been pulled from a social media account. Both people were alive, happy. The man was crouching next to a young boy who seemed to be pulling away, unwilling to be in the picture with his father. In the background, there was a garden, a tall white fence typical of American suburbs, and a slide. You barely stopped yourself from glancing at Hotch — he had a son around the same age, and this case might hit him particularly hard. The woman in the photo wore square glasses, with a cheerful, friendly gaze peeking out from beneath them. Round cheeks, a wide smile.

"Andrew Ward, 37 years old. He was one of the city councilors. He had a wife and one son, and he’d lived in this town his entire life. Then there's Jessica Larsen, the deputy mayor—she and her husband were both heavily involved in public life."

“A city councilor and the deputy mayor?” Prentiss repeated, thoughtfully resting her elbow on the arm of her seat. “Does anyone else feel like this could be some kind of score-settling? Revenge? Maybe from someone who was wronged by the city council over… I don’t know…”

"Higher bills," you said absentmindedly, blurting out the first thought that came to mind, immediately wincing at your own foolishness. You were still distracted by the conversation with Jeremy. You pinched your arm, trying to force yourself to focus on the case.

"Raising bills doesn’t typically drive people to murder," Reid corrected, pausing to glance at the files again. You never felt embarrassed when he pointed out your mistakes—he had a way of doing it so skillfully and politely. "Prentiss is on the right track; it could be revenge. Our UNSUB might hate authority due to some personal experience, maybe sees themselves as an anarchist, though it's hard to lean in that direction with so little information. Garcia, have you checked if the victims were connected in any way?"

The blonde woman on the laptop screen nodded.

"I’ve checked everything I could find about them, but unfortunately, I couldn’t uncover a single connection that might move the case forward."

Hotch raised a hand, stopping you from further speculation.

"That’s not all," he began, looking at each of you in turn. "Right after those two bodies were found, three more were discovered."

Morgan raised his eyebrows high.

"Five bodies? No wonder they called us in."

"And here’s where our biggest problem arises," your boss continued “Look at the photos. These three bodies were also decapitated but except for that, treated in a completely different way”

You turned the page again, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Other victims were killed with much more brutality, all covers in cuts and bruises. It was even hard to define their gender, but when you looked at the description you knew that this time, they were all women."Were two different people responsible for this?" Prentiss asked.

“Two murders cutting their victims' heads in such a small city?” spoke up Rossi, skeptically. 

"I don’t think it’s two different killers," you said hesitated, unable to look away from the photos. As you studied them, you absorbed every detail, trying to imagine the murderer inflicting these injuries. If anyone could have peered into your mind at that moment, they might have gotten serious PTSD. “Just…take a look at the wounds. There’s much more on these women and are visibly more brutal. But they look like they were inflicted by the same hand, the same person. The placement is often consistent," you noted. "How much time passed between the murders?"

“We haven’t gotten this information yet" said Hotch. "But based on my experience, I can say we’re looking at a matter of weeks."

You noticed that Reid was watching you closely. It seemed he was doing it unconsciously. When you sent him a questioning glance, he slightly blushed and immediately cleared his throat.

“I’m curious about what y/n said,” he admitted. It was clear to see the many calculations and analyses happening in his mind. This was evident in the increasing pace of his speech. “It really does look like the same person, but in different circumstances, perhaps influenced by different emotions. Maybe even with different motives. I realize the possibility of that is close to zero, but what if we’re dealing with a murderer with multiple personality disorder?”

A silence fell as everyone contemplated Reid's words. You made eye contact with him again — your tracks of thought began to overlap, your conclusions intertwining. Looking at his face, you felt, in a way, smarter and understood; it became easier to connect the fragments of ideas that had surfaced in your mind.

You shook your head.

 "No... I'm not sure. I understand what you're saying, but it seems to me that this isn't entirely true in our case. Your theory would suggest that two different personalities of our UNSUB committed these crimes, but in such cases, the crimes usually contrast more with each other. It's much harder to connect them, and here... I immediately noticed that this was the work of the same person."

Reid leaned in with interest over the table. Everyone seemed to look at you encouragingly, waiting for you to continue your theory. Yet you only took on a resigned, apologetic posture — nothing else came to mind. Any potential ideas felt too chaotic; some instincts accompanied you, but it was nothing you wanted to share out loud. You felt that they wouldn't help at all.

"We'll definitely know more after seeing the crime scene," Hotch stated, closing his files. With that, he ended the official discussion, giving you time to review the photos alone and think everything over one more time.

That’s exactly what you focused on for the rest of the meeting. You sat with one leg crossed over the other, a closed folder resting on your lap. You didn’t need to look at the photos anymore; you just needed to close your eyes and listen to your intuition. It definitely had something to say about this case. You just weren’t sure what…

Just before arriving at the scene, Hotch asked to speak with you privately. You couldn't hide it; you felt a bit anxious.

Maybe it was about your recent distraction. Of course, it was about your worry for your brother, but that shouldn’t have been an excuse; nothing should be distracting you. Or maybe he wanted to discuss something completely different, and you had just imagined this whole scenario in your mind. Knowing you and your tendency to overthink, both options seemed equally likely.

 "As I mentioned, y/n, I need to talk to you about something. It’s regarding your accommodation."

First, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious. Then, your eyebrows raised in surprise. Accommodation?

"There have been some issues with the hotel we’re planning to stay at," Hotch continued. "We couldn’t secure separate rooms for each of you. You’ve been assigned to share a room with Reid. If that’s a problem for you, we can always look for another place, but that would mean you'd be away from the rest of the team..."

“No, it’s not a problem,” you assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. You were relieved that the conversation didn’t involve any serious issues, just a trivial problem with the room. Besides, why would it bother you to share a room with Spencer? It was only for a few nights. "I was afraid you wanted to talk to me about something else," you blurted out.

“About what?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, nothing,” you replied quickly and somewhat squeakily.

Hotch smiled slightly at your reaction, but his gaze seemed to analyze you closely.

 Oh you idiot, why couldn’t you just shut up? you thought to yourself as you walked away.

*

The weather decided to play a trick on you.

 As you were driving to the crime scene, the waterfall was sliding down the windshield, almost making it impossible to see anything. In any case, there wasn't much to look at. After passing the main part of the town, you were surrounded only by forest — trees shimmering in shades of orange.

The view didn’t impress you much. You definitely preferred warm, sunny weather and lounging in the sun, rather than freezing every day after stepping outside and dealing with frizzy hair from the humidity. You liked the town better. It felt small and cozy, as if it were taken straight out of Gilmore Girls.

Prentiss was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, while JJ was your navigator. The boys took a different car.

“So,” Emily began, turning left at the intersection with her eyes fixed on the road. “You care a lot about your brother, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, sinking deeper into your seat. Why did she have to bring this up again? It wasn't that you didn't trust them; you just didn’t like talking about your family. It wasn't even about being ashamed — why dwell on unpleasant topics? Besides, as was well known, you were private. You had to be incredibly close to someone to open up, and even then, you didn’t lay all your cards on the table.

Together with JJ, they looked at you kindly and encouragingly. You acted like you were fascinated by what was behind the glass. Soon, you arrived at the crime scene. 

That means, before you reached your destination, you had to walk quite a distance into the forest. Since it was late October, the days had grown particularly short, and you could already see the first streaks of darkness between the enormous trees that seemed to watch you with their ancient gaze.

If you hadn't had the girls with you, you would have felt a thrill on your spine. 

The location where the bodies were found had been secured very thoroughly. Local police cars gathered there, and soon the rest of your team arrived. You glanced at your muddy shoes and made a mental note to start dressing more appropriately for the weather from tomorrow on.

The rain intensified. Emily pulled her hood tighter around her head. 

“Working in these conditions...'"

Her sentence was interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly tall man, somewhat resembling a bear. Long hair protruded from under his sheriff's hat, and he seemed to be about the same age as Hotch, with whom he immediately shook hands. 

“Agent Hotchner, we're from the FBI.'"

"Sheriff Russell” he introduced himself, pressing his hand to his forehead with concern. 'I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot. I can't believe anyone from this town could do something like this; I know these people and...'"

“Can we see the bodies?" you asked. It was getting dark, and you wanted to get as good a look as possible. There was something intriguing about this case that had unsettled you since the moment you first opened the file.

Without waiting for an answer, you and Emily moved toward the secured area. Despite the circumstances, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"God, I hate this chatter," she sighed in annoyance. "I know these people; they’d never do something like this," she mimicked the sheriff’s deep voice. "Neighbors of serial killers always say that. Someone can be polite in conversation and keep five bodies in their basement — it’s not mutually exclusive."

You stifled a laugh. 

"Don’t forget the how could he have done it? He always said good morning in the hallway!"

“Or about kids. Sure, he was killing small animals since he was four and had a knife collection, but deep down, he was polite! I can't believe he shot up half the school…”

Hotch appeared right next to you, so you cut her off with a firm elbow jab. You accidentally hit her in the ribs, causing her to let out a groan. This only intensified your incredibly inappropriate amusement. Your boss was standing so close, so you covered your mouth under the guise of a cough. 

In the next thirty minutes, the laughter faded away.

You began by examining the bodies of the first victims, in chronological order. These were the three brutally murdered women. The whole scene seemed to be waiting for your arrival. Not a single detail had been altered, making it easier for you to connect emotionally with the situation. Most of the profilers you knew were meticulous about keeping their feelings detached from their work. It was the only way to endure this job for more than a year without committing suicide. You applied that strategy yourself, but not entirely.

When investigating a case, you tried to imagine yourself in both the shoes of the perpetrator and the victims. Often, you would close your eyes, attempting to visualize and feel it all in vivid detail. To step away from pure theory and let intuition take over.

It was likely the reason that, for the past year since you started this work, you hadn’t imagined a day without at least one tranquilizer and a sleeping pill.

After thoroughly examining the first crime scene, you drove to inspect the next one. This time, the victims were two people connected to the city council. The previous victims had been a teacher, a former resident of the orphanage, and a social worker. When you learned this, a heavy feeling settled at the back of your mind. You were certain there was a connection between these victims.

"Let’s consider what drives the unsub to remove the victim’s head" Rossi suggested.

Before you could even define the meaning of the question, Reid rushed to answer.

"Decapitation is one of the most symbolic acts of violence. The head represents thought, intellect, and control. By removing it, the killer may be expressing a need to destroy those aspects. It could also be a form of humiliation, a metaphorical stripping of their power and authority," he explained in a slightly robotic tone, as if reciting from a Wikipedia entry.

You smiled subtly at the thought. He noticed and gave you a questioning look, which you chose to ignore.

“That would fit for the two later victims," Morgan said, resting his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "They were on the city council — the unsub might have felt he was stripping them of authority and power. But how does that apply to the others? A social worker, a teacher, and an orphanage employee?"

You fixed your gaze on your dirty shoes, Derek’s question echoing in your mind.

 What was it all about?

*

You’d forgotten your sleeping pills.

Once more, you searched your toiletries bag, where you usually kept them. Not a trace.

You pressed your lips tightly together, angry with yourself. Your sleep problems weren’t that serious — were caused mainly by overthinking and constant worry. You didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself in that regard. It was much easier to rely on the medication, and as long as it worked. Sometimes you forgot that you were even struggling with it at all.

“Is something wrong?” Reid asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Following Hotch’s words, you were sharing a room with him. “You seem upset.”

You shook your head dismissively.

“I just forgot something.”

Only then did you look at him. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. You realized it was the first time you’d seen him in such casual, everyday clothing. He usually wore shirts, blazers, and vests — somewhat grandpa-like, but you thought it suited him well.

You realized you had been staring at each other in silence for quite some time. To break the awkwardness, you cleared your throat and decided to return to one of the exhausting topics.

“There’s something strange about this case. You know, I’ve thought a lot about your theory regarding personality disorder, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Aside from the fact that it’s very, very rare, it’s just… my intuition doesn’t agree with it. I hope I don’t sound like a shaman. 

Spencer bursted out and sat on the edge of his bed. In your room, only the standing lamp illuminated the space, casting a dim orange light around. Despite that, you could see the thoughtful expression on his face.

“We once dealt with a case where the unsub was struggling with that very disorder. He was abused as a child and developed a separate personality, Amanda, who harmed men similar to his abuser,” he shared in a quiet, less confident tone than the one he used on the jet. He must have been tired after a long day at work, and like you, frustrated that you hadn’t found anything.

Above all, the circumstances were different. Your conversation had shifted to a more personal level, concerning two friends rather than coworkers. 

“Do you see any similarities between these two cases?” you asked, intrigued since you had never dealt with a similar case yourself.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “At one time, I read a lot about that disorder. There was another instance where we had an unsub who…” he trailed off, a visibly tense expression crossing his face.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassured him. You didn’t know what was bothering him, but it was clear he regretted bringing it up at all. You had never been one to push for more; you often felt uncomfortable with certain topics, and you were incredibly grateful when someone recognized your withdrawal and changed the subject. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks” he whispered. But I think there’s something to your intuition. This whole case is exceptionally peculiar.”

““Well, you can call me a shaman now. By the way, are you planning to go to bed already?”

“And you?” he replied with a question of his own. “Actually, I’d prefer to read for a while, but I don’t want to disturb your sleep…”

Your broad smile clearly surprised him.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to spend some time with a book too”

In fact, it didn’t stem from your desires at all. You loved reading, but your brain was usually too tired for it in the evenings. However, you were aware that falling asleep would take you an unusually long time, and you preferred to make use of that time rather than stare at the ceiling.

You pulled out the only novel you had brought, Kafka on the Shore. You were about halfway through. Then you remembered you had meant to call your brother, but when you glanced at the clock, you realized that due to the time zone difference, it was already late at night for him. You sighed with a pang of guilt. You promised yourself you would do it tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said when you both agreed it was finally time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, shaman” he responded. 

You smiled in your pillow. 

part 2?

[velvetm00light]

Rescue: Spencer's POV

gif: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter Three of Save Me in SPENCER'S POV

Y/N'S POV: here

Previous Chapters: one, two

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You're abducted by a brutal serial killer who's been stalking you. Spencer and your entire team work tirelessly to find you. But Spencer is fighting with more than just his worry for a friend, he's finding over the guilt he feels for not telling you how he felt beforehand.

Warnings: Torture, kidnapping, dead parents, suggestions of sexual assault, knives and cutting torture, sense deprivation (sight), emotional manipulation, fear, grief. In future parts, will mention PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, etc.

A/N: I feel like I don't see a lot of writings from Spencer's POV because technically it's all in the "you" perspective but I thought this would be a cool twist for ya'll to be able to read what's happening in both of their heads during the same time period! This chapter is also written in Y/N's pov so you can read that instead or skip both all together (there is a big detail at the end of Y/N's chapter so you can avoid the rest of the chapter and just read the end if you want:)). The chapters after this will be tamer but as always, warnings will be listed before the chapter!

PANIC BEGINS TO SETTLE in his stomach as your phone rings and rings, and he only keeps getting your voicemail. "Something's wrong," Spencer chokes out, fighting back the tears threatening to spill across his cheeks. "She's not picking up. She didn't text Hotch back for her hourly check in and didn't pick up for him either."

Seeing the look plastered across Spencer's face, Morgan doesn't waste any time comforting with false hopes. They both immediately jump out of the car they've been cooped up in for the past 12 hours. Spencer's legs wobble beneath him, half from sitting in the same position for so long and the other half from the fear he feels coursing through his blood like poison.

He and Morgan race up your apartment stairs, taking them two at a time until they're face-to-face with your intact apartment door. Morgan tries the handle first, but when the door doesn't budge he ignores all other conservative options. The door gives easily under Morgan's heavy kick, and both men rush into the apartment.

The first thing Spencer notices is the blood splattered all over your living room carpet. He lets out a defeated whine and feels himself frozen in place, unable to go any further. It's obvious that whoever has been stalking you has finally grown the balls to abduct you and he begins to worry that when he finally finds the guy who took you, he just might actually kill him. Fuck that, he will fucking kill him.

He barely registers Morgan on the phone with Hotch as he slowly begins to analyze the scene before him. Your blood and spit ruining your carpet, the balcony door curtains thrown carelessly to the side, all your hidden gun compartments open and guns missing from each of them. He quickly wipes the tears that escape down his face before Morgan can notice.

"We're going to stay here and learn everything we possibly can from her apartment while the rest of them get back to the office to find this son of a bitch," Morgan explains to Spencer. "Reid, we're going to find her." Morgan lays a comforting hand on Spencer's shoulder as Spencer stays motionless, staring at the fresh blood from your face on the floor.

"If you don't think you can handle this, it's okay, Reid."

"I can handle this," Spencer breathes. He straightens his spine and goes through your entire apartment painstakingly slow. He tells himself over and over again not to miss a single detail or else he might never forgive himself for missing something that could possibly save your life.

His heart begins to hurt more and more as he notices all the locked windows, the coffee pot still sitting on the kitchen counter, the blood starting to dry on your bedroom floor, and your phone and empty gun holster resting on your nightstand. His chest constricts at the fact that he was the one who told you to rest, that he would protect you. He's unsure if he'll ever begin to forgive himself for it.

At the round table, Spencer can't help but tell his team every single detail he noticed around your apartment. It was almost just as hard to go through your entire life as seeing your blood on your apartment floors. He and Morgan practically trashed every room, going through photo albums, your phone, and anything else they could get their hands on. Your entire team felt icky about diving into your life to such an extent but they knew you would forgive them if it meant they found you alive.

Garcia bursts into the conference room with her laptop in hand. "He hacked into the surveillance system."

"What?" Everyone's voiced echoed in unison.

"He-He hacked into the cameras. I have no idea how long he's had access or how he even managed to do it. He's gotta be mega good because I'm the best of the best and to get past all of my alarms...God, this guy is frustrating."

Spencer's breath caught in his throat. "So, he's been watching her everywhere she goes?"

"Most likely. If he can hack into our cameras I don't doubt he has access to all the cities traffic cameras, businesses security cameras.."

"We have to assume he's watching us now. We give him no indication that we know who he is," Hotch commanded. The team nods and silently resumes their work.

Random names are written on the board, random case files are scattered on the table, assuming they're all being watched.

Spencer stands frozen in front of the whiteboard, staring at your picture underneath with the word "abducted" written in angry, uppercase letters under it. He doesn't realize the entire team has gone off to do whatever Hotch has demanded of them until a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder. "We're gonna find her, Spence."

He snaps his attention to JJ, who stands tall beside him. The tears attempt to betray him again and it's almost impossible to hide them. "I..I don't know what I'd do with myself if I lost her."

"I know. We're all scared, and we all want to find this son of a bitch. But, I know, Spence. I see it."

He looks at her puzzlingly, his brain mush from the lack of sleep and the intense stress and guilt he's been drowning in.

"Spence...we all know. You two think you're so great at hiding it, but we see it. The longing, the love, the care. Just focus on getting her back so you finally have a chance to tell her."

This brought the tears flowing from his eyes and coating his cheeks. JJ wraps him in an embrace and runs a motherly hand up and down his back. "I'm afraid that I'll be too late and she'll never know how I feel," he chokes out, his tears soaking into JJ's blazer.

"You won't be, we're going to bring her home, you're going to bring her home. But, you need to focus. We need your brilliant brain more than ever right now."

He backs away from JJ's embrace, wiping his slick cheeks on his cardigan sleeve, and nods.

Their attentions are forced to the team entering back into the conference room. "Everyone look normal, we've got something to talk about," Hotch declares as your team takes their seats at the round table once more.

Garcia sits with her back away from the camera to ensure nothing on her computer can be seen, and then she begins.

"Our unsub is Blake Rixley, he's (y/n)'s foster brother. A picture of him and all his details have been sent to your phones."

"Foster brother?" Prentiss asks, her brows knitting together.

"When her parents died, she was sent to a foster home with Blake and a few other kids. She ran away when she was 11 from her foster home and from what I can find, stayed with a distant aunt until she was 18."

"Why did they send her to foster care if she had a family member she could have lived with in the first place?"

"Her aunt lived in Canada and under a different last name. Y/n managed to contact her and made her way over the boarder. How, I have absolutely no idea. But that's why I can't find anything from the age of 11-18 on her," Garcia explained.

Spencer's blood runs aflame as he imagines you at 11, a mere child, sneaking across the boarder by yourself, trying to survive on your own.

"Why did she run away?"

"I'm not sure.."

"Maybe it was because of her foster brother," Prentiss suggests. "Maybe he tried to take advantage of her, or maybe flirt with her or something and she rejected him because even though they weren't related by blood it felt wrong."

"He's also 8 years older than her..." Garcia pointed out. "He was 14 when she came into the house."

"He could have easily used his position in the house to manipulate her into doing things. Garcia, is Blake the son of the foster parents?"

Garcia types furiously on her laptop and her eyes go wide. "Yes."

Spencer's heart just about cleaves in two. He can't help but picturing you as a small child, losing your parents and being taken advantage of on top of it. Unable to bare any more information, he abruptly gets out of his chair, swinging the conference door room open, and slamming it shut behind him.

He decides to get some air to ease the bile rising in his throat.

As he makes it outside, he finally lets the pent up heartache free. He stumbles to a bench and throws himself down onto it, his body shuddering with his sobs. His thoughts come fast and heavy, suffocating him in his grief. He begins to wonder if you'll ever forgive him for suggesting you go to sleep, for not being there to protect you, for not doing enough to make sure you weren't taken in the first place, and worse of all, for not telling you how he felt from the start. He can't help but weep harder at the possibility that you might never know how he feels, how the curve of your lips distracts him just about every day of his life. How no matter how many times he sees you and even when you're together for days on end working on a case, he is still awestruck over your beauty and itches to be with you when you're apart. How he could listen to you talk about the most boring subject on earth for hours on end. How he has been completely and utterly in love with you since the day you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet coming home from a case, shortly after you joined the Bureau.

Spencer and Prentiss sit in a strained silence on the way back from surveying a few farms and abandoned buildings on the prospect list. After each place that turned up empty, the hole within Spencer's heart felt as if it was growing bigger and bigger, becoming a void threatening to destroy him.

Spencer has never been so frustrated in his life, and he would know. He was frustrated when he didn't even notice when one of the suspects he interviewed had Dissociative Identity Disorder and switched right in front of him. He was frustrated when an unsub kept crossing state lines and it look the team almost a week to catch up to him. He was frustrated a million times over when a new victim was found and they were not fast enough to stop the killer. But this...This really takes the cake.

The tension feels almost like a wire tethered from Spencer to the entire world, taut to almost it's breaking point. That wire of tension loosens a bit when Emily's phone rang and he allows a small bubble of hope to begin to stir.

He attempts to listen to the conversation, his body aching to rip the phone from her hand and demand to know if they've found you. Emily glimpses at Spencer for a moment, then turns her attention back to the road. "We'll be there in 5," she says as a goodbye.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before explaining to Spencer what she heard. "Reid, before I tell you anything, you have to promise me something."

His stomach basically fell into his ass at her tone. He wonders if sometimes people assume he's normal, and not someone who can basically detect the mood of someone like some sick sixth sense.

"We're on our way to an old farm that the unsubs father used to live on when his father was a child. I'm not going to guarantee you this is where she is. But if she is there, don't be stupid."

Emily eyes him again, judging the tells on his face. She knows better than anyone that he would love to watch the life exit this guy's body at his doing, preferably with his bare hands. If circumstances were perfect, Spencer would love to do exactly what he's done to her and worse, to the sick bastard.

"I hope he gives me a reason."

Emily doesn't have to ask what he means. She gains her composure and schools her features as they pull down a winding, dirt road. A farm looms up ahead, a sizable, wooden, red barn stands tall behind smaller disheveled shacks and barns - some sunken in on themselves, others with caved in roofs, wood slats missing off the sides. The farm looked worse for wear, and that was being generous.

Emily comes to a stop at the edge of the farm, and they are met with the rest of their team. Everyone is already adjusting their bulletproof vests, checking their guns, and discussing any last minute details to whatever plan they cracked while Spencer and Emily were away.

"Prentiss, Reid, take that cabin on the left. JJ, Morgan, take the small blue barn to the right. Rossi and I are going to stake out the parameter and we'll meet together at the big red barn in the back," Hotch explained. The entire team split up into their groups and wasted no time getting to their respective buildings.

Spencer just about jumps into a sprint towards the cabin, his heart screaming at him to go. Emily hauls after him, not judging or chastising him for his urgency. They stalk the perimeter first, peeking into the dirty windows. "I'll go in through the back, you go in through the front," Emily orders. Spencer quietly makes his way to the front, peeking again into all the windows as he passes, trying to find the son of a bitch.

They open their respective doors in unison, bursting into the small cabin. Spencer enters what appears to be a dining room and kitchen, a semi-rotten wooden table just a few feet away from a stove and countertops that probably haven't been changed out since Christ himself was born. There were empty cans scattered across the countertop and dirty dishes in the sink.

A living room sat just beyond, a half wall the only thing separating the rooms. The hardwood under his boots turn to carpet as he slowly makes his way through the house towards Emily. His attention snaps towards the sound of Emily's voice.

"Put the gun down, Blake."

Spencer picks up his pace, trying his best to stay as quiet as possible. He turns a corner and spots Emily, her gun raised and pointed at the man standing in between them, oblivious to the other agent directly behind him. He holds a shotgun, one powerful enough to probably make a hole deep enough to reach the Earth's damn core.

Emily lifts her hands up in surrender as she spots you, holstering her gun. "I just want to talk, that's all."

"It was a mistake coming here by yourself," he snarls. Spencer couldn't see his face but he was damn sure this sick bastard was probably smiling.

"Put the gun down so we can talk," she tries again.

"I'm not a fucking fool! Of course you don't want to just talk," he growls. Spencer almost pulls his trigger just by the way the man in front of him begins to shake with anger, his shotgun rattling softly in his hands.

"If you cooperate we can help you, we know what she did. She hurt you, Blake,"

Spencer's fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. He isn't sure he can stand to listen to Emily blame you for all of this. He knows she doesn't mean it, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Unlucky for you, I promised a certain someone I would teach her lesson for that specific reason," he says smugly. All too quickly, he cocks the shotgun and takes aim and before Spencer can even hesitate, he squeezes the trigger.

The man slumps to the ground between them. His chest heaving in small, shallow breaths as a pool of blood begins to form underneath him. Spencer leans down to the mans face and whispers, "I would kill you a million times over again for what you took from her, but I guess once one time is just going to have to be enough."

The man's eyes swell in rage until they hold nothing inside them at all. Spencer stands up slowly and meets Emily's gaze. "You did the right thing," she claims, patting his shoulder as she walks by him and out of the cabin.

After one last look at the man who within a few days has taken everything from the women he loves and the woman he loves from him, he follows Prentiss out of the cabin and toward the red barn.

After a short walk, they reach the looming barn doors. "I think we should wait," Emily starts but Spencer cuts her off. "He's already dead. I'm not letting her be here a moment longer, she's suffered enough."

Before Emily can argue, Spencer swings open the barn doors and just about falls to his damn knees at the sight. "She's here!" He calls. He and Emily rush to you, instantly grabbing at the handcuffs around your wrists. As you're released, he falls to the floor along side you, trying to avoid a hard impact with the floor. "(Y/n)?" He whimpers, feeling for a pulse.

"Take it off.." you whimper. His heart cleaves in two. The sight of you battered, sliced open, and isolated inside a metal mask makes him want to crawl into the depths of hell just to kill the fucking bastard again.

"I'm trying.." He fumbles with the straps on the mask, his hands trembling so terribly he can barely grip the straps.

"Take it off!" you cry, ripping at the mask with your fingernails. His hands pick up speed.

"(Y/n), please, I'm trying. Hold on.."

The mask finally releases and he lets out a relieved sigh. You curl up into him and let out shuddering sobs that pain him to the ends of the Earth. All he wishes is to be able to stop the grief and pain you're experiencing. "I'm here, you're safe now," he coos, running a gentle hand through your hair in comforting strokes.

When your cries begin to quiet, he softly grabs the sides of your head and lifts your eyes up to meet his face, slick with tears and battered to hell with stress.

"Spencer.." you choke out, throwing your hands around his neck. "I'm so sorry..."

Rage courses through him, "(Y/n), why? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about." It kills him to hear you apologizing for this. He wants to do nothing more than you spill out his whole mind to you, but he isn't sure it would even help in this moment.

"He..he told me he would hurt you, all of you, if I fought back."

Tears well up in his eyes and he embraces you again, attempting to hide the fact that he's been crying this entire time. "I'm here."

You lift your gaze to his as you whimper out, "Spencer..."

"Yes, love?" He responses, cupping your wet cheek with a calloused hand.

"The only thing that got me through...what he did, was you."

He truly didn't think anything could have made this worse. He should be ecstatic that he's the reason you survived, that he was able to help you get through it even though he wasn't there to save you originally. But..he just can't find it in himself to be happy about it. You should have never had to go through this in the first place, and worse, you had to go through things he can't even begin to fathom probably thinking everything will always just be a fantasy. "I am so sorry."

"You found me," you smile sadly up at him.

As paramedics rush into the barn, Spencer lays you on the floor so they can reach and treat all of your wounds. He couldn't help feeling hollow and empty pulling away from you. "Don't leave.." you whine, and he greedily grabs your outstretched hand. He continues to hold your hand in comfort the entire walk to the ambulance and as they continue working on you on the way to the hospital.

"I love you," you whisper and he can tell you've already fallen asleep, using the last of your energy doing the one thing he wished he was man enough to do before.

"I love you, too." He whispers back, kissing the back of your hand. He felt the need to say it back right then and there whether you heard him or not. He aches to tell you everything he feels about you and can't wait to finally tell you to your face rather than keep everything in his brain this time.

He stares at you the entire ride to the hospital, monitoring your breathing, his eyes roaming from each cut on your body, the bruises forming on your abdomen, and the exhausted look on your face. He is grateful this part is over, but a whole new difficult journey lays ahead. But, he's not afraid. He's ready to be at your side every second of the day possible, and he's ready to be your savior.

TAG LIST: @qatiee @dottirose @thisaintredwine @jay-2s-world @ruziazyn

[spencerrreiddd]

HELP ME FIND THIS SPENCER REID FIC BEFORE I CRY - i thought i had it liked BUT I DONT

summary of the story: it was the truth or dare episode between JJ and Reid but instead of JJ, it was just the reader and Reid- it was reader & Reid in love the entire time and over the years instead of it being JJ

reader is married with children to an abusive man who attempts to kill her but her child saves her life.

Spencer and reader so sleep together in this story (so reader cheats on her spouse) IM LOSING IT because i can’t find this fic and i want to read it again.

Readers husband does get locked away, as he should-

OH and spender does give reader a bracelet that’s something along the lines of “always? always” engraved in it - he gave it to her on her wedding day and she kept asking him if it was the right thing to do etc

& it is a multi chapter series.. thingy!

[hotchlove]

Risk - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

• i take requests! plsss dm me or leave them here if u have anything fun you'd like me to write. it can be angst, anytype of trope, smut, etc. • PLZ NOTE: i ONLY do oneshots/blurbs. they differ from long to short depending on the character and story. i do not write series! • risk - 1708 words (I GOT CARRIED AWAY AGAIN.) • desc.: - based on 3x14 "damaged" - angst !!!! - y/n and hotch fighting - happy ending ofc

once again i'm fulfilling my job of breaking hearts!!!!!

• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~• • • • ~ ʚĭɞ ~ • • • •

you and aaron have been dating for three years now. you're perfect for each other. it's like you were created for each other, yet you met so late in life - but that's never changed anything. you love him and he loves you, and most importantly, you are great with jack. that kid loves you more than his star wars saber collections - and that means something.

aaron and reid got back from the interview they had with the pre-execution serial killer "chester hardwick". chester is a joker, a mischevious and wilfull serial killer - he's always got something up his sleeve and he's quick with it. you didn't worry about the interview - why would you? they're only in there for half an hour, and can get out by one buzzzz of the door - except maybe it didn't go as planned, which you found out by accidentally eavesdropping on spencer's gloating in the kitchen.

"it was terrifying," spencer admits and stirs his coffee. derek and penelope listening intentively to his telling as i walk into the kitchen. reid doesn't notice, his back to the door, but pen and derek definitely do. they shoot spencer sharp looks that scream 'stop talking.' but despite his boy-genius being, he doesn't notice and continues rambling like some gears shifted in his mind that won't let him shut up. "hotch was ready to rumble," he exagerrates. "he took off his jacket and tie and everything, rolled up his sleeves and looked at chester like he was gonna eat him alive." spencer finally looks up and notices the looks derek and penelope shoot him, causing him to shut up immediate effectively. "wha-" he turns around and gulps, seeing me crossarmed right behind him.

"y/n! what a pleasant surpr-" "save it. aaron did what now?" penelopes lips are zip-shut and derek's struggling to hold back a cackle and probably some stupid comment like "oooh- boss man's in trouble."

"well-" spencer laughs awkwardly. "i overexageratted a little." i shake my head. "no, spencer, what did he do?" i ask, expression stern, angry if you squint.

"i don't- i really shouldn't be the one to tell you this." he looks down at his coffee, still stirring it. "fine. i'll ask him. is he in his office?" he gives a small nods. i make my way to aaron's office, quickly waving at emily and jj as i walk past. i can feel their wide eyes digging daggers into my back, but i don't take the time to explain my frantic attitude and just walk. i usually knock, but not this time. i just burst into his office, to which he looks up widely. he was about to scold whoever it was that just burst his doors like that, but smiles as he sees it's me.

usually i'd melt immediately. the hotch smile - a very rare emotion to others - to me, it's a everyday occurence. "honey," he gets up and walks towards me, his hands pressing onto my lower waist. "what's wrong? are you okay? did anything ha-" "you better have a dang good explanation, aaron." i cross my arms and look up at him, eyebrows scrunched. "explanation? for what?" he laughs, "for risking your life at the interview today." he sighs and his head drops. "i told reid not to tell you." "not the point. what's that all about?" i say, moving away from his grip.

"honey," he looks up with a soft expression. don't use your puppy eyes on me right now, hotchner. "i'm fine. not a scratch. see?" he raises his arms in a mock surrender. "yeah well, i'm not. you can't keep doing this - risking your life when it isn't necessary."

"it was hardly a risk," he interrupts. "again, not the point. hardwick killed people with his bare hands in five minutes. imagine what he can do in thirty."

aaron looks at me, confused. "okay, y/n, i'm sorry. you're right. but i'm fine, okay? reid's fine too. nothing happened."

"well it could have. you have people to come home to, aaron." "god, forget me!" i scoff. "think about jack. your son."

aaron sighs. he knows i'm right, but his stubbornness just won't let himself admit it right now. "i said i'm fine. can we just- stop talking about this? i've got paperwork to do." i scrunch my eyebrows. "no, no. we're talking about this. now." aaron leans on his table and his head drops. he places two fingers at the bridge of his nose and pinches it. "it's my job, y/n. you know that."

"i don't recall throwing punches for fun being apart of ur jobs description. i don't care if hardwick threatened you, me or whoever else. you do not engage in danger unless absolutely necessary. and it wasn't this time. you know it." aaron just nods, not wanting to engage in this conversation anymore.

i roll my eyes slighty and sigh again, my arms dropping. "fine. i'm going home - come home when you're ready to grow up, aaron. don't call me." i say and exit his office in a flash, not even looking back. he was gonna go after me, as he always does, but this time- this time we needed some time apart.

--

i unlock the door to mine and aaron's shared apartment as i see jessica sitting on the couch and jack doing some sort of activity on the coffee table. "hey guys," i smile and jessica looks up. "well look what the cat dragged in. aaron still at work?" i nod and take off my coat. "yeah. thanks for watching jack." i give her a smile of dismissal.

"hey- he's my favorite nephew." "he's your only nephew." "exactly." she smiles and gets up, ruffling jacks hair before going to grab her coat and bag. "you guys have fun, see you tomorrow jack-o!" she says and we both wave her off as the apartment door clinks closed. "whatcha doing?" i ask jack and kneel next to him, peeking over his shoulder. "don't look! it's not done yet." he yells and i laugh, moving back in surrender. "alright, alright. i'll get started on dinner then."

i'm cooking noodles and frying some chicken as i feel a little tug on my shirt, "you can look now." jack says and brings up a piece of paper to my face.

it's a drawing of a little boy with golden hair, presumably him, a woman that looks like it could be me.. and a tall man with dark hair and a classic black suit and red tie- aaron.

i smile and kneel down to place a kiss on jacks cheek, "i love it, jack. are you sure you aren't some kind of secret underground artist? this is really good." he laughs with pride and shakes his head. "nope- i don't think so!" he giggles and runs off back to his paper and pens.

i place the drawing on the counter next to the vegetables i just cut up. "is daddy coming home?" "of course, you know he hates missing dinner time. i'm sure he'll be home soon." i think i'm telling myself that more than i am jack.

"alright buddy, dinner's ready." half an hour passes since jack asked about aaron, and still no sign of him. "but daddy isn't here yet." i sigh. "i know, buddy, but he's got a lot of work to do. let's eat and then bedtime, you'll see him tomorrow. promise." jack nods, although i can sense his sadness about not being able to share his chicken spaghetti with his daddy and tell him all about school. he eats fairly fast, faster than me and then rushes towards the bedroom to put on his jammies. by the time i get there he's sitting on the bed, holding his favorite plushy, waiting for me to tuck him in.

"well look at you," i grin. "eager to sleep, huh? long day at school?" he nods and gets under the covers i hold up for him. i tuck him in tightly and press a kiss to his forehead. "get some sleep, 'kay?" the lights switch off and the door locks as i leave his room, walking down the stairs when i notice a figure entering the front door.

"hey," aaron says and drops his bag, hanging his keys on the key holder. "hi. you missed dinner time." he sighs, "i kno-" "and bedtime." i look at my watch - 10:30 P.M. "can we talk?" he asks, making his way to the kitchen where i'm standing washing dishes, trying very hard to avoid his gaze in which i know i'll melt the second i see it. "are you ready to be rational?"

"y/n, i'm really sorry." he says and i sigh, turning off the sink and wiping my hands before turning to him and holding onto the counter behind my back. "i know what i did today wasn't necessary. i'm sorry. forgive me, please." he pleads, and god do i wish i could just run into his arms and kiss his sadness away.

i drop my head, "i hate when you do this, aaron. putting yourself in unnecessary danger. i know your job requires stuff like this- but this time.. this time it wasn't needed." i look up with teary eyes as my voice breaks and aaron's eyes widen. he walks up to me and places his hands on my hips again.

"y/n.. i'm sorry. i know you were scared. i'm sorry." "i was. but i was more scared of having to tell jack his daddy isn't coming home anymore." aaron's expression drops. i can't tell if it's sadness, disappointment or if the thought of that scared the hell out of him.

"jesus, y/n, i'm so sorry." he hugs me and digs his chin into my shoulder. "i'm sorry i put you through that." he shakes his head and i wipe away the tear falling on my cheek.

he pulls away from the hug to look at me and tucks some hair behind my ear, "it won't happen again. i promi- i swear." i nod and he smiles, placing a quick kiss on my lips. "i love you." "i love you too." "do you forgive me?"

"always."

[roleplayfinder]

Hi!! 21F here, looking to do an 18+ Criminal Minds plot against either Spencer Reid or Aaron Hotchner. I'd like to specify I haven't seen all the seasons so this would be their earlier versions from the beginning roughly (1-3). These will also be romance plots with smut involved, details can be discussed.

For Spencer, I'd like to play as an OC, and it'll either be mxf or mxm. I have a few ideas for the type of character I'll be playing, which might be another agent, or an obsessed unsub, etc - either way, they will take more of a dominant role here, meaning you would be playing Spencer with a romantically submissive lean.

For Aaron, I'd like to either play as an OC, or I'll play as Spencer, it will either be mxf or mxm again. Once more, similar thoughts character-wise, except adding in a few additional ones where Aaron either saves them or almost arrests them for something (if OC). This time, I would ask you portray Aaron in a more dominant manner against my character.

If interested, please interact. We can discuss dynamics, possible dark and mature themes, anything that needs to me expanded on in DMs. Thanks!

.

[freckles-things]

Introduction / Masterlist

So, I guess it's finally time to introduce myself. It might be 7 years too late, but better late than never, right?

Julia | 25

Pan, so this blog is lgbtqi+ safe :)

This is my side blog, so I follow and like from @potterheadandsherlocked

I love writing, art and travelling. I also enjoy reading and appreciate photography and architecture.

I try to treat everyone I meet with kindness and respect, if you do decide to contact me, please do the same.

I am open to meeting new friends/mutuals and talking to others on a personal level. Please do not send unsolicited nsfw messages or content to me.

This blog might contain nsfw content, and is not suitable for users under the age of 18.

Asks: Go nuts! Question about my works? Yes! Request for a little drabble? Sure! Imagine requests? I will try, but I am a very slow writer. :’) 

Fandoms I write for: Criminal Minds; NCIS; BBC Sherlock; BBC Merlin; Harry Potter; Good Omens; The Sandman; Enola Holmes; Bridgerton; Outlander; the Black magicians guild; Top Gun; Supernatural

I also write for celebrities as long as they haven't explicitly stated that they're uncomfortable with it. If in doubt just message me and I'll let you know if I know who the person is and if I will write for them.

The same goes for fandoms. If there's a fandom not listed here you can always just ask. Chances are that I might know the show/film/etc. and feel confident that I might be able to write for the requested characters. The above list is just an indication for the fandoms I'm definitely comfortable writing for.

Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner

Camera Roll Materpost

Criminal Minds

Losing the Shadows (Aaron Hotchner x reader) | part 1 | part 2

In the Eye of a Hurricane (daughter!reader)

Imagine Hotch comforting you (platonic)

Imagine embarassing Hotch in front of the team

Imagine giving Hotch a sassy answer

Imagine secretly dating Hotch and him always teasing you when the team is around

Imagine Hotch looking at you walking towards the altar

Signs of the Past (Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader)

Derek Morgan

Of Dates and Cases

Imagine Derek calming you down (platonic)

Imagine being best friends with Derek and pranking Reid (platonic)

Something Domestic

Spencer Reid

Imagine having a nightmare and calling Reid (can be read as paring or platonic)

Imagine meeting Reid and going to be his best friend (platonic)

You are Weird | part 1 (platonic)

Imagine Reid trying to save you from an unsub

Imagine surprising Spencer on a hard day and giving him a backrub

Imagine Dating Reid

David Rossi

Imagine bickering with Rossi

BAU!Team

Out of Time (BAU!Team x reader) | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Moodboards

Harry Potter

Severus Snape

Imagine duelling with Severus Snape

Draco Malfoy

The Beauty of your Smile (Draco Malfoy x reader)

Imagine Draco always sending you hidden messages

BBC Sherlock

James Moriarty

Imagine dating Moriarty

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock stopping work at crime scenes to answer your text

Imagine Sherlock telling you that he loves you

Imagine being Sherlock's and John's roommate

Stolen Love (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

Fantastic Beats

Imagine having a pet niffler

NCIS

Nightly Disturbance (Jenny Sherpard x Gibbs)

Anthony DiNozzo

Imagine being Tony's best friend and getting sassy with Gibbs (platonic)

Ziva David

Being best friends with Ziva would include

Abby Sciuto

Imagine Abby calling you in to help her with a computer problem to McGee's dismay (platonic)

The Joker

Imagine the Joker having a soft spot for you

Lucifer (TV)

Lucifer Morningstar

Rescued by the Devil

[nescaveckwriter]

Bundled, Broken Maybe Healed (Part 2)

Prompt: Bundled up in blankets - will be in bold,😱

A/N: YAY! My third one for @badthingshappenbingo 🤭, Okay y'all, this chapter is intense, I'm not kidding.. we find more out about Meredith's past and its traumatic okay... So good luck...😱💓❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, blood and gore, normal Criminal Minds stuff, going into depth off crime scenes etc, drug use,torture, anything else I missed let me know💕

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Meredith Lang.

Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.

Words:3000ish 😅

Chapter Name: Bundled, Broken, Maybe Healed? (Part one) (part two) (Part three)

something, the pinch between my toes was horrible, but the pain didn’t last long, no! I saw these little bits of spiders coming from everywhere, I tried my best to smash them but I couldn’t due restraints, it was scary, the spiders I mean, I never was a fan, I’m not sure how long it lasted, but it felt like I wanted to crawl, get out of my skin, out of my body. So when my first high came down I was back in the cage, watching how he would drug Hope,’ she paused, looked at me and said ‘no! He , Never did touch us, you know… I guess we could be thankful, this was clearly not a sexual thing,  more sadistic, he got off on our fear.’ I looked at her, this teenager who went through something horrible, and I realised that she is one intelligent human being, she profilled this man, without any experience, so she looked at me “you know, what one day, I will find Hope, and I will find the collector and I put him behind bars, make him suffer the way we did.’ I knew right then and there I needed to call Jason Gideon, maybe her healing journey starts with justice. And as the days passed and she spoke, of her time, that  everyday he’d do it over and over again, how he broke in the girls, to listen too him, too obey him, every order, he’’l train them like dogs, to fight each other, and how she did not participate in it, she’ll let the others beat her up, even Hope in the end started to beat her up, but that day she broke down, she sobbed, not because she felt the pain of her best friend turning on her, no, but because she couldn’t save her, she couldn’t stop him, from brain washing her, from ruining her, she looked me and my heart shattered, her words tore through me ‘if only I could help Hope be strong enough, he would’ve thrown her out just like me, I tried, I tried to talk to her, to make her strong, but nothing work’ she clenched her fist, ‘The collector got rid of me,because of  not listening I was bad for his business, no one wanted buy me, hell I don’t even think he advertised, but he tried to make me fear him,, and internally I did, but I didn’t show it, he would starve me for, days, I felt weak, at first but after a while, numb…  so one day he pumped me full of drugs, and I remember thinking, this is it, finally I’ll overdose and this nightmare will be over, till today I remember feeling, cold like really cold, and I wrapped myself in blankets and it didn’t help, by now I was so used to seeing the spiders, that I would talk to them, I knew they weren’t real, but to me, they we the only familiarity that I had, so I felt comfortable with, them.’ she gave a humorless laugh ‘Now, I’m probably never getting out of here doc am I?’ I smiled and told her that I understood, but really how could I? I have a feeling she deliberately skips parts, that’s too painful to tell over, or she’s afraid that she’ll scare someone, she is highly sensitive but she doesn’t show it, she hates feeling vulnerable, the moment she’ll feel scared she lash out, but at the same time she’ll care about the people around. She trusts no one, in one of our sessions she disclosed that she doesn’t even trust her parents. Sometimes I try to press that subject, but she’ll ignore it, saying ‘one time thing doc’ and start talking about something different. 

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Spencer Reid + Migraines

(Chronic pain as a metaphor for emotional baggage or emotional blocks in media)

TLDR; I hate it when media uses pain (especially irl chronic pain conditions) as a metaphor for emotional trauma and allows a character to be healed once they have gotten over their trauma.

So this is a rant I've had building up for a while now, especially because I've seen quite a few people on my dashboard talking about Maeve/the Maeve storyline, and how she was introduced to the show as Spencer's doctor who magically "cured" his headaches with vitamins? Apparently (I don't remember the details because I haven't seen those episodes in so long, but yikes).

I am a chronic pain sufferer and I have been formally diagnosed with chronic migraines. Because of a medication used to treat chronic migraines, I haven't had an attack in more than three years (save for one outlier).

Migraines are an intensely serious medical problem, and it's weird to me that Spencer was clearly having migraine attacks on the show and they didn't address it as it's own medical problem? They just acted like he was having some light headaches and needed to ignore it and get over the problem or "find the root cause" - aka stop being sad and then your brain will get better???

When I was originally watching the Season 6 episodes where Spencer starts struggling with his "headaches", I have never related to something more in my life. Especially because at that point in my life, I was still have 2 or 3 migraine attacks per month, and seeing him wearing sunglasses indoors, aggressively bouncing his leg to try and distract from the pain while sitting in a hospital waiting room, rubbing his eye sockets, flinching at the light - that was and sometimes still is my life.

When the doctors determined that he didn't have epilepsy, didn't have a tumor, etc. I was like "okay, so they're gonna treat him for migraines and acknowledge that migraines are a really detrimental chronic pain condition."

But no. They just have him the whole "idk. You're not dying so the pain must be cause you're like... sad."

And I totally understand Spencer not wanting to take medication because of his past with Dualdid, but there are so many non-narcotic options for pain treatment. Especially because his character is very into science, it would have been interesting to see him exploring alternative (very traditional) medicine like acupuncture or massage, while acknowledging his past drug addiction as a problem and saying that he doesn't want to relapse.

Hell, it would have even been nice for them to acknowledge that his caffeine addiction could have been affecting his headaches and for there to be a little subplot where he was super irritable because his doctor asked him to quit coffee to see if it made his headaches go away. (Because one of the first migraine treatments is quitting caffeine, chocolate, or alcohol - common trigger foods.)

But instead, the show presented his headaches as a physical presentation of his emotional pain. Which is something incredibly common for shows to do - the other example I can think of is Weeds. But in general I fucking hate the idea that chronic pain is just an embodiment of emotional trauma, and once you get over that emotional trauma, you are "cured". (Because it was narratively implied in the show that part of the reason Maeve was able to cure his headaches is because he was in love with her, not because of the weird pills she gave him.)

For once, I would like to see a show acknowledge chronic pain as a problem that is 100% out of the control of a person, and even though it's not life threatening, it still fucking sucks. And while it might be treatable, it is incurable. Like HELLO

Don't treat it like some emotional arc that the person has to get over and not a problem that people have to realistically battle for their whole lives. I HATE the metaphor that pain is just a manifestation of negative emotions and it will go away once you acknowledge your trauma or battle those negative emotions.

I so badly wanted them to acknowledge Spencer as a chronic migraine patient and treat him as such.

But anyway. That's it

[semthescientist]

Hi! I read part two of your 'lil dairy entry' and the timing and the words were literally prophetic! First I want to thank you for writing that♡ And second I wanted to ask if you've had success with shifting or if you know of a way to be successful with it (with Self in mind)? Shifting was all I've ever wanted for four years and it feels like I'm having happiness dangling infront of my face… It's disheartening :/ Thank you♡

well, i would like to thank you for reading it, as well as the kind words (:

i have not shifted “physically”, so to say nor do i do any methods for it. i sort of see manifesting and shifting as one in the same and something that we can do naturally.

i totally can understand what you’re feeling, and i’d like to offer a bit of advice if that’s okay? i think what would help is to take shifting off a pedestal, kind of shift your perception of it as the thing that will make you happy, to something that’s your birthright. i say this as someone who was experiencing everything going wrong and wanting to shift so bad because i wanted something to save me.

just from personal experience, the things you want tend to happen when you step into the concept of them being yours from the get-go. i don’t mean forcing yourself to think a certain way, i just mean letting yourself be and gently redirecting the stories that don’t serve you.

for example:

“it feels like i’m having happiness dangle in front of my face.”

can be changed to…

“the universe/my god-self/source etc. is simply showing me what is possible for me.”

“i’ll be happier when i shift.”

can be changed to…

“placing my happiness outside of myself is a disservice to me, and i deserve better.”

these are just some redirections that could potentially lead to a better mental space. i feel like most of our stress (especially as shifters) comes from the way we respond to the 3d. we get angry, upset, doubt or try to do 101 techniques—all valid emotions and feelings, but sometimes just being aware is really all we needed. while i haven’t woken up and turned to the side and saw kenji sato in my bed (yet, lol) i know that if i couldn’t shift, if i couldn’t physically fight curses with Gojou or be a mage in the woods somewhere—i seriously wouldn’t have the urge for something like that. i can’t, you can’t, no one can have a desire for something that cannot be fulfilled.

i like to remind myself of that when my ego starts getting all panicky. another thing i’d like to add is it’s not necessary for your ego to believe in shifting either because your ego is apart of that world, you get me? it’s like shifting to Criminal Minds and telling Spencer Reid he’s played by Matthew Gray Gubler—he’d look at you so confused because Spencer is real, and there is no such thing as a show, or a movie—this is real life. so don’t worry about that.

but yes, to close this out, i think it could be very helpful to only do techniques if you really enjoy them. ask yourself what would you like to do, not what you feel like you should do. doing what feels good is always a good first step. additionally, reminding yourself that shifting is your birthright so even if you haven’t physically done it, it does not matter because you can’t lose. you wanted it for a reason, right? now it’s just time to switch from thinking someone is withholding it from you or it’s something you have to earn -> to practice trusting that it’s something you’re gonna do, regardless of whatever’s happening right now.

this was so long but i hope it helped. if you have any more questions, i’m always here ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[patheticdarling]

Monsters Are Real

   Summary: Reader’s dark past comes back to haunt her at the BAU. Will Spencer and the rest of the team be able to save her before it’s too late?

   Warnings: lots of usual CM violence/mentions of blood/beatings/kidnapping/torture/mentions of relationship abuse (mental, physical, sexual, etc)/mentions of sex/ i really love writing angst, i’m sorry lol

   Word Count: 3963

*NOT MY GIF*

     "Mails here!" Morgan called out as he helped Garcia set a large box of papers and packages on the desk. Everyone walked over, grabbing their mail and sorting through it, finding mostly junk mail and things like that.

     "Hey, Spence. Look's like there's a package addressed to you," J.J. lifted a small cardboard box, handing it over to Spencer.

     Spencer muttered thanks to J.J. before looking over the gift, "Huh, that's weird," he muttered.

     "What is?" Emily asked.

     "There's no name or return address. I wasn't expecting anything either," Spencer answered, tearing open the box, revealing a random VHS tape labeled: Y/N's Movie.

     "Oooh, is that a present from Y/N?" Garcia lifted her eyebrows.

     "She didn't come in for work today, why would she send you something and not be here to watch you open it?" Emily asked, laughing awkwardly.

     "Should we go to my office and find out why?" Garcia smirked. Everyone nodded eagerly, following Garcia to her monitors.

     "I don't think I'm ready to watch an L/N, Reid sex tape this early in the morning," Morgan chuckled. Reid hitting him on the arm. Garcia entered the tape, everyone smiling in anticipation as the video was cueing up. Suddenly a video flickered onto the screen.

     "What is that?" Emily squinted at the screen, the rest of the team leaning in to get a better look as well.

    "Is that...Y/N?" Garcia's voice shook.

    "Oh my God," J.J. muttered. Everyone finally realizing just what they were looking at.

    "I-Is she tied up?" Morgan asked. There you were, tied to a chair as blood dripped from a gash above your eyebrow and what appeared to be a fractured nose. The room was dark and the only noise being your slow, hard breathing and the sound of your blood hitting the floor.

    Spencer's breathing was ragged and his words were hitched in his throat and he swallowed hard, "No, no that can't be. I-I was just with her last night. W-We watched a movie at her apartment and ate dinner, then we-" Reid stopped, "I-I left," he finished drily, "I left her alone, vulnerable."

    Morgan turned and made Reid face him and away from the screen, holding his shoulders, "Kid, you gotta calm down. Do you remember anything else from last night? Any of her neighbors acting off?" Spencer tried hard to focus on the events of last night, his mind continuing to replay the video of you, "Reid, come on you gotta focus. J.J., go get Hotch and Rossi." J.J. nodded before rushing out of the room. "Were they any people you didn't recognize? Any unfamiliar cars?"

    Spencer snapped back all of a sudden, "T-There was a car. I'd never seen it before and Y/N looked nervous around it. When I asked her why she told me it just gave her this feeling and we just went straight inside."

    "Was the car still there when you left?" Emily asked.

    "N-No, but I remember there were empty beer cans and food wrappers left from where the car was. I was gonna pick it up but it was late and I wanted to get home so I could go to sleep," Spencer remembered.

    "Okay, good good." Morgan encouraged.

    J.J. finally returned with Hotch and Rossi, "What's the situation?" Hotch asked.

    "Um, Y-Y/N, she's all tied up and b-bloody," Garcia mumbled, pointing over to the monitor.

    "How the hell are we even watching this?" Rossi asked, frustrated already.

    "Reid got sent the tape, we all just assumed it was Y/N playing a prank," Emily answered, Reid still shaken up.

    "We're going over everything Spence and Y/N did last night," J.J. interjected.

    "Reid says he remembers a weird car parked outside of Y/N's building. A dark brown 2006 Honda Accord, no plates," Morgan explained.

    "That's gotta be our guy. Garcia, can you pull up the security feed from outside of Y/N's building?" Rossi asked. No answer. "Garcia?"

    "Oh my God," her voice shook.

    "What is it?" Everyone turned to the screens. Someone had walked into the room with you, dressed in all black with a hood covering their face.

    "Garcia, do something!" Reid yelled.

   "I-I can't, Reid, it's a VHS. There's basically no electronic component. I-I’m sorry," Garcia's hands shook as tears built in her eyes. 

   Everyone watched as the unsub approached you, pulling your head back harshly by your hair, you let out a cry of pain in return.

    "Are you ready to listen to me now?" the unsub spoke roughly.

    "You go to hell," you spat back.

    "Tsk tsk, that wasn't the answer I was looking for," the unsub chuckled evilly, before reaching his hand back, the back of it striking your face. The team bracing as he did so again and again and again.

    "Turn it off," Spencer spoke harshly.

   "Reid, you know we can't do that," Hotch answered.

    "I said turn it off!" Reid yelled, lunging towards the computer, Morgan rushing over to stop him. Spencer fell onto Morgan, sobbing harshly as they both sank to the floor.

    "It's okay, Kid, it's gonna be okay," Morgan hushed him. The rest of the team tearing up at both sights.

    "Guys," Rossi redirected everyone's attention back to the screen.

    The unsub yanked your hair back again, "I told you, Y/N. I told you that I'd come back for you, didn't I?"

    "You guys heard that too, right?" Rossi asked.

    "Yeah, he said her name," J.J. bit her lip nervously.

    "What? What does that mean?" Garcia asked, wiping her eyes.

    "He knows her," Hotch responded.

    "W-Who would do that to our sweet Y/N? She...she's one of the best people I've ever met. W-Who?" Garcia sniffled, her eyes darting between the team and the screen.

    "That's what we need to find out, let's get started." Hotch instructed, "Garcia, can you get a timestamp for the video?"

    "Um, yeah. Give me a sec," Garcia typed furiously, "It's from today, starting at around 3 am."

    "Reid, what time did you leave her house?" Hotch asked, Spencer, continued to stare at his feet, "Reid?" Hotch snapped. Reid blinked a few times before focusing on what Hotch was saying, "If you feel like you can't work then I have to take you off the case. So, tell me, can you work?"

    Spencer took a deep breath before nodding, "I-I can work," his voice shook.

    "Alright, let's go," Hotch nodded, leading everyone to the briefing room.

    "First things first, I know that we all care deeply about Y/N, some more than others," Hotch shot an apologetic look to Reid, "But we have to look at this like we would any other case. And I know it's gonna be hard but we can't be biased with this and we can't let our feelings cloud our judgment. Is that understood?" Everyone nodded in agreement, "So, what do we all know about Y/N outside of work?"

    "She's pretty quiet, I don't think she has anyone else besides us," Emily started.

    "Prentiss is right. We all know she was a foster kid, we've been her only real family," J.J. continued.

    "Has anyone noticed anything different about her behavior? Even the smallest thing?" Hotch asked. Everyone pondered, nothing immediate coming to mind in regards to your behavior.

    "She hasn't been eating as much," Morgan finally spoke up.

    "What?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowed, "What do you mean she hasn't been eating?"

    "During lunch breaks, she'll just push around her food. Maybe take a couple of small bites. When I first noticed it, I asked her if she was okay and she said she just wasn't hungry or that she had a big breakfast," Morgan explained.

    "No, that can't be. Y/N hates breakfast, she always settles for coffee and maybe some toast or a bagel." Reid answered, "That's why she always gets a big lunch."

    "Morgan, when did that start?" Rossi asked.

    "Maybe a week or so ago," he answered.

    "Garcia, can you check any current events that may have made Y/N uneasy or cause some sort of negative effect?" Rossi turned to Penelope who nodded before typing furiously.

    "O-Oh gosh," she muttered, "U-um.."

    "Penelope, what is it?" J.J. asked as Garcia looked at her screen visibly uncomfortable.

   "You guys remember Y/N's ex, right? Kyle Murphy? The one with the bad temper," Garcia explained.

    "Bad temper is a nice way to put it,” Emily scoffed, “The guy beat Y/N to a pulp for years before we arrested him.”

    "What about him, Garcia?" Morgan asked.

    "He...he was just released from prison a week ago," Garcia muttered.

    "What?!" Spencer exploded, "Why weren't we notified?!"

    "I-I don't know," Garcia's voice shook as she continued typing furiously, "He was granted parole and they let him out on good behavior. Since when do women beaters get good behavior releases?"

    "Garcia, send us his address," Hotch nodded, everyone, filing out of the door.

    "Sent to your phones!" she called as you all ran to the cars. Morgan, Reid, and J.J. were in one car while Rossi, Hotch, and Emily rode in the other.

    "I can't believe I didn't notice there was something wrong sooner," Spencer mumbled to himself.

    J.J. turned around from the passenger seat, taking her friend's hand, "Spence, it's not your fault. None of us knew anything."

    "Morgan did. Not that it's his fault. But I was blinded by my happiness that I didn't even notice she was acting different," Spencer sniffled.

    "Hey, if anything, we all were. We were happy that the two of you were finally happy," J.J. gave him a reassuring smile.

   "What if she can't forgive me?"

    "She will, Kid. Don't worry about that," Morgan interjected.

    J.J.'s phone rang, "Yeah, Garcia?" she answered, "Yeah, ok. Thanks." she hung up, looking rather uncomfortable.

    "What'd she say?" Morgan asked.

    "She remembered what Reid had said earlier about the car and turns out a dark brown 2006 Honda Accord was bought from the nearby impound the night Kyle was released. Problem is that it was never registered and bought all in cash so we can't track it," J.J. explained. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, picking at the cuffs of his shirt.

    "Hey, Reid," Morgan called, Reid not bringing himself to look at his friend, "We're gonna find her, don't worry." Spencer nodded hesitantly. 

   Everyone arrived at Kyle's apartment, Emily knocked politely once before Morgan kicked down the door furiously. 

   "FBI! Kyle Murphy!" Kyle sat on his couch, smirking smugly as he turned to face the team, scratches covered his face as he had an ice pack pressed to a growing bruise on his cheekbone.

   "I'm glad you got my gift, Dr. Reid," Kyle smirked. Spencer didn't hesitate to grab him by the collar and pin him against the nearby wall.

    "Where is she?!" Spencer yelled. "Where is she, you bastard?!" Spencer continued yelling, hitting Kyle's head against the wall.

    "Reid, come on," Rossi tried pulling him off, Spencer's eyes fixed in a deadly gaze, "Kid, let him go. If you do this, we'll never find her."

  Rossi and now Morgan continued to try pulling him off, he finally let go and took some steps back. Morgan not bothering to be gentle as he tightened the cuffs around Kyle’s wrists. 

    Emily came out of the bedroom, "She's not here, guys."

    "You're never gonna find her. Well, not in time anyway," Kyle smirked.

    "Come on, you," Rossi and Morgan dragged him out of the door, throwing him in the car harshly. Reid was about to board the same car.

    "You're going with Rossi and J.J.," Hotch stepped in front of him.

    "What? No, I'm riding back with him. I need to talk to him," Spencer argued, attempting to push by Hotch. 

    "No, you're not,” Hotch blocking his way once again, “You're riding back with J.J. and Rossi. Emily, Morgan, and I will ride with him." Spencer tried to push past him, Hotch stopping him, "That's an order, Reid." Spencer huffed before making his way over to J.J. and Rossi’s car.

    "Trust us, it's more for his safety, Spence," J.J. reassured as they all climbed into the SUV. 

    "Not that we care that much but we kind of like having you on the team and not suspended," Rossi tried to lighten the mood. 

   Everyone let out a lighthearted chuckle. Spencer stared out the window as they drove in silence back to Quantico. Rossi and Morgan were the first to try to interrogate him. But he insisted he'd only talk to Spencer, Hotch wasn't fond of the idea and neither was the rest of the team. Emily and Hotch tried next. Nothing but the same request. J.J. and Emily. Nothing. Rossi and Hotch. Nothing. Morgan and J.J. Nothing. They tried it all and nothing would persuade him differently. Finally, Hotch decided to send both Reid and Morgan in so that Morgan could be there if anything went wrong.

   “You promise to keep your head? You can’t let him get to you, Reid,” Hotch explained as Spencer readied himself. 

   Reid nodded, “Understood.” 

   “Good luck,” Emily gave Spencer’s should a squeeze before him and Morgan headed into the interrogation room. 

    "Aww, finally. Spencer. I've been waiting for you," Kyle smirked.

    "Shut the hell up," Morgan snapped, "Where is she, Murphy?" Spencer tried his best to refrain himself from doing anything stupid as he stood in the corner of the room.

  "Hey, Spencer? How's Y/N?" Kyle tried to ask. Spencer refusing to answer as he avoided Kyle’s gaze. "She still a clean freak? Yeah, I remember, every Thursday she'd deep clean the house. Used to get upset when I got home from work and walked on the carpets with my boots. I worked in construction. But she found out that it wasn't a good idea to raise her voice at me."

  "Kyle, just tell us where she is and maybe we can work something out," Morgan trying to regain his attention away from Reid.

  "Thursdays, her favorite day. Mine? Saturday. Saturdays were our designated date night, a chance for us to go out and not be so caught up in work. Mmm, I used to love when we'd get home from the movies or dinner. Y/N knew exactly what she was supposed to do next. She'd get undressed first, then she'd undress me. She'd lead us to the bedroom. Then," Kyle stopped, chuckling to himself, "Ugh," he moaned as he licked his lips, "Does she do it for you too, Dr. Reid? That little moan when you first put it in-"

    Suddenly Reid threw the table against the wall and Kyle's neck was tight in his grasp as he pinned him to the wall, "I will kill you," Spencer hissed, "I swear to God-" Morgan finally was able to pry him away, Hotch and Rossi coming in to pull him out of the room.

    "What happened to having yourself under control? I thought you said you could work this case, professionally," Hotch scorned.

    "I," Reid let out a shaky breath, "I couldn't stand there and just hear him talk about her like that."

    "Reid, he is a suspect. We can't just beat him. We aren't gonna get anything out of him that way besides maybe an aggravated assault charge," Rossi explained, trying to establish some calm.

    "Hey, Doc! Where'd you go?”  Kyle cackled from the other side of the glass, “I didn't hit a nerve, did I!?"

  "Let me go back in there. He thinks he can get to me," Spencer begged.

   "He already has. Reid, we can't risk this anymore. Not with Y/N's life on the line," Hotch answered.

  "Aaron, the Kid might be right. This scumbag didn't even breathe until Reid came in. He's the key, we have to let him." Rossi interjected.

    Hotch took a moment to ponder it over, "Fine. But Rossi is going in with you too." Rossi and Spencer nodded before stepping back into the interrogation room.

    "Hiya Doc. That was fun," Kyle smirked, Spencer tried his best to look away, "Oh come on, we got our blood pumping a bit. Now, let's talk business. You want Y/N, I want Y/N. So, what are we gonna do about that?"

    "You're never going to have her," Spencer hissed.

    "Oh, but I already do. You did watch the video, right? Tsk tsk, still has a mouth on her. Even after all those years of correcting her. She's always been stubborn."

    "Correcting her?” Rossi scoffed, “You beat her, Kyle. Beat her until she had no self-worth, no self-esteem." 

    "I loved her." Kyle snapped.

    "No!" Spencer slammed his hands on the table, "You abused her! Mentally, physically! You beat her so bad that she had not one ounce of self-respect left in her body. You did that Kyle! And I saved her, we saved her. She's a better person now. Stronger. And now, she's stronger than you."

   Kyle stirred angrily in his seat, scoffing, “You don’t know jack shit.”

    "That's why you haven't broken her yet. That's why you're so upset." Morgan laughed, "Y/N's not afraid of you anymore. She loves Reid and that's why she'll never go back to you. Ever."

    "Hmm, even if that were true, none of it is gonna save poor Y/N now, is it? She's gone. You're never finding her. And you can't hold me here forever. We're leaving the minute I get out of these cuffs." Kyle smirked, "Well fought, Doc," he turned to Spencer, "But we both know she was meant to be with me, a real man."

   Spencer’s jaw clenched, his fists balling. Rossi stood, preparing to stop him, “I swear to God, I will-”

    "Guys!" J.J. burst through the door, "We found her. We found Y/N." she smiled, "Hotch and Emily brought her back, she's in the briefing room with them and Garcia now."

    "What?" Rossi asked, Spencer's face lit up and he didn't hesitate to sprint out the door to found you.

    "NO! How?!" Kyle fought against his handcuffs.

    "We overheard Kyle talking about how he used to work in construction so Emily and I had Garcia look up some of his old job sites and see which ones he could keep Y/N at without there being a chance of anyone finding her,” J.J. explained, “He had her at some abandoned shoe factory that's scheduled to be turned into a new mini-mall. It was one of the last jobs he was scheduled to work before we arrested him." Her relieved smile turning into a deadly glare as she looked over at a steaming Kyle

    Rossi chuckled, "You lose," he scoffed before they all left Kyle alone as he tried to get out of his extra tight restraints.

    "Y/N!" you heard Spencer's distant voice as Garcia handed you a cup of chamomile tea. Reid stopped as he looked at you. Your hands were shaky and you had a bandage over the huge gash on your forehead, a blanket wrapped around you. "C-Can I hug you?" Spencer asked.

    You nodded before being completely engulfed in Spencer's warmly familiar scent of coffee and old books, "Spencer," you whispered, practically melting in his gentle touch.

     "I-I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'm so so sorry for ever letting you out of my sight. I-I don't know what I'd do with myself if something happened to you and it was because of my ignorance," Spencer whispered as he kissed your head.

    "It's ok," you sniffled, "It's over. I'm here."

    "Are you alright?" he pulled back, looking you over.

    "Just a few minor things. Some cuts and bruises, nothing worth worrying over anymore," you responded, placing a reassuring hand on his worried face, "Seriously, Reid, I'm fine, honey."

   He nuzzled his face into your hand, "I know, I just, I was scared. Really scared, scared I'd never see you again or-"

   "Hey," you cut him off, "You are not getting rid of me that easily, Dr. Reid." you smiled at him reassuringly. He smiled back before bringing you into a soft peck, you nearly fainted as his lips touched yours. 

   You took a deep breath, "I wanna see him."

  "What? No way, Y/N you are in no condition to-" Reid started.

  "Stop, I'm fine. I-I need to do this. I need to be able to face him, alone. I can't live in constant fear that he's gonna be there to ruin any chance I'll have at happiness. Spencer, please." you begged.

    Spencer took a moment then nodded reluctantly, "On one condition."

    "What?" you asked.

    "He even attempts to threaten you, I'm going in there."

    You smiled, touched at his statement but nearly frightened at his cold demeanor, "Don't worry, it'll be alright." You took a deep breath before they all escorted you to the room Kyle was still being held in.

   “Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?” Emily asked as you stood on the other side of the double-sided glass. 

  You took a quick look at Kyle’s scowling face, you tried your best to shake off the churning of your stomach, “I have to. I can’t let him think I’m afraid of him.”

   You moved to open the door, Spencer gently grasping your wrist, “You need me, I’m right here.”

   You nodded before Spencer hesitantly let go of your wrist. You took one last deep breath before pushing the door open. 

    "Well, this is a rather pleasant surprise, to say the least," Kyle smirked, his eyes wide.

    "Kyle," you cleared your throat as you sat down across from him.

   "Y/N, well don't you just look ravishing," he looked you up and down, hungrily. You crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his revolting gaze, "What brings you here, babydoll?"

    "I-I wanted to come to see you,” you answered. 

   "Really?” Kyle leaned back in his chair, “And why's that, doll?"

    "I don't know. I just know I needed to."

   "You miss me?" he smirked, you didn't budge, "Oh, come on, the Doc's not here. You can be honest."

    "No, Kyle, I don't miss you."

    "Well, isn't that just heartbreaking?" he chuckled, "So, why did you really want to see me?"

    "Well, I think there comes a day when every little girl needs to face her monsters. So, that she won't be a little girl any longer. You happened to be my monster, Kyle. So, here I am." Kyle was about to speak, "But," you cut him off, "I also wanted to thank you."

   "Aww, I'm touched. Are you thanking me for all those happy years we got to have with one another?"

   "No, Kyle. I'm thanking you for helping me realize that I deserve far better and I always have,” you answered, confidently, “Without you and your constant abuse, I wouldn't have been able to confide in my team, more specifically Spencer," you smiled to yourself as you heard Kyle grunt in anger, "And without you, I wouldn't have been able to fall as deeply in love with him as I have. You, Kyle, are the one to thank for my absolute and undeniable happiness. So, thank you Kyle Murphy." you smiled as you leaned across the table.

 He stirred angrily, “You’re pathetic.”

  "No, Kyle,” you shook your head, “You’re the pathetic one. Enjoy prison you bastard," you smirked before leaving the room, hearing him swear furiously under his breath.

  You took a deep breath, as you leaned back onto the door, collecting yourself. Your team smiling proudly at what you had just accomplished. 

   Spencer approached you, taking your hand, “I’m so proud of you, Y/N,” he placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Anything for You

So, I got this idea in my head and I wrote it. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but the first that I finished. And the first that I’m posting. Sorry if it sucks. I hope someone out there likes it. Italics indicate past memories.

Summary: This takes place after Maeve. It sort of starts a month before Spencer goes back to work but then skips a year. Reader is the newest member of the BAU. Spencer lashes out when she tries to help him, but he doesn’t realize how much she can relate to his trauma. 

warnings: angst but also a little fluff, typical CM violence (kidnapping, torture, death etc.), dark thoughts about dying, I think that’s it

Word Count: 6218

 It is moments like this that make you rethink every decision that lead you here. You are on the jet on the way back to Quantico after a particularly rough case. The team managed to save the most recent victim, but only to discover three more hidden on the unsubs property. And to make it worse, they were children. Everyone on the team keeps shooting you concerned glances, worried that you might break. It’s only fair. You are still the newbie.

 You started at the BAU one month ago to the day. Your previous position was a desk job, but you were ready to get back into field after two years of endless paperwork. Not that the entire team knows you had been in the field before. Only Hotch knows. You don’t like to talk about it. You had gone so far as to cut Hotch off to prevent him from bringing it up on your first day.

 You are counting down the floors with each beep as the elevator rises to bring you to the floor that houses the Behavioral Analysis Unit. To say you aren’t nervous would be a lie, but that comes with the territory of starting a new job. Especially a job with one of the most elite units of the FBI. It’s hard not to be intimidated.

 The elevator doors slide open, revealing the all too familiar glass doors that lead to the BAU. When you were trying to decide if switching career paths was the right decision, you found yourself staring at these doors far more than you’d care to admit.

 You walk through the doors, immediately heading for Hotch’s office. He told you to meet him there first thing this morning. You knock on the open door to draw his attention.

 “Agent L/N, please come in.” He looks up from the file he has open on his desk.

 “Agent Hotchner, I would just like to thank you again for the position.” You have to stop yourself before you ramble on about how grateful you are for his taking a chance on you.

 “Please, call me Hotch. You’re new ID was just dropped off.” He says, handing you the plastic card to put in your credentials. You take a moment to admire the way your name looks just above the words “Behavioral Analysis Unit” before sliding it into the wallet.

 “I wish we had time for a more thorough welcoming, but we just got a case. I’ll introduce you to the team in the conference room.” He rises from his desk, you following behind him to a room already full of profilers. Of course, you already know of them all, but the introductions are nice nonetheless.

 “L/N, these are SSAs Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jureau and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You shake hands with each member of the team as there name is called. “Team, this is SSA Y/N L/N. She transferred from violent crimes-” You know he is going to bring up your previous field work, so you cut him off.

 “It’s an honor to meet you all.” You smiled at Hotch, trying your best to get him to move on. Thankfully, you can see in his eye that he understands why you don’t want to relieve your past field experience.

 “Actually, that’s not all. Dr. Reid is on leave at the moment, but you’ll meet him when he returns.” You nod, taking a seat next to Derek. “Garcia, you can start now.”

 The memory fades and you try to ignore the concerned glances from everyone on the jet. Yes, you were the one to find the children in the back shed, but you have techniques to handle this. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the territory of undercover work.

 You are more concerned with the wellbeing of one Dr. Reid. This is the first case you’ve worked with him, but it still feels like something’s off. Granted, you don’t know why he was on leave or how long it lasted.

 After everyone else is asleep, barring Hotch who is too focused on his reports to pay you any attention, you slide down into the seat across from Spencer. He doesn’t even glance up from his book.

 “Dr. Reid?” You can tell he’s stopped reading at the sound of your voice, but it takes him a moment to actually look up at you. When he does, you can see the sadness in his eyes.

 “L/N. Are you okay?” Of course he would ask you that. You’ve known him for all of 72 hours, but he’s still concerned about you’re wellbeing. The way your heart flutters at the sentiment catches you off guard.

 “Oh, um, I’m fine. I actually wanted to check on you.” He looks startled at that, but you just push forward. “I know we only just met, and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I just thought maybe I could help.” You can see the instant you finished talking that it was a mistake. He is clearly not ready to talk about his demons, especially with a near stranger.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ “No, you shouldn’t have.” His words are defensive more than anything. The words of someone who just went through unbelievable pain “You couldn’t possibly help me. Unless, of course, you’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the love of your life being murdered in front of you just to name a few. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with that given your work in violent crimes.” The sarcasm is obvious, with violent crimes being a desk job. He mistakes the tears that spring to your eyes as pity rather than understanding. He scoffs, going back to his book while you wander back to your previous seat, trying to control your emotions.

 Spencer doesn’t know about your time undercover. He doesn’t know you experienced all of those things. He doesn’t know about the scars that line your torso or the more prevalent scars on your heart. You try not to take it personally. You’ve had years to deal with your trauma. His is clearly newer. You tell yourself over and over that he’s not angry with you, but with the world. You just happened to be the first available outlet.

 When the others wake up, they assume your red eyes are due to the case. That you are finally breaking down after a month on the job. They offer words of encouragement and promises to be there if you need to talk. They stress how you aren’t alone. They all know how you feel. You simply nod, gathering your things before heading home. You can’t help but think there is one of them who knows exactly what is going through your head. It’s the first time you’ve cried over Cameron in three months, the last time being the anniversary of his death.

 -------

 The next year at the BAU flies by. You actually feel like part of the family, knowing you could talk to any member of the team when you need a friend. Well, almost any member of the team. You and Spencer didn’t click the way everyone thought you would. Ever since the conversation on the plane, you hold back when you’re with him. It’s not that you two avoid each other. You’re just more like coworkers than family. You converse when you need to, but don’t seek each other out.

 Nobody understands why. Hotch especially thought the two of you would become close. You can see why he would think so. From your brief encounters with Spencer, you can tell he’s been through hell. Hotch was probably hopeful the two of you might bond over shared trauma, act as an anchor for each other to know you aren’t alone. Of course that required you to share your trauma with the team, which definitely has not happened.

 It’s not that you don’t trust them. It’s just that the moment hasn’t provided itself yet. First of all, you can’t just casually bring up being kidnapped and tortured for government secrets with your fiancé who was then murdered in front of you. Second of all, something in you says it would crush Spencer. You can tell he clearly still feels bad about what he said to you that day.

 You two hadn’t talked about it. It was a year later, and you still hadn’t talked about it. You would think he forgot, but he does have a rather prolific memory. Everything was fine though. Mostly. He still seemed nervous around you. Or maybe you were projecting. There is something about Dr. Reid…

 “Y/N, can I talk to you?” You were honestly surprised to hear Spencer’s voice saying those six words. Everyone else had already gone home, even Hotch. You just wanted to finish one more file.

 “Of course, what’s up?” You try desperately to sound casual, to pretend like you weren’t just thinking about him. Despite not talking to Spencer all that often, you still have a massive amount of respect for him. Watching him work is incredible. You would expect most people with his intelligence to come off as cocky, but he is somehow still so humble.

 “I just wanted to apologize. For what I said on the jet. I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have said those things, you were just trying to help me, and I threw it back in your face. Also, I’m sorry it took me so long to actually apologize. I just felt so awful, I didn’t know how to bring it up and the longer I waited the more nervous I became and” “Spencer,” he looked startled at the sound of his name. Granted, you normally call him Dr. Reid or Reid when you’re feeling more casual, but still. It’s his name, why is he so surprised you’re using it? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. You were dealing with an amount of grief nobody should have to go through. I shouldn’t have tried to step in without knowing more about the situation. I’m sorry.” This is your chance. Tell him what happened to you. Come clean about it all.

 He just looks so… relieved. As if you had lifted a weight off his shoulder just by telling him you understood he didn’t mean it. Seeing the hope in his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to put any of that weight back on him. He had just freed himself, he doesn’t need your problems weighing him back down.

 You can tell he still feels bad, but maybe now the two of you can try to move on. Maybe you’ll actually become friends. Telling him that you have indeed been through all of those things would just bring all that guilt back. For some reason, there is nothing you would rather do than protect Spencer Reid from pain.

 So, you’ve resigned yourself to never telling anyone unless you absolutely had to. You convinced yourself it was a secret you could take to the grave. Nobody needed to know.

 Until one day, they do. And that day happens to be tomorrow.

 --

 “Hello, crime fighters. This one is a doozey.” Penelope walked into the round table room and immediately jumped into the case. “Three heterosexual couples in Plano, Texas have been killed. The details are on your tablets. Be warned, it is not a pretty sight. All the victims were tortured. The men all died of blood loss. The women were drowned after multiple non fatal gunshot wounds and other various forms of torture.” You tensed ever so slightly at the description of the crimes. Hotch shot you a concerned glance, but you waved him off with a slight shake of your head. You zoned out for the rest of Garcia’s description, deciding instead to focus on every detail you could learn from the case files on your tablet.

 “Wheels up in 20.” Hotch’s voice drew you from your focus on the files. “Y/N?” You looked at him from your seat at the table, realizing everyone else had already left. “If this is too much for you, everyone would understand.” You stand, plastering the fakest smile Hotch has ever seen on your face.

 “I appreciate the concern, but there is a job to do. And I intend to do it.” There is no malice behind your words. Only a fierce determination to catch this unsub before he can hurt anyone else.

 “Alright, but Y/N, please. Let me know if you need to talk about it. The whole team is here for you.” You features soften into a genuine smile before you respond.

 “Thank you, Hotch.” And with that, you exit the room. You grab your go bag, meeting the other agents by the elevator.

 The flight to Texas is long enough that the team’s discussion doesn’t prevent everyone from catching up on sleep. While everyone else is resting, preparing to start up again on the ground with fresh eyes, you are pouring over every detail again and again. You just need to know if it’s the same people. The same people who killed your fiancé. The same people who tortured you.

 It was a day like any other. You had just gotten to the bar you were working at as a cover. Cameron was working security, you as a bartender. The mission was supposed to be simple.

 There was a domestic terrorist cell operating just outside of Plano in Addison, TX. The leader was believed to own the very bar you had gotten a job in. You were supposed to gather intelligence, and report back. You weren’t supposed to engage with the terrorist cell. It was a simple mission.

 That day, the day you could never forget, started exactly how you expected it to. The leader was supposed to be meeting with his right hand. You were supposed to learn who or what they were planning to target. You still can’t pinpoint the moment you knew something was wrong.

 Everything was normal when you clocked in. Everything was normal when you served you first few customers. Everything as normal when you walked up to the table hosting the meeting and asked if you could get them anything. Everything was normal until it wasn’t.

 You remember waking up in a warehouse. Cameron was tied to a chair across from you. He was injured, bleeding from a cut in his side. It didn’t look that bad, but there was so much blood. How could such a small cut produce so much blood?

 You had a million questions, but couldn’t form the words to ask them. You’re mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Cameron looked at you as if he knew something you didn’t. You suppose he did, given that he was awake before you. But that’s not what concerned you the most. No, it was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Pure terror, mixed with… resignation? That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be giving up?

 Finally gathering enough strength to speak, you mumble “What happened?”

 “Y/N… they know who we are. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did. They are going to hurt me to get to you. You can’t let them, okay? Stay strong. Everything will be fine.” His words are rushed. You have a hard time following them, as if the words drift into the air, only to enter your head in a different order.

 Before you have a chance to ask any more questions, you hear a door swing open behind you. You can hear the footsteps, but can’t turn around enough to see who they belong to.

 “Do it.” You know that voice. You know you know it, but you can’t place it.

 A man appears from your left. He stands in front of you, a mask covering his face so you can only see his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.” You’re ready for him to hit you. Or cut you. Or hurt you in any way. What you’re not ready for is him pulling a knife only to walk over to Cameron.

 “No” The word is barely there. You aren’t even sure you said it out loud.

 “Y/N, don’t tell them anything. Okay? I’ll be fine.” Cameron is looking at you with pleading eyes. You both know he’s lying.

 “Your fiancé here is a liar.” The man sneers, dragging his knife down Cameron’s arm. “He will most certainly not be fine.” With that, the man plunges the knife into Cameron’s stomach. A gut wrenching scream leaves his mouth as the man moves the knife around inside his body. You try to control your reaction, but tears instantly spring to your eyes.

 “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave your man alone.” There’s no point. Cameron would never forgive you if you gave up information to the enemy. He’s always been a loyal soldier. Either way, deep down you know he won’t live much longer. He’s lost too much blood. You are going to have to watch the man you love die. He’s going to bleed out in front of you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

 You are shaken back to reality after the jet has landed. You slowly come to, realizing you must have fallen asleep while you were looking at the files. You can’t get the eyes out of your head now. The last time you had a nightmare was 6 months ago. Although, this was more of a memory than the usual nightmares you have.

 “Y/N/N? You good?” Morgan is looking at you with concern that hasn’t been there since your first month on the job.

 “Yeah, I’m fine. Just groggy.” You try to laugh it off, walking past him and jumping into an SUV. You’re supposed to go with Hotch to the precinct to set up, so you can avoid the rest of the team’s questions for now.

 You bury your head in the files again, trying to discern if anything feels off or if it is all too similar to be a coincidence.

 “Just answer the question. This will all be over.” Cameron is dead. You are staring at his lifeless body as the man tries to torture you to get the answers he wants.

 With all the strength you can muster up, you spit at him. “I didn’t break before and I won’t break now. Do what you want to me. You’ll never get your answers.” “Oh everyone’s got a breaking point. I’ll find yours.” With that, he storms passed you and out of the room.

 You try to inventory the damage he’s done, but it’s hard because he typically drugs you when he leaves. You’re too disoriented to remember everything. You haven’t heard anything else from the first voice, but you finally realized it was the owner of the bar.

 You are just about to drift back into unconsciousness when you hear a loud crash from somewhere in the building. You expect the masked man to come running back into the room, but instead you’re greeted with the face of the terrorist cell leader. He pulls you to your feet, mumbling about how this wasn’t part of the deal.

 You don’t have the energy to protest as he pulls you down hallways and through doors. He bursts into a large open room. It smells like chlorine, but your eyes are too fuzzy to figure out why. The lights just got so much brighter, and you can’t see. You keep slipping on the floor. The third time, you fall to the ground. Everything is wet. He’s kicking you now. No, rolling you. It all feels distant. As if it’s not happening to you, but rather you are watching it happen to someone. Like a movie.

 You hear the splash before you register the water surrounding you. You’re sinking. It’s actually quite warm. Like a comforting blanket tucking you into bed. The sounds of people yelling fade out as the water covers your head. You feel at peace as everything fades to black.

 Suddenly, the peace is gone. You can hear voices. They sound loud, but still distant. Like you are swimming and someone is trying to talk to you from above the water. But the ground is hard now. There’s loud bangs too, but you can’t figure out what they are. There’s no pattern to them, but suddenly they stop. Maybe you’ll never know what they were, oh well. You just want to get back to the peaceful darkness.

 Instead, you feel burning in your lungs and a pounding in your head. It feels like someone is punching you in the ribs. No. No. No. Where’s the peace?

 All at once, the burning liquid is expelled from your lungs and your eyes fly open. You try to spin around, to see what’s happening, but everything hurts. Your lungs are trying to fill with air. Your eyes are trying to adjust to the lights. You head is begging everything to just stop making noise. Then, darkness. It’s not a peaceful transition this time. It’s sudden, as if someone turned everything off.

 “Y/N?” The sound of your name draws you out of the memory again. You turn to see Hotch’s concerned expression. He’s parked the car outside of the station.

 You take a few deep breaths before speaking, trying to prepare yourself for what you never wanted to have to do. “I have to tell them.” Hotch nods with a grim expression on his face.

 “The team won’t judge you for keeping it a secret. We’ll all be there for you.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s too worried about you.

 “I know. It’s not me I’m worried about.” For the first time since you met him, Aaron Hotchner looks confused. It’s actually kind of funny. Although, your laughing sounds more delirious than amused.

 “Hotch, my first case with Spencer, do you remember it?” You shudder at the memory.

 “Of course. It was hard on both of you.” Your smile feels weak, even to you.

 “Well, I tried to check on him. I had only just met him, but he looked so sad. I wanted to take his pain away.” You can feel the tears coming, but you can’t figure out why. “He said unless I had been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the murder of the love of my life there was nothing I could do to help him.”

 You can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch. His worrisome expression will just make you feel worse.

 “You didn’t tell him.” The realization is evident in the lilt of his voice. Turning toward him, you try to explain, but he cuts you off. “He was listing trauma you’ve both experienced, and you didn’t tell him.”

 “Of course not, he would’ve felt so guilty! He already feels so guilty and he has no idea. We talked it out, you know. We were actually becoming friends, although it was hard to see from an outside perspective.”

 “You had me fooled. The two of you barely talk.” Hotch looks incredulous. You’ve never seen so many emotions on his face in one day, let alone one conversation.

 “I know. It’s still new. Honestly, it happened yesterday.” Hotch actually chuckles at that. “I think he still feels bad that my first impression was him yelling at me. He’s going to feel so guilty, and I just wanted to keep that pain away from him. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage on top of his own.” You can’t read the expression on his face anymore. You can tell he’s thinking something, though he doesn’t intend to share.

 “It’ll all work out in the end, Y/N. Reid is stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot, but so have you. Let’s go catch this son of a bitch.” And the two of you exit the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

 Your nerves build waiting for the rest of the team at the station. Spencer and Derek are last to arrive. You were hoping to have a few more minutes to figure out how to tell them all about the worst moments of your life, but alas the time has come.

 Hotch clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The conversations about theories die out as all eyes turn to him. “Y/N has a theory to share.”

 That’s one way to put it. Before you can back out, you jump right in.

 “The unsub was a for-hire torturer. I think he left the business and started killing for fun. A sadist. He enjoys the psychological torture of killing the one person you love more than anyone.” You can’t bring yourself to say another word. Spencer looks grief stricken. Everyone else is looking at you in confusion, except Hotch who is looking at you with sorrow. You can’t decide which is worse.

 “What makes you say that?” Derek is the first one to speak. He clearly doesn’t understand why you came to that conclusion. Plus, he’s probably confused that Hotch had to introduce your theory rather than just include it in the brainstorming.

 “Before I worked in violent crimes, I worked in the National Security division. I focused on domestic terrorism. We had a mission go wrong. It was supposed to be a simple, just gathering intel. Something went wrong and two agents were abducted.” You unconsciously decided to depersonalize the story. It’s something Hotch quickly caught on to, but what can he do about it? You just need to get the words out.

 “They were a couple. Engaged. The man, he died from three precise wounds to the abdomen. He bled out while his fiancé was forced to watch.” You’re grateful when Emily interrupts.

 “Did the woman drown?” The woman. You.

 “No. Well, yes. She was dead for 3 minutes when they found her. The cell leader dumped her into a pool in the building she was being held in. They caught him trying to flee the building. When they questioned him about a partner, he said he hired someone to torture the couple to get information. He didn’t know where he went. I think that’s the unsub.”

 Instantly, the team is theorizing. You stay quiet, listening. Where could he have hidden for this long? Were there more crimes in other states? Can Garcia look through unsolved double homicides that fit the signature? Before long, Derek asks the question you’ve been dreading.

 “Can we interview the agent who survived?” You’re grateful that he’s looking at Hotch when he asks. Spencer, though, his eyes haven’t left you since you started speaking. He knows. You know he knows because you can see the weight bearing down on him. You tear your eyes away from him when Hotch clears his throat to get your attention.

 “Y/N, can we interview the agent?” His tone is gentle. Hotch knows what he’s asking. Are you ready to tell them the truth? To share this pain with all of us?

 “Yes. You can interview her.” You are visibly tense, but Morgan is just confused about the interaction. Why would Hotch need to ask you for permission? Why does he sound like someone just kicked his puppy?

 “Great, when can she get here?” Of course, Morgan would ask the next logical question.

 “She’s already here.” Your voice is quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you.

 “What? Where?” He knows he’s missing something. It’ll only take him a few more seconds to put it together, but you save him the trouble.

 “Right here.” You gesture to yourself, eyes flitting between Spencer’s and the ground. The rest of the team didn’t hear you. They were still working out theories as you, Morgan, Hotch, and Spencer converse in cryptic sentences and brief eye contact. Spencer is frozen in place. Hotch was stressed for you. It’s never easy to share past trauma, let alone when you feel like you don’t have a choice.

 The realization hits Morgan so fast he almost falls to the ground. He rushes to you, pulling you into the tightest bear hug you have ever experienced. Morgan has become like an older brother to you. He always jokes about how he would beat up anyone who hurt you. You always joke right back about doing the same for him. He told you about Carl Buford a few months ago. It was also on a case. You would’ve told him everything then, but you didn’t want him to feel like you thought the two were comparable or that his trauma was somehow less important just because you’d been through some bad shit too.

 His actions drew the attention of Rossi, JJ, and Emily though. You weren’t an overly emotional person usually. Undercover work made you good at compartmentalizing, so you never really sought out someone to comfort you. The sight of you in tears, wrapped in Morgan’s arms threw them for a loop. You normally waited until you got home to go through your routine to decompress. It was easier that way. But right now, the thought of even looking at Spencer was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You just couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt weird, to be sharing such an intimate part of your life with everyone and still be thinking about him. You had moved on from it all though. You knew how to deal with it. Of course, you still love Cameron, but you talk about everything in therapy once a week so you won’t break down like this.

 You see JJ look to Spencer for an explanation, but he’s too busy looking at you with more pain in his eyes than should be possible. He knows how it feels to see someone you love die right in front of you. He knows how it feels to try and move on from being drugged and tortured. He knows how it feels to be alone in it all. What he doesn’t know is how it feels to try and help someone through that grief only to have your own thrown back in your face. That’s what he did to you. Albeit, unintentionally but he did that. And it is so clear that he feels awful. You wish you could talk to him, but Morgan is pulling you into a different conference room for a cognitive interview that you somehow agreed to in your state of shock.

 Hotch explains the situation to Rossi, Emily, and JJ. Spencer’s guilt only pushes further down on him when he hears it all again.

 He stares at the room you’re in through the class doors of the conference room. He hasn’t moved in the ten minutes you’ve been gone. He expected JJ to talk to him first, but he was surprised to find Hotch instead.

 “Y/N told me in the car that she was scared to share that story.” Hotch starts slow, trying to ease Spencer out of his own head.

 “I would be too. It’s a painful memory to relive.” Spencer responds with a familiar tightness in his chest.

 “She wasn’t worried about herself though.” Spencer’s head jerks up to meet Hotch’s stare.

 “What do you mean? Who else would she be worried for?”

 “You.” Hotch says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You being worried about him when you share your darkest memories.

 “Me?” Spencer practically falls out of his chair in an effort to sit up straighter. “Why would she worry about me?” Despite his genius IQ, he can’t fathom why you would worry about him in this scenario. If roles were reversed and he had to tell the story of watching Maeve die, he wouldn’t be worried about you. He slowly comes to the conclusion that he would be worried about you though. Now that he knows you’ve been through something similar, he would worry about you anytime it was brought up. Anytime anything remotely similar was brought up.

 “She told me what you said to her on the jet after your first case together.” Spencer falls into himself at the memory, his guilt pushing his shoulders down. “She said you still feel guilty about it. That hearing the things she has been through would push all that guilt back to the surface. More than anything, she wanted to protect you from more pain.” Hotch seems to know more than he’s saying, but Spencer is too shocked to profile him.

 “But, I, how would, but…” Spencer is muttering the beginning of every thought running through his head, but he can’t seem to form a complete sentence. “Why?”

 “You’ll have to ask her.”

 --

 Between your cognitive interview and Garcia’s sleuthing, the team find the unsub rather quickly. You stay at the station when the team goes to catch him. You try to protest, but Hotch, Morgan, and Emily stare you down until you concede. Really though, it was the concerned look from Spencer that convinced you to sit down and wait. The case wraps up quickly after that. The masked man ended up being Kyle Beckett. A classic sadist.

 It brings you more closure than you would have imagined to know he will be locked up for the rest of his life. You spent a lot of time in therapy trying to cope with the fact that he was never caught. And now, it’s over. You’re also extremely grateful you didn’t have to face him, although you would never admit that you were actually glad to stay behind. They can all tell though. They are profilers after all.

 You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu at all the stares you’re getting on the jet. It’s as if time itself was rewound to a year ago. You feel like the newbie again. Getting ready to have a heart to heart with Spencer. You’d be blind not to notice the parallels of the two situations when Spencer slides into the seat next to you on the jet after everyone else falls asleep.

 The silence is comforting at first, but quickly becomes unbearable.

 “Hi” You have a sleepy smile on your face when you say it. You are unbelievably exhausted after everything that happened. Too tired to fully conceal the emotions you know you have been denying. You’re always happy when you talk to him, even if the occurrences are a bit far and few between compared to other members of the team. “You look sad.”

 His mouth actually twitches upward at that statement, which you count as a win in your book. “You’ve been through hell on this case, and you’re still worried about me.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s too good at hiding his thoughts inside that big beautiful brain.

 “I’ve always worried about you. Ever since I met you. You just looked so sad and I wanted to make it stop.” You aren’t thinking before you speak anymore. Probably why Spencer suddenly looks so surprised.

 “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Now it’s your turn to look confused. How did he know that? “I may have talked to Hotch earlier…” It takes longer than you’d care to admit for you to understand what exactly Hotch told him. But still, you’re too tired to be bothered.

 “I’m sorry if that was weird for you. It’s just, after we talked about it I thought maybe we could eventually be friends or something. I didn’t want you to be sad again. I know what it feels like to be sad. I also know what it feels like to be sad again when you realize someone else is sad for that same reason.” You must actually be exhausted because it feels like you’re talking in riddles. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I just mean, I didn’t want you to feel bad about it again. I didn’t want you to feel more pain” You’ve started leaning toward him, about ready to pass out.

 “You’re incredible. You truly are amazing. I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t feel awful for what I said to you, but maybe with enough time I can make it up to you.”

 “I would like that.” You smile brightly as you look into his eyes. They seem sad still, but there is a brightness there that wasn’t there before.

 Spencer doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lets you lay down in his lap as you drift off, the soothing feeling of his hands in your hair lulling you to sleep.

 You wake up as the jet touches down. The memories of your conversation with Spencer bring a smile to your face. He looks down smiling when you shift in his lap.

 “Thank you” You’re not surprised he still feels like he needs to thank you.

 “I would do anything for you Spencer Reid.” You get up to collect your belongings, turning back only when you realize he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

 “Spence, let’s go.” Spence. He likes the sound of that. Maybe, just maybe the two of you will be okay. 

[insufferablelust]

Little Butterfly I (Sugar Daddy Mob Boss!Spencer Reid x Reader AU)

Warnings: Part 1 of an ongoing series (that i hopefully won’t abandon), Upcoming heavy violence, Mafia and Crime related fic, Spencer is a soft dom but is dangerous, HEAVY SMUT, upcoming dark kinks (Gun,Knife,Bondage etc), daddy kink for sure, Manipulation kink, Degradation, Humiliation (yknow the drill with me) spoiling kink?, upcoming murders etc, heavy topic regarding mental illness, College legal age!Reader, Age gap, older!Spencer, Mean!Spencer, BDSM themed, Indication of Subspace, Just heavily dark smutty series (yet again lmao) 

Hello, my wonderful readers, i want to thank you all for the patience you all have for this series, hopefully i can stick to schedule an update this once a week like Thrilled. This will be a new territory for me since all i know about mafia and such are from the movies and countless books my father has inherited me with, so i deeply apologize if there’re some mistakes, this is an AU that means its only a story and fantasy. If you are uncomfortable to violence and sex then PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. Thank you, and Happy Reading. 

This series will set around the 80′s New York.

MASTERLIST HERE

There is no hiding from the absolute luxury you indulge in, in fact you love showing it to whoever might want to pry deep enough into your life. You caused no harm by it, and it certainly isn’t anybody’s business but yours and his.

The pair of arms around your waist is a certain remainder of who you belong to, and you loved it. He looked good tonight, almost too good with the suit adorning his perfection like an absolute genius adonis— your genius adonis. You feel your cheeks heats up slightly as he glanced at you, knowing just how shy you get around so many people— his little girl is sensitive after all.

Spencer Reid knows every little thing about you, what makes you tick, what makes you snap, what makes you bow in submission to him, and what makes you feel heavenly. He knows it all, he knows the way you trembled slightly whenever he wrapped his arms around your neck as he leaned down to kiss you, or how squirmy you get whenever he tug your hair, said your name calmly whilst shoving his fingers into your mouth— he knows everything.

—

It was a mutual agreement at first, living on 80’s New York has never been so stressful during your 20’s, all the student loans, the bartending you do sometimes, even the couple of scandalous photoshoots you sacrificed yourself doing to keep your bank account afloat. Your family never really cared much, and the only person that you truly have is Emily, your roommate.The whole ordeal was strange when you found out Emily’s ties to the mafia, being the daughter of one of the strongest mafia’s capo on America during that time. You wondered how on earth she has managed to doesn’t want to get on her father’s good side, and just except the riches that comes along with being a mob, but then again you were a stranger to it too...or so you thought.

The night she asked you to accompany her to meet her father and his boss, you shrugged and said yes, having nothing to do in the apartment other than wallowing in your own debts and sadness— you immediately agrees which put a smile on her cute face.

“I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with your father.” You asked as you raked through the closet to find something... ‘elegant’ but not too much, it’s going to be in a lavish restaurant after all. Your eyes darted to Emily’s who has been staring at her phone, smiling to whoever is texting her— you could only assumed it was one of her secret girlfriend-hookup for the week.

“Well i didn’t but money is tight, fucking inflation.” She looked up for once, lips hanging open at the sight of you standing there in a black dress, short with a slit on the thigh area— looking absolutely ravenous. “Holy fucking shit.” Emily whispered.

“What? is this enough? god i feel like such a prude.” You bit your lip as you await her comments, “You look fucking gorgeous you idiot, i mean are you sure you aren’t gay by any chance?” She laughed, which caused you to giggle, “I never said i’m not gay.. just that i’m not—

“Interested in dating, yeah yeah but we can at least fuck or something.” She jokingly raised her eyebrows as you throw your bra her way and laughed, “I just don’t want to get distracted em, especially that we live together.” You pouted before giving her a kiss on the cheek, which made her roll her eyes and smile.

Only if you knew what this meeting will entails.

—

The wine tasted exquisite on your tongue, the sweet burn of merlot was pleasant on the base of your throat which shocked you at first— maybe you should stop buying cheap wines, because the real ones are heavenly. You looked around nervously, it has been a long time since you’ve gone out to have dinner, let alone one as expensive as this.

“Stop looking like you’re about to die.” Emily whispers as she took the seat next to you, which you humorously giggle and swat her shoulder, “I’m not. It’s just.. new to me is all.” You nervously chuckled, before sipping on your wine some more. It was clear that her dad and his so called mob boss were late— which you rolled your eyes since Emily was basically rushing your make up, you just hoped that you looked decent enough, not that you want to impress anyone, its just good to feel like you’ve fit yourself to the occasion.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.” Emily chuckled, before you could even process what she meant by that the sound of a soft elderly timbre rang through your ears, “Cara mia! Jesus, you’ve grown!” Emily slapped your thigh softly, gesturing for you to stand up.

Dear heaven, lord save your knees from buckling.

You watched as Emily greeted her father as you stood by her side, she kisses him on both cheeks as they made a small conversation that you pay no mind to since you were distracted, distracted by the pair of eyes that caught yours from the moment he walked in.

A soft yet stern eyes that held yours captive at this very moment, a presence that demands every single person for its attention, and intimidating like no other. A man, a finely sculpted man, standing in front of you in an attire that you were sure was more expensive than your whole closet, His soft looking curls marvelously falls fo his side, his plump lips were begging to be kissed— to be listened, to be heard, his tall lean figure towers over you which has you gulping down nervously— so much so that you failed to acknowledged the presence of Emily’s father calling your name.

“Y/N!” You let out a gasp before turning to shake Emily’s father’s hand, trying your best to smile as you glanced over the towering man, “So this is the Y/N i’ve heard so much about huh?” The old man snickered, looking gentle whilst maintaining a facade still. You giggled softly, “I hope there are all good things, nice to meet you Mr.Prentiss.”

“Oh please, Robert is fine. Oh Emily, Y/N this is don Reid.” He stepped back in.. what looks like an utter fear, you gasped as you realized that this is.. the mob boss Emily talked about, the masochistically handsome man you’ve been staring at— you thought a mafia boss would be someone older, but this is certainly not the case.

“Pleased to meet you both, Spencer Reid.” He extended his hand which Emily gladly took before she nudges your side whilst you were still gawking at the man, the soft yet deep timbre of his voice soothes and intimidate you at the same time, not to mention how he carries himself— practically saying he’s a god.

“Oh— um yes hello, pleased to meet you, i’m Y/N.” You bit your lip as you feel your cheeks hurt from the embarrassment, shaking his hand quickly— before you could even imagine pulling away, he gives you an amused chuckle and squeeze your hand tightly before releasing you.

“Well, let’s take a seat shall we?”

You are so fucking fucked.

--

“So, Y/N, Emily told me you’re majoring in art department, how’re you liking it?” Robert spoke as you eat your pasta slowly, trying not to show how you were trembling under the very same gaze that held you captive from the moment it arrives here. You gulped down a delicious bite of pancetta, before answering, “Oh i love it, always been my passion— well painting is, but i do love everything about art and literature.” You chuckled.

“I would love to see your art sometimes.” The voice could strangle you and you’d die happily, it really could— you glanced at the man whose been looking at you like a wolf to its prey, fingers skimming over the feet of the wine glass as a soft yet eloquent smile strikes over his face.

“Oh um, it’s not— it’s not that good, i wouldn’t want to waste your time.” You choked on your wine, feeling the burn on your throat as he let out a humorous-less laugh, shaking his head, before bringing his lean fingers to his lips. “Nothing is wasteful, not if it comes to such art like you.”

What?

“Huh?” You felt small, your cheeks heated at the reference as you tried so hard not to squirm and praised yourself by hearing what you thought you heard. Your eyes darted to his in a shy manner as he kept his composure well, licking the rim of his glass before sipping his wine gently.

“Anyways! dad, shall we talk a bit more private? i’m sure Y/N can keep the don company.” You gasped at Emily’s words, still barely grasping the previous encounter— the bottom of your heel jab at her left foot, as you glared at her, “Of course of course, don?” Robert spoke up, eyes lowering as his body turned to look at the smirking masterpiece that still stares at you with the same intensity.

“Go. We’ll be fine, won’t we angel?” You gulped down as much wine as you could without burning your throat before smiling nervously, eyes glancing back and forth to The Don and Emily.

“Y-Yes um sure.” You offered a gentle smile, even though your heels jabbed Emily’s which yet again resulted in her tiny laugh before she walks away to the back area of the restaurant.

The area was thick with intensity and glamorous lights, adding to the headache that already starts due to you being a lightweight around alcohol. Suddenly you realized, that you’re practically alone— with the don of the biggest mafia ring in America. “Go ahead and ask me the question.” He murmured sternly, causing your ears to perk at the sudden thrill that made your goosebumps rose and thrived under the shimmering lights.

“Pardon?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress as you tried so hard not to stare at the huge man, feeling as if you’re being cornered by a lion, and you his prey.

“Your cheeks are warm aren’t they? you keep biting your lips every time i muttered a word, you can’t even look at me because you know that the second you do, you wouldn’t be able to stop. Emily is right, you’re a pure little thing, its fucking cute really. If this table weren’t here separating us, you’d be across my lap already— for wearing something so slutty like that.” By the time he finishes taunting you, you stopped breathing, thigh squeezing against each other so tightly that you could feel how damp your panties are getting.

“Go ahead and ask, doll. Surely you can’t be dumb enough to think i would just allow anyone to meet me let alone a little college student like you.” His eyebrow lifted, as you nervous squirmed on your seat and breathed out.

“Why did you asked her to bring me?”

“Nicely. You know better, Y/N.”

“Sir...”

—

And the rest was history, the pair of arms around your waist tighten as the owner’s lips caress and nip at the very sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shudder and mewls. “mmh.. t-too early.” You complained, fully knowing that would only amuse him even more.

He chuckled as you had predicted, nimble fingers grazing up and down your front like feathers, delicately worshipping every inch of your skin. The blaring sound of New York’s traffic was prominent, but somehow that adds a thrilling aspect for you, months ago— you were picking up morning shifts by now, working your ass off just to gain enough cash to pay this month’s rent. But now, here you are, in the arms of the most feared yet young powerful don in the entirety of the mob community, Heck if everyone knows who he is and how much power he holds— they’d all fear him, but not you, not his fiery little butterfly.

“Shh, let me love on you a little.” Your heart warmed, familiar feeling of a thousand butterflies swarming on your belly caused your cheeks to warmed at the gesture. He said things like those often, though he made it perfectly clear that you were, you are only here for business arrangements, you knew he likes to toy over affection like this— one you aren’t supposed to get attached to. But how couldn’t you? when his hand so softly glides down the curve of your godly features, warm breath fanning across your skin from behind, whispering sweet words.

“Look so pretty for me, butterfly.” He whispered, causing you to yet again whimpers, hand clutching the sheets tightly as he moves down down down until he turned you over and settle between your legs, smiling at you. “If heaven is real, you’re definitely it.” He nipped and bit the exposed skin of your thighs, last night and the night before and before still there but like he said,

“If you agree to the terms, i’ll give you every damn thing you fucking want. Your bills, rents, loans, plus each and every single thing you wished to buy.”

“And in retur—“

“In return, you will be mine, mine to have whenever wherever i want, you won’t be my chained slave or nothing, but you’ll be mine.”

So marked you again and again he did, tearing your satin panties he did, panties that cost more than a week worth of luxury meal that he only grunted with “I’ll buy the whole fucking store, now shut up and let daddy eat his breakfast.”

You swore you’re in god’s heaven then and there, even if you aren’t sure that you believe in one, you can’t help but to think that this is some kind of miracle, your life is, here you have a perfect adonis, suckling on your clit as his fingers pump your delectable cunt in and out with such a fast pace that made you feel all floaty and flustered. The same man that commands the room whenever he walks in, the same man who pay all your bills, the same man who bought you a new lavish apartment and hands you gifts every damn day.

“Oh! oh please daddy right there..” You moaned out loud as your fingers latched onto his hair, softly tug on them as he moaned against your drippy cunt and suck your clit even harder,earning a particularly loud and lewd moan from you. “mmh! a-ah! i’m gonna—“ He held his finger up then, eyes finding yours as his mouth continues to work on your now sensitive clit. Spencer wasn’t too strict or nothing about your rules but if there’s two that he’s strict about is for you to cum only if he gives you permission— no matter the place or time, if he wants you to cum, you’ll cum— not that it’s hard, with someone as skilled as him.

When you begged and begged, he slapped your thigh only to grunt darkly, “If you can’t shut up and let daddy enjoys this, i’ll fucking take you on the balcony and fuck you for all Manhattan to see. Do you want that, Butterfly? want everyone to see what a filthy college girl you are getting fucked by someone as dangerous as me?” He slapped your cunt then, over and over again as you pant, and mewls.. Body jolts and pulsed at his ministration.

“You’re going to cum like this—“ He paused to spit directly onto your swollen clit, watching it wet the sensitive nub, “Going to cum with daddy slapping your greedy little cunt. Or you are not getting an orgasm.”

“Yes, daddy— oh!” True to his words, he spank you, over and over again, leaving you quivering and brokenly cried at the burning pleasure, “Cum princess, come on, you surely know how to thank daddy don’t you?” Your hole clenched around nothing as you arch your back and sobbed,

“Can’t— daddy please i-“

“You were so fucking desperate to cum, why not now huh? your sensitive cunt surely looks wrecked enough.” He scoffed before he spank your clit so hard you jumped at the sensation before he licked his fingers and caress your clit in fast fanning motion, not giving you enough time to even breathe as your cunt pulses and throb with overwhelming need of release, building up up up, up until you finally trembled and cum all over the bed— an orgasm so intense that you blacked out for few seconds straight.

“Shh.. shh good girl, that’s it— fuck you look so ethereal like this, butterfly.” He muses as he settle his head on your lap and admire your pulsing body, “T-Thank- y-you.. daddy.” You gathered all the strength you have left as he smiled proudly.

Your head laid on his chest as you both cuddle in silence, trying to enjoy the serenity and calm environment around you as the city below you buzzed all round. It was calming for awhile before his phone rang and you involuntarily sighs, “I know pretty girl, i know.” He muttered, before smiling apologetically- Not that he needs to.. Business arrangements, not like you’re his girlfriend or nothing.

love on you,

love on you,

let me love on you,

You forced your fuzzy subby mind to get the thoughts out, as you watched his figure put on his robe, and leaned down, “I’ll be back later okay, don’t forget to check your phone.” He kissed your forehead for a bit, letting it linger as you held back your tears, wishing he could stay with you, you need your daddy, you really really do need him now. Feeling all small and fuzzy like this. But with the blaring noise of his ringtone, you knew the don has business to take care of and of course you’re not important enough to held such important task to be left.

So you smiled all nicely and kissed all the rings finger on his fingers before bidding a tiny whimper of, “Best of luck, don.” Your head bowed a little in respect as he noticed the true and true sadness flashed across your eyes, but paid it no mind as his other burner phone blared.

“Thank you, Butterfly. Get dressed soon, and i’ll have Morgan bringing you that sandwich from the deli you love so much. I’ll see you soon.”

Oh how nice would it be if this is your life, but life doesn’t always have a happy ending after all.

——

Comment or send me a message if you want to be added to this series taglist!

[homoose]

Through the Smoke

Request: could you do spencer x bau reader where they aren't dating yet but they both feel for each other? where both spencer and reader are very closed off people and the whole team knows that. but after one rough case on the flight back, they're both just exhausted mentally and physically and seek comfort in each other. then spend the night at reader's apartment and kiss for the first time there. sorry if this is specific but thank you (:

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst with a happy ending

Warnings/Includes: typical CM stuff, cults, kidnapping, violence, etc.

Word count: 8.1k

Music recs: Through the Fire by Jake Etheridge and Margot Todd; scared by Jeremy Zucker

a/n: anon, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for, but this is where it went. It’s a generous rewrite of 300, substituting the reader for Garcia. Also this blog operates with the understanding that the season 14 jeid arc does not exist lmao. JJ is firmly in the “I love you as a brother” camp and I will not be taking questions at this time. Also, this is a reminder that my requests are open! send me some fresh ideas, head cannons, rambles, whatever! 

———

“Metro PD and the Bureau have been made aware of the Believers and possible activity following their leader’s arrest,” Prentiss confirmed, looking out over the team mingling in the bullpen. “But taking Theo at his word—”

“We only arrested three. There’s probably more out there, but if they follow cult dynamics, they’ll break down on their own without the messiah,” Matt finished.

“Typical cults: you think it’s a cast of thousands when really it’s just four whackos sitting around in the dark,” Tara mused.

Prentiss smiled. “I think we deserve some decompression time, and Rossi’s kind enough to host.”

Rossi leaned over the railing and nodded. “And I have some top shelf wine picked just for the occasion.”

The team started gathering their belongings and heading towards the elevators. Y/N hesitated, looking toward the case file still sitting on her desk. Something about how this had all wrapped up just… didn’t sit right. Her nearly five years with the Critical Incident Response Group had given her an up close view of some of the most prolific cults in American history. She’d studied Jonestown, Waco, Ruby Ridge, Liberty Ranch; new cults emerged onto CIRG’s radar regularly. And there was something about The Believers that just didn’t add up.

Y/N began shuffling things around on her desk, trying to look busy. She caught Spencer and JJ out of the corner of her eye, talking quietly. They ended their conversation with a hug, lingering just a little longer than Y/N would have preferred. She shook her head to try to physically clear the thought from her brain. She knew that Spencer had been through a lifetime’s worth of trauma before she joined the team, and that JJ had been an integral support for him. Y/N was also aware that she had zero grounds to be concerned with any of Spencer’s relationships, romantic or otherwise.

“Y/N, you coming?” JJ asked, walking toward her desk. Spencer headed out of the bullpen and down the hall.

Y/N gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit. Just wanted to finish up a couple things here.”

“Well, don’t stay too late.” JJ pressed her lips together for a moment before adding, “Maybe you and Spence could drive together. He said he might not make it, but if he had some company...”

Y/N hoped her immediate flush wasn’t too obvious. After nearly a year in the unit, she finally felt like she had built some solid relationships with the team, and Spencer was no exception. She relished their card games on the jet, the laughs over too-sweet coffee, discussions about books and films and music. But she also adored the way his hair sometimes curled and fell into his eyes, his animated and rambling tangents, the way his hands traced over the tiny print of his books. Most of her adult life had been spent surrounded by men who would gather up her trust in their pitted hands and crush it on a whim. She’d kept her heart behind glass for a long while, but Spencer was slowly chipping away at the fragile panels. She was certain he had no idea that he was even holding the chisel; but just about everyone else seemed to have figured it out. JJ, with her hands clasped together and an eager smile, definitely had. Y/N smiled, too. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So we’ll see you in a bit?” When Y/N nodded, JJ gave her a warm smile and headed out.

Turning back to the case file, Y/N pressed her fingers to her temple and looked over the documents. Some of the pieces fit together, but the whole case felt littered with gaps and holes. The tale that Theo had woven about The Believers seemed true enough— his parents were simply the suppliers of potential cult members. Although, she still couldn’t figure out the reason for the kidnapping and torture. There were much easier ways to recruit vulnerable people.

She flipped past the pages of written statements and read over the report from the warehouse raid. It was short— the take down of Merva was too easy. Why was he sitting alone in an empty warehouse with only two unarmed, sleeping followers as a defense? Where was the rest of the cult? Matt was correct that most cults fall apart without their leader; unless the loss of a leader was a possibility they’d already prepared for.

The burns on Quinn’s hands didn’t make sense, either. Why use the initiation ritual as a torture device? Shouldn’t that be saved for people who had accepted the invitation? And then there was the one coincidence that nagged at her the most: what were the chances that Theo just happened to be enrolled in Spencer's course? Why did Spencer seem to be at the center of the whole thing?

Y/N sighed as her phone lit up with a message from JJ. She realized she’d been poring over the file for twenty-five minutes, and she had to laugh. As the least experienced profiler on the team, what could she possibly see that the others hadn’t? She closed the case file and quickly packed up, grabbing her jacket and bag and making her way toward the elevator lobby. She paused at the glass doors, retrieving her phone and pulling up Spencer’s contact information. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before she huffed out a breath. If even JJ hadn’t been able to convince him to go, there was no way she’d be able to change his mind. Despite herself, she glanced down the hall, allowing herself one moment to imagine an alternate timeline where she asked him to come along with her— to Rossi’s, to the moon, anywhere.

With a sigh, Y/N pushed open the glass doors and saw Agent Meadows leading Quinn to the elevator. She pushed down the little red flag in the back of her mind. As she stepped onto the elevator, she smiled politely at the two agents.

“I knew you didn’t do it. I just knew,” Meadows said to Quinn. She turned to Y/N. “And I can’t tell you what a privilege it’s been working with the A-Team on this case.”

Something about the calm in her voice made Y/N uneasy. “Yeah, it’s— um. It’s a great team to be a part of.” Her phone lit up again, this time with a phone call from JJ. “Okay, okay,” she muttered under her breath. Y/N answered the call, half an ear still listening to Meadows speak to Quinn. “Hey, I’m just leaving now.”

“Are you still at the BAU?” JJ demanded, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But I’m in the elevator,” Y/N answered.

“Listen, we’re pretty sure Quinn was converted,” JJ told her. Y/N’s heart dropped into her shoes. “I need you to make sure he doesn’t leave that building. We’re coming back now. Where’s Spence?”

Y/N took a breath to try to even out her voice before speaking again. “Mom, we already talked about this. I don’t know.”

JJ paused. “Is Quinn in the elevator with you?”

“Yep.” JJ spoke quietly to someone on the other end of the phone. Y/N watched as the elevator dinged to the floor of the parking garage. “I’m going to have to hang up, mom. I’m gonna lose you, but I’ll try to take care of it tonight, okay?”

“Y/N, we’re on our—” The call dropped as the elevator hit the basement level.

Y/N took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Ugh, lost her.” She glanced at Meadows and Quinn, forced a smile and shrugged. “Elevators, right?”

The elevator doors began to open and Y/N stepped out, surreptitiously reaching for her holster. She had just lifted the strap when she heard the crack of metal hitting bone. Her face hit the concrete before she realized it was her own skull that bore the impact. She watched as her gun skidded across the parking lot floor, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. “Fuck,” she muttered, wincing in pain and scrambling up off the ground as a gunshot went off.

She didn’t feel the impact of the bullet. She looked down at her body, expecting to see a blooming rose of blood. She stared dumbly for a second too long, before remembering that she needed to get to her gun. Her hand instinctively went to her nose as she stumbled forward, coming away wet with blood.

“Stop, Agent Y/L/N.”

She heard the sound of a gun cocking, and then another. She closed her eyes and ran through an internal stream of curses. Raising her hands up, she turned slowly around. An older white man stood to her left, his gun trained on her. Meadows walked slowly towards her, lowering her own weapon. Quinn leaned against the back of the elevator, clutching his abdomen and blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Surprise,” Meadows sang, a sick smile spreading across her face. She stopped in front of Y/N, sweeping her hand in the direction of the man. “Now, John’s going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Get in the car.”

Y/N glanced in the direction of the vehicle, a dark sedan, driver armed to the teeth as well. “The team knows something’s up. You won’t make it out of this garage alive.”

Meadows laughed, loud and unhinged. “Oh honey. They’re not looking for lil ol’ me. And they sure as hell won’t be looking for an ambulance.” Her smile returned. “Plus, I already erased 299 murders from the Bureau’s radar. What’s a couple more? Now, shut up... and get in the car.”

Y/N moved to the open car door, keeping her back as straight as possible and her chin up, refusing to show them any cowardice. The barrel of the gun jabbed her in the back as she lowered herself into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, and in a moment, the gun was back on her, the man sitting next to her in the backseat. Y/N waited for the car to pull out, still trying to make sense of it all. Meadows was a Believer? What did she mean by “erased” 299 murders? Why would she blow her cover to shoot Quinn? Did she think that he had figured her out? Or that Y/N had? If that was the case, why not just shoot her? Why wasn’t the car moving?

“Drop your gun, Agent Reid,” Meadows’ muffled voice penetrated the inside of the vehicle. Y/N’s heart began to race. John dug the gun further into her side.

“It’s been you the whole time,” Spencer deduced.

“Yes, it was. Quinn somehow figured it out first. Pity having to shoot him,” Meadows mocked. “But he can’t give me what I want. And you can.”

“What’s that?” Y/N’s brain scrambled to put the pieces together as she listened to the exchange. Spencer was at the heart of it after all. It was right there, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Meadows continued, “You and I are going to go upstairs and free my Messiah.”

“You’re in the heart of the FBI. As soon as the rest of my team figures out it’s you, you’ll be dead before you’re out the door.” Y/N hoped to god that he was right.

“Then we need to work quickly.”

“I’m not going to cooperate with you,” Spencer told her. “Might as well shoot me.” Y/N didn’t even have time to panic before the car shifted into drive.

“I have a better idea.” On Meadows’ cue, the driver squealed out of the parking space and into Spencer’s line of sight. His eyes fell on Y/N, hands nearly pressed against the window, John’s gun pointed at her head. “Now, what’s it gonna be? Because you can either join us, or she dies.”

Y/N tried to radiate her rage through her eyes and screamed, “Reid, just shoot her! Shoot her!” The last thing she saw before the second crack of steel against her skull was the hesitation in Spencer’s eyes.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and she groaned at the pounding of her head, the rhythm of her heartbeat throbbing in the space behind her ears. She tried to lift her hand to check for blood, only to strain against the hold of a zip tie attached to the base of the chair. Instead, she surveyed the room around her. A warehouse, lots of shipping containers, and even more men— this time armed with assault rifles and machine guns. One stood at the entrance point of the small area she was being kept in.

She worked through her memory, putting the pieces together. Meadows was a Believer, had been for quite some time to pull all of this off. Quinn wasn’t special, he just got in the way of her real target. Ben Merva might have been the messiah, but Spencer Reid was clearly just as important to whatever mission they were carrying out. Every twisting thread of information somehow traced back to him: Theo in his class, Quinn’s attachment to him, Meadows’ demand that he be the one to free Merva.

“Good, you’re awake.” Meadows strode through the space with a laptop in hand. “I need your handiwork.”

Y/N stared at her. “Is that so?’

Meadows set the laptop on the barrel in front of Y/N and then leaned down to cut the zip tie. “Besides being my collateral for the good doctor, you’re also going to help me access CIRG’s surveillance data.”

“Fuck you.” Y/N spat on Meadows’ shoes. “I’m doing nothing for you.” Her head rolled back, eyes piercing daggers into Meadows. “You should just kill me now, because this is a waste of your time. And I’m sure you know the A-Team isn’t going to waste theirs.”

Meadows narrowed her eyes and gave a theatrical sigh. “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.” She nodded to John, standing at the entranceway.

Y/N spat again, this time to rid her mouth of the taste of blood. She steeled herself for the next onslaught, compartmentalizing every emotion outside of her fury. Her mind raced to salvage and scrutinize the memories from her time in CIRG, trying desperately to identify what Meadows could be looking for in the surveillance reports. The Believers hadn’t even been on the Bureau’s radar. The reason had to be linked to their interest in Spencer… a piece of information that involved both Spencer Reid and the existing surveillance data. A single grain that could bring the whole damn bushel down.

She heard a scuffle at the entrance of the room and raised her head. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of Spencer, bloodied and bruised. John dragged him into the room, throwing him down onto his knees in front of Y/N. His eyes tracked over her face and clouded over with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Shit, Reid—”

“I’m fine—I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he murmured. The concern in his eyes told Y/N she looked about as bad as she felt. “Are you all right?”

“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. We all missed it.”

“What’s the end game here?” Y/N asked. “What’re they doing?”

“I’m going to be their last victim.” Spencer shook his head, barely able to keep himself upright. “I don’t know why, but I overheard them. There have been hundreds.”

Meadows stepped up behind Spencer, grinning at Y/N. “Have you changed your mind? I sure hope you have.” She raised her gun to his head. “Because if you don’t do what I want, I’ll blow his big, beautiful brains out.”

Spencer locked eyes with Y/N. She held his gaze for a moment, then tilted her head slightly as the gears started turning. The tie between Spencer and Benjamin was where it all unraveled. “No, I don’t think you will.”

Meadows’ grin faltered for less than a second, but it was long enough that Y/N knew she was right. “Is that right?” Meadows questioned.

“Yeah, it is.” She furrowed her brow, and Spencer looked at her. “You need him, don’t you? Alive.” Meadows’ tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Y/N was sure. “Because this isn’t just about Benjamin Merva. It’s about Benjamin Cyrus. It’s about Liberty Ranch.”

Meadows held her gaze for five seconds, then ten seconds. Y/N raised her chin, refusing to be the one to blink first. Meadows shifted the trajectory of her gun a foot to her right and fired off one shot. The breeze from the bullet shifted Y/N’s hair.

“You have two minutes to decide,” Meadows advised. The phone in her hand began ringing. “The next one won’t miss.” She answered the phone and stepped out.

Spencer spoke quickly. “Do whatever she’s asking. We have to get you out of here.”

“Reid, are your eyes broken?” Y/N snapped. “There’s a cult loyalist with a machine gun every five feet. You got a plan for that?”

“Listen to me.” His voice was calm, determined. “You’re right about them wanting me alive.”

The frustration bled through Y/N’s voice. “You should have just shot her.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You could’ve shot all three of them and ended this in the garage,” Y/N argued.

“And then I would have watched you die,” he said quietly. “That was never even an option.”

“I’m failing to see how that would have been any worse than this. Look at us.” She gestured wildly between them. She watched as the storm of emotion returned, a cyclone swirling in seas of gold and brown. “The team needs you. Spencer, I—” I need you. She reached a hand up, almost touching his face before dropping it back in her lap. He had found the chink in her carefully constructed armor; a fissure he’d fractured a little further with every smile, every look, every moment. All at once she knew she’d never be able to keep him out, no matter how much it might hurt.

“You’ve got one minute,” Meadows barked, hovering over them.

“Y/L/N, listen to me… Please...” Spencer’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell my mom—” The phone rang again, and Meadows stepped away to answer it. Spencer dropped to a whisper. His eyes flashed with urgency. “They’re taking me and Theo. We’ll distract them. The car we were in is right outside the door. We’re 18 minutes from Quantico. Turn left outside the parking lot, take a right at the light, you’ll recognize the rest. They stay off the highways.”

Y/N’s voice was frantic when she asked, “What about you?”

His eyes pleaded with her to respect what he was asking her to do. “I’ll delay them. Get the rest of the team back here. And do not worry about me.” John hauled up him off the floor.

“Time’s up.” Meadows, in a rare display of mercy, allowed them a hug.

Spencer leaned into her and Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed as hard as she could and whispered his name. She felt him take a deep breath into her hair, holding it for one impossibly long moment. Just before she released her hold on him, he mumbled, “It’s all happening. 10:23.” John dragged him back out the way they’d came.

“I gave you what you wanted.” Meadows ordered, “Get to it. Now.”

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N worked and waited, then watched and worried. Spencer spoke to Meadows. He was stalling her, offering a deal, boosting her ego, granting Y/N the opportunity to mentally prepare. But no matter how much time he gave her, she would never be prepared to leave him in that warehouse. He met her eyes across the movements of the operation and gave her an imperceptible nod before lunging forward to reach for John’s gun.

Chaos exploded throughout the warehouse. Theo ran in one direction, accosted by half a dozen Believers. Spencer and John tussled over the gun, one fighting for control and the other fighting the inevitable. Y/N sprinted, largely unnoticed, toward the huge sliding doors left slightly ajar. Bursting out into the night air, she immediately spotted one of the black sedans, unbelievably unlocked and with the keys in the ignition. She slammed the door behind her, turned the key, hesitated with her eyes on the door and her mind on Spencer for one moment too long. A single gunshot sounded from inside the warehouse.

Meadows raced out of the doorway, gun drawn. “Stop!” She pointed her gun at Y/N and there was nothing to do but step on the gas. Y/N had her eyes wide open as Meadows bounced off the windshield and onto the asphalt. She didn’t look back.

She drove. Left out of the parking lot. Just a dark, rural road—nothing particularly special or descript. She drove. Right at the stoplight. Then it was, just as Spencer said, familiar terrain. She wondered how it was possible to have seemed so far away— a world away— when it was right under their proverbial nose. She drove.

Her brain navigated of its own volition. Her mind couldn’t have been farther from the inside of the vehicle. She didn’t realize she’d arrived at the Bureau until she was attempting to pull into her usual parking spot, only to be met with her own abandoned car.

She turned the car off, left the keys in the ignition, and nearly floated out into the garage; up the elevator; across the cold floors of the lobby. Her body had walked this same path so many times before; it carried her without hesitation. She could hear the voices of the team, drifting through the open glass doors.

“She accepted their help knowing she would betray the government,” Tara deduced.

“Not every survivor wanted help,” JJ clarified.

Rossi continued, “We ran those who left the ranch and kept their names. A few relocated in rural Maryland and Virginia.”

“They could be helping now,” Luke suggested. “Any of them have large pieces of property?”

“A few,” Emily confirmed. Y/N turned the corner as she continued, “The Washington field office has started searches in Maryland. We’ll take the lead in Virginia.”

As she moved into the doorway, JJ’s eyes went wide and she rushed to Y/N’s side. “Oh my god, are you hurt?” She gently grabbed Y/N by the shoulders.

“It’s a warehouse in Hillcrest,” Y/N said flatly, eyes unfocused. “I can take you there, but we have to hurry. They hurt Reid; he looked— bad. He told me to r-run and take the car, but he’s still there.” Everyone headed for the doors except JJ and Garcia. “They won’t be there long, they have lots of trucks.” Y/N’s eyes locked on JJ, and for the first time since the whole ordeal started, she allowed herself to splinter, just a little. “I heard a gunshot. JJ, I heard a gunshot. I tried—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” JJ nodded, drawing her into a hug. “I know. I know you tr—”

“I left him there.” Her voice broke, but she couldn’t cry. Not yet. “I couldn’t get him. There was no way to save hi—”

“Stop,” JJ ordered, pulling out of the hug. “Y/N, look at me. You got out, you got back to us. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know about the warehouse.”

“What if— what if I got him killed?” Y/N asked.

“You didn’t get anyone killed. Spence knew what he was doing.” JJ’s voice softened. “That’s what he does. He always figures things out before the rest of us. He has a plan and getting you back to Quantico was part of it.” She raised her eyebrows, making sure Y/N was listening. “And now we have to help him by putting the rest of it together.”

Y/N ran a hand over her face. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

Garcia stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll get Reid back.”

They cleaned the blood from her face and hair as best they could in the bathroom sink. JJ patched up the lacerations with steri-strips. Back in the conference room, Garcia insisted she should get screened for a concussion as Y/N rubbed the knot on the back of her head. “There’s no time. Reid said, ‘It’s all happening. 10:23.’”

“But it’s past that,” JJ considered.

“So what did he mean?” Garcia asked.

“Could be a clue here.” Rossi's voice came over the speakerphone from inside the warehouse. “They got sloppy since they left in a hurry.”

“Okay, well you can’t be that far behind them,” JJ insisted.

“I know,” Emily agreed. “But there’s easy access to three major highways, and we don’t know which way they went.”

“Right, but they’re in tractor trailers. That means we can track them through weigh stations.”

“Garcia?” Emily prompted.

“In order to do that, I’d need the transponder identification numbers,” Garcia answered.

“Which we have no way of knowing,” Rossi sighed. “Everything they used was almost definitely forged.”

“We’re going to do another sweep here, and then we’ll head back,” Emily said. “Try to map out the most likely routes they’d use to get out of dodge.”

JJ hung up and looked to Y/N. “What do you remember about the warehouse?”

Y/N pressed her fingers into her temples. “It was full of supplies. They were disguising them, but they had stockpiles of weapons and ammunition; non-perishables and other food items; water. Enough to be off the grid for at least a year.” Y/N leaned back in her chair. “But it wasn’t just about The Believers. I mean, we know they’re a reincarnation of the Separatarian Sect.” She looked at JJ and Garcia. “It was more than that, though. Reid was at the center of everything; he was the target all along. Merva is the messiah, but it somehow all comes back to Spence.”

“Makes sense. They blame him for the downfall of the Sect,” JJ supplied.

“Yeah.” Y/N cracked her knuckles. “But—and I can’t—I can’t really explain it, but Meadows really wanted to kill Reid right then. She was— she was irritated, more than anything else.”

“So what stopped her?” Garcia asked.

“That’s what I can’t figure out. She threatened me with it, with ‘blowing his brains out,’ but I— called her bluff. And she was pissed.” Y/N rapped her knuckles on the table. “I mean, really, really furious. Which tells me that, even though she wanted to,  she couldn’t kill him.” She looked between the two of them. “Merva was pulling the strings, and he wouldn’t let her do it there.”

“So it matters where the final sacrifice takes place,” JJ concluded. “We’ve got to figure out where they’re going.”

⧭⧭⧭

They’d been rehashing the details over and over. Liberty Ranch, The Strangler investigation, The Believers, Meadows, Merva, Cyrus, 300 victims, the hyoid bones, all of it. About the only thing they knew for sure was how far the cult could get in the trucks. Spencer could have told them the exact square mileage, but the potential geographical range of the trucks was dauntingly large. Y/N tried not to panic as she stared at the map.

“If this is about a Believer's rebirth, babies are born with 300 bones,” JJ said. “And they’re taking the hyoids.”

“And the hyoids we had in evidence are missing, which means Merva needed them back,” Tara reasoned. “And that means they mean more to the end game than we thought.”

Y/N felt her patience waning. “But why did Reid need us to know it all happens at 10:23?” Y/N hated that her voice sounded snappy and desperate. “That’s got to be important. It’s the last thing he said to me.”

Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you’re right. It means something to him. We’re trying to figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, we better figure it out soon.” Y/N shrugged off his hand, pushed back from her seat at the conference room table, and turned for the door. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every minute they spent floating ideas was another mile between them and Spencer. Another moment closer to losing him. She shoved the bathroom door open, hurrying into the stall and emptying the contents of her stomach.

She slumped back against the side of the stall, head gently knocking into the cool metal. She needed to pull herself together. The team was always strongest when they did their group think sessions, building upon each other’s knowledge and perspectives and filling in the gaps. If they’d done more of that earlier— if she’d had the confidence to call it out as soon as she saw the holes, Spencer might not be locked in the back of a truck, hundreds of miles away.

Y/N hoisted herself off the ground and out of the stall. She braced her hands on the counter top and tried to breathe evenly. She turned on the water and splashed her face, tapping against her cheeks. With water dripping down the planes of her face, she stared herself down in the mirror, willing her tired brain to make that last connection, to find that missing thread. It was all about the Benjamins, and she had a feeling that Cyrus was the key.

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and made her way to the conference room. She listened to their rotating conversation, knowing that this team was the only group of people capable of getting Spencer back alive.

“We have confirmation that there’s been no activity in or around the old ranch,” Matt informed them, pocketing his phone.

“If this is about rebirth, they’ll choose a new place,” Luke posited, arms crossed.

Tara leaned over the table. “Given their adoration of Cyrus and his love for the country, he’d want them to stay within our borders.”

“But Benjamin Cyrus wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t born into the Sect,” Y/N reminded them quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. She gave an apology grimace to Matt. He just shrugged and smiled, motioning her over to the table.

Garcia nodded. “Right, let’s see. Uh, he and his mom arrived there when he was a teenager. He was kicked out for molesting girls. And then he served time in prison in Kentucky.”

“And that’s where he found religion,” Y/N recalled, thinking back to the report she’d studied dozens of times. “So he was reborn as Benjamin Cyrus in Kentucky.” She closed her eyes and flipped through her mental file cabinet, looking for 10:23.

“That’s within the area,” Garcia confirmed. “Maybe that’s where they’re headed?”

“Find out what city he was born in or where he was in prison,” Luke said. “We’ll spread out from there.”

“He found religion,” Y/N repeated, mostly to herself. “Chapter ten, verse twenty-three. 10:23 isn’t a time.” Y/N shook her head and then dragged her hand through her hair. “It’s scripture.”

“Let’s get in the air; we can narrow down which verse and city before we land,” Emily instructed.

⧭⧭⧭

“We’re approaching Kentucky; the pilot needs to know where to touch down,” Rossi informed them.

The team was scattered throughout the jet, scrolling through scripture on their tablets, reading out verses. Y/N held her chin in her hand, eyes unfocused, dragging a net along the furthest corners of her mind.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” JJ said. “Matthew chapter ten, verse twenty-three: ‘When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another.’”

“They’re going to the next town,” Emily said.

“Flee to the next town. But which one?” asked Garcia.

“Their end game is also a new beginning,” Rossi explained. “Cyrus brought religion back to the cult. They’d honor that by wanting to start fresh.”

Y/N raised her head. “Like the Garden of Eden.”

“That’s how 300 fits,” Tara concluded. “That was the number of angels that protected the Garden of Eden. Are there any Edens in Kentucky?”

The sound of Garcia tapping across the keyboard came through the laptop. “Um, no, but there are two synonyms: Canaan and Arcadia.”

“Cyrus is the original messiah. Which one is closer to where he was born?” Y/N asked.

“Arcadia,” Garcia informed them.

Y/N stood up. “That’s where they’re going.”

“Garcia, pull land deeds. I’ll notify SWAT,” Emily instructed.

JJ grabbed Y/N’s hand. “We’re going to get him.”

Y/N met her eyes. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

⧭⧭⧭

The new compound proved easy to find. In the middle of nowhere but illuminated by hundreds of lights, there were rows and rows of tents. The team began strategizing, looking for the best route to Spencer.

Emily tried to convince Y/N, now showing clear concussion symptoms, to stay with the SUVs.

“With all due respect, there is no way in hell that I’m going to sit in this car while Reid gets sacrificed by a homicidal cult leader,” Y/N said. There was a hushed pause, the team exchanging knowing glances.

“Fair enough,” Emily conceded. “Matt and JJ, I want you on the left side. Luke and Tara, the right. Dave and Y/N, you’re with me. We’re clearing every tent; eliminate any threat that would give away your position.” She unholstered her gun and swept her eyes across the team. “Our objective is to extract Reid with minimal loss.”

As they approached the first line of tents, Y/N could faintly hear Spencer speaking. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “A time to be born and a time to die.” She could feel the blood rushing through her ears. “A time to weep and a time to pluck up that which has been planted.”

“Okay, he’s stalling,” Meadows snapped. “That’s enough!”

“All right. Let the sacrifice begin.” That was Merva now, riling up the followers. “Protect us from all harm.”

As Merva led The Believers in a monotone chant, Y/N tried to block it out. She scanned a tent, watched as SWAT took out a bodyguard, looked for Spencer. Rinse and repeat, again and again. It was taking too long.

“And we thank Our Guardian, who will protect this family now and always,” Merva’s voice rang out. “Spencer: keeper of provisions!” Y/N saw the gathering of followers, but she couldn’t see Spencer.

The SWAT commander stopped them. They had reached the final line of tents. He signaled to the leaders on each side. They were ready to strike.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the crowd. She could just barely make out some sort of hanging mobile, white u-shaped decorations suspended from string. The hyoids, she realized, a wave of nausea hitting her like a truck.

Merva continued, “You have given selflessly to others and will be rewarded by the highest honor we could bestow. Your blood will be our blood. Your life will fuel ours.”

A gunshot rang out. The followers gasped. There was a split second of calm before the bedlam. Y/N took a single breath. Then she heard Matt yell; saw John lift his rifle and be felled by a solo shot to the head; watched Luke take down another bodyguard directly after.

And then she saw him. Strapped down under a canopy of bones, Spencer was silent and unmoving. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t call out. And there was Merva, knife in hand— still trying to complete his mission.

She didn’t vacillate, barely breathed, just let her legs carry her forward. She heard Emily call out his name. When Merva turned, the curved blade of the knife poised at the column of Spencer's throat, Y/N’s trigger finger compressed. She felt the gun recoil, felt the force of the shot travel up her arm as she put a single bullet in his chest. As he fell, she didn’t stop, just stepped over him, knew one of the others would take care of it.

She tripped over the small platform Spencer was restrained on, stumbling and holstering her gun. Her hands moved over the straps, loosening the one over his waist, then the ones at his hands, finally pushing the leather from his head. He panted and muttered his thanks, but she didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she did, she’d never be able to stop. Instead, she flung her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down and close and over her heart. She wondered if he could feel the way it pummeled against her chest, because to her it felt like it might smash through at any moment. His arms came around her, chin resting on her shoulder, nose in her hair. She heard him inhale and hold his breath, a mirror of that last moment together in the warehouse. She held onto him as an overboard sailor holds a life ring: single-minded, unrelenting, desperate.

There was a touch on her opposite shoulder and Y/N swung around, adrenaline still racing through her veins. JJ put her hand out in a placating motion, and Y/N came back to herself, allowing JJ to step forward and help Spencer off the platform. Y/N let out a breath and reached a hand out to steady herself, only to flinch when it brushed one of the straps that had held Spencer down. Luke caught her on one side, Tara on the other. She grasped at them, her emotions teetering right along with her physical form. Luke pulled her out from under the macabre canopy and into a hug. Tara held her hand. For the first time since the parking garage, she let herself go.

⧭⧭⧭

The jet was quiet. The team was spread out around the cabin, each of them lost in their own heads. There was a tranquility over the space, one that only ever happened when unmitigated relief overwhelmed even the joy or fulfillment of a life saved.

Y/N sat in one of the single seats, across the aisle from where Spencer was settled. Tara and Luke had finally convinced her to get checked out by the EMTs, who had confirmed her concussion. She convinced herself that the fuzziness on the corners of her vision was just a symptom of that, not a product of the tears she was struggling to hold back.  

The team each stopped by Spencer’s seat, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand, or in Rossi’s case, gently ruffling his hair. They all spoke briefly in hushed, grateful tones. All except Y/N. She couldn’t formulate a sentence that seemed adequate. There was simultaneously too much and nothing to say. Everything felt contrived or insufficient or intemperate.

Spencer was safe. They hadn’t been too late. He was bruised and undoubtedly sore, but ultimately, he’d been through worse. So why was her heart still aching? Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since leaving the raid, so why did her throat feel like it was on fire? She closed her eyes, leaned her head back. She incessantly pressed her hands together, trying to crack her sore knuckles over and over again.

A pair of hands gently closed over her own, stopping the abuse, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know who they belonged to. His thumbs stroked over the backs of her hands and she cursed the tears that spilled over her bottom lashes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t force her to look at him or acknowledge her shattering. He waited her out, rubbing a rhythm on her skin and steadying her without a word. She opened her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to look at him just yet. Instead she focused on their joined hands, reciprocating the gentle pulses he gave every so often.

She turned her head to wipe her wet cheeks on her shoulder as the landing announcement came over the cabin speaker. She did look at him then, and the emotion in his gaze left her feeling raw and exposed. Their hands reluctantly separated to buckle their seat belts. Y/N closed her eyes again, turning her face into the warmth of the early morning sun as the jet began its descent.

When they landed, everyone wearily shuffled off the plane, eager to get home to their beds. Penelope met them at the elevator, enveloping Spencer in a long hug, the rest of the team smiling at their embrace. They each moved through the bullpen, gathering their things and talking quietly. Y/N’s eyes paused on her bag, brought up from the parking garage by one of the team after she’d gone missing. They lingered for a long moment on the case file, still sitting where she’d left it hours ago, before she let herself let it go. She grabbed her bag and turned to see Spencer standing in the aisle, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her.

“Hey,” she said dumbly.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Her hands wrung the straps of her bag. “How—how’re you holding up?”

“I’ve been worse.” He shrugged. “How’s your head?”

“I’ve been worse,” she agreed.

“That’s good. Because I think after all that, the least you could do is give me a ride home,” he joked.

Y/N knew he was trying to reassure her that he was fine, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. If anything, his attempts to provide comfort made her feel worse. Because she couldn’t forget the sound of the gunshot at the warehouse, the sight of the knife at his throat, the feeling of nearly losing someone whom she knew she could love if she just had more time. Too exhausted to hide her emotions, she could tell by the change in Spencer’s eyes that the pain was apparent on her face.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t be driving, even if it’s just a mild concussion. Where are your keys?”

“It’s fine. I’m all ri—” Y/N started.

“I know I phrased that as a question, but I’m not really asking.” He held out his hand.

Normally she would have argued, but she just didn’t have the energy. Y/N dug into her bag, fishing out the keys and dropping them into his hand. He closed his fingers around them and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on,” he murmured. He waved to the rest of the team, and Y/N nodded, avoiding their eyes.

The ride in the elevator was silent. The walk to the car, too. They were pulling out of the garage before Spencer finally broke the silence.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked. Y/N stayed quiet. “We all missed the connection to Liberty Ranch.”

“But I knew something was off, and I didn’t say anything. I— I almost came to find you before I left, and if I had just done that—”

“Y/N,” Spencer interrupted. “The plan was already in motion. Meadows and Merva would have just figured out another way to execute it.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “And without you and the leads from the warehouse, the team might not have figured it out in time.”

Y/N opened her mouth before realizing she didn’t have a response. She didn’t even want to consider that possibility. She leaned her head against the window, pressing the thumb and fingers of one hand into her eyes to stave off the throbbing.

Graciously, Spencer let her remain in silence the rest of the ride to her apartment. There was so much to say, especially now; she didn’t know where to begin. And even after everything, she couldn’t stop herself from bringing up that wall— protecting herself from what she knew could hurt her more than any unsub.

They pulled onto her street, fairly empty at such an early hour. Spencer parked in front of her apartment, opening the car door and coming around the other side of the car. She expected him to give her the keys, but as she exited the car, he waited by the gate for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

Spencer opened the gate, allowing her to walk through before closing it behind them and following her up the sidewalk. “I need the keys,” she told him.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, right.” He placed them into her outstretched hand, and she wondered if she imagined his fingers lingering over hers.

When they reached her door, she unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, stepping over the threshold. He waited outside, hands in his pockets. Y/N rolled her keys in her hand, and Spencer watched them.

“Um— thank you for—” Y/N started.

“I told Emily on the jet, and I’ll tell you now.” Spencer raised his eyes to meet hers. There was that look again, the one she couldn’t quite identify. “I’ve always had a hard time saying what I feel. And maybe sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of being disappointed. But sometimes it’s because the words I’m looking for don’t exist in the English language.”

“Spence—”

“Please just let me get this out,” he said. “There have been a couple moments over the past few months where I thought maybe we were sharing mamihlapinatapei.”

“Mamih what?” Y/N asked.

“Mamihlapinatapei.” He repeated, gesturing with his hands. “It’s a Yagan word that originates on the Tierra del Fuego archipelago off the southern tip of Argentina. It translates succinctly as ‘the wordless, meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to do so.’”

“Oh.” Y/N felt a flush rising up in her cheeks.

Suddenly, Spencer couldn’t meet her eyes. “I, um—I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship or make things awkward at work. But last night, I… I just— I’ve had too many moments in my life where I thought it might be my last, and I hadn’t said all the things I needed to say.” He met her eyes again, and there was that familiar storm. “Last night I was out of time, and I hadn’t told you how I feel, and I realized that I wouldn’t get another chance, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I needed to—”

Y/N stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed their mouths together. She tried to pour everything into the kiss: every blush, every worry, every laugh, every panicked moment, every mamihlapinatapei. Spencer cradled her face in his hands, opening his mouth and capturing her bottom lip, accepting everything she gave him. She wound one of her hands into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and grounding herself to this new reality that almost wasn’t. The height of the kiss tapered off, and Y/N drew back, untangling her fingers from his hair and her heart from his grasp. Spencer watched her carefully, honey eyes uncertain.

“I do. Feel the same,” Y/N confirmed. Spencer’s lips twitched. “I’m not good at vulnerability. I’ve got a great track record of getting hurt.” Spencer grabbed her hand and opened his mouth, but Y/N continued, “But then I thought we might lose you, that time was out, and that I— I wouldn’t get the chance to see if you could be— if this could be more.” She gestured between them and then met his eyes again. “And I guess being vulnerable isn’t so bad in comparison. Because I think I could fall in love with you. I think maybe it’s already happening.” She held her breath and pressed her lips together, fighting the regret of saying too much.  

“Actually, there’s a word for that, too.” Spencer smiled, warm and soft and genuine. “Forelsket. The origin is Norwegian, and it roughly translates to ‘the euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.’”

“Forelsket?” Y/N asked.

“Well, it’s more like forelsket,” Spencer corrected.

“Wow, okay, 187.” Y/N laughed for the first time in what felt like days. “Forelsket.”

“Better,” Spencer praised. “There’s also the Tagalog version, kilig.”

Y/N took a step closer to him and smoothed his shirt where her hands had wrinkled it. “Translation?”

“‘The sudden feeling of an inexplicable joy one gets when something romantic happens,’ or alternatively ‘the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.’” Spencer moved his hand to her waist and stepped over the threshold.

Y/N cupped his cheek in her hand, soothing the bruises and guiding him back to her. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Angel!Reader

Warnings: angst, tobias hankel angst

Word Count: 480

Fandom: Criminal Minds

angel/demon for @acrosstheuniversebingo​​​​​

A/N: pictures are not mine, but i made the aesthetic.

Everyone has a guardian angel whether they know it or not. Earth is filled with seven billion people and more than double that in guardian angels. Through an angel’s eyes, the world is crowded with people rushing to get to places, never stopping to really enjoy their lives. Through a human’s eyes, the world is that but with much less people.

You’re a guardian angel to Spencer Reid. You’ve been with him since he was born, always protecting him of the dangers that lie ahead. Angels are allowed to manipulate the thoughts, feelings, and motives of everyone around them including manipulating inanimate objects. You can’t count how many times you’ve steered true danger away from Spencer: killers, child predators, falling objects, etc.

You’re happy looking over Spencer’s shoulder for him.

But this, this is something you couldn’t have prevented from happening.

A man named Tobias Hankel had knocked out and kidnapped Spencer to regain control of others around him. For bad men like him, they don’t really have guardian angels to stop them from doing bad things, and if they do, they are so small that nothing they say will matter. Never have you ever made yourself known to Spencer before, but you think you might have to in order to save his life.

Tobias is currently out at the moment, so if you’re going to do something, then you have to do it now. Making yourself known, you stand behind Spencer and just stare at him. Your wings flutter nervously, but this is something you have to do. If Spencer dies, then you’ll get reassigned to a new baby somewhere else on this Earth, and you’re not ready to let him go just yet.

“Spencer, you’re going to be okay,” you speak to him for the first time.

Spencer snaps his head up in fear, watching you with wide eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, trying to sound like the tough guy.

“I’m Y/N, your guardian angel. I’m here to save you.”

“Wait, what? Guardian angel?”

He slightly panics even though you’re behind him untying him from his binds. Tobias hasn’t hurt him yet, but if you don’t get him out of here, then he will.

“I’ve always been looking over your shoulder for your whole life. You’ll die or get seriously hurt if I don’t interfere. I hope you can forgive me later for this.” You rip off his binds from all four limbs before stepping back. “Now leave because Tobias is coming back.”

You disappear from sight right in front of his eyes. All of this is overwhelming for Spencer, and he’ll definitely come back to it later, but he news to leave right now. He gets out of the chair and runs out the back door, dead set on returning home where his friends and family are eagerly waiting for him… and hopefully you.