#you may be thinking ''what are you on about gideon

[gideongrovel]

i actually have so many ideas for things I wanna draw for my ship with Brook,,,, but it's mosyly memey shit rather then anything fleshed out,,,, and I'm not good at drawing stuff like that 😔 maybe one day I will just do a doodle page of them all cause I have like 4 or 5 ideas in my head,,, but i know they wouldn't be worth fulling rendering em,,,,

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

These are a couple doodles from yesterday, Gideon as a younger teen, before the growth spurt, maybe 14? He's discovered he's a vampire, and has a lot of recovery to do, since he's severely blood deficient.

I'm gonna let myself explode about my vampire gideon ideas, under construction, under the cut: (I don't write fanfiction, I just throw up my ideas on a tumblr post, apparently :'D)

This is what I love about tumblr - it's a place where I can throw the doodles (something that isn't finished *artwork*), and let myself be really delusional about fictional characters. So I'm gonna take a moment to ramble about the ideas I have for Gideon as a vampire.

If you're a fellow Gideon Head, HI THERE... anyway, here's my thought process on a potential vampire-gideon backstory???

I've always liked the idea of gideon being a vampire, and also becoming a much better person when he's older. And that got me thinking, maybe those two things are linked. Maybe the vampire thing is somehow tied into his reformation.

But I tend to lean towards building my ideas off canon (as opposed to making an AU). And if gideon was a vampire, and knew this during the events of the show, it would have come to light at some point. So, either he doesn't know he's a vampire, or he becomes one later. Becoming one later works narratively, but he's already so vampiric, with the white hair, pale skin, sunscreen, evil, etc. So I'm like, let's go with that.

So, gideon has gone his whole life without knowing he's a vampire, and without drinking blood. I'm thinking that being a vampire in this case (my gravity falls fan version of what a vampire would be) wouldn't adhere to typical vampire conventions. You don't NEED to drink blood to survive.

Here's the idea I got yesterday: after the events of weirdmageddon, gideons experience motivated him to become a better person. It was the awakening, basically. But in the subsequent years, he's still a little shit. Maybe he's in juvenile detention, or prison again. But now, he has the self awareness to know that what he's doing is wrong. This is where my ideas get a little fuzzy, so bear with me. Bud has his suspicions, and as a last resort, puts gideon on some sort of mission trip type of cross country trip, when he's in his teens. And along the way, maybe at the end, there's this secret group of vampires that open gideons eyes to what he really is.

Basically??? Without blood, gideon is very evil. He's an evil little shit. This may not be how it is for every vampire. Maybe some grow very sickly without blood, just get hungry, etc. The effects of blood deficiency vary from vampire to vampire. But Gideon becomes very unhinged. And he'd essentially been Blood Hangry for his whole life. That being said, some of it was just his personality that he needed to work through, but drinking some blood helped a LOT. Blood isn't food for him, it's more like his medication.

Once he has that discovery, he spends a long while, I'm thinking maybe even a year, just recovering from the deficiency. He's almost always drinking blood to keep up his levels, and he's very rarely seen in public to keep the vampire thing a secret. That's what these drawings were supposed to be, him in his pseudo bedridden state. This period in his life would be one big blur; mostly spent binge watching soap operas and being all cozy. In contrast to his usual suit + tie, he's dressing for max comfort: sweatpants, sweatshirt, a knit hat over his ridiculously big hair, and always wrapped in a blanket. Not sure if somehow he feels cold when drinking blood?? But for some reason, I feel like he'd always be wearing like 10 layers and laying under a heated blanket or something.

Eventually, he'd only need to drink blood about once a month for maintenance.

Character development wise - even as an adult, Gideon isn't sure if he's truly a good person. Is the blood deficient version of himself the true gideon? Or is this well adjusted man who he truly is? And there's an issue of the chicken and the egg, too. Gideon was born a vampire. Did these genes activate because he was predisposed to being evil? Or did the vampire thing happen by coincidence? Does being a vampire make him evil, or is it the other way around? He doesn't know, and he never will.

The one thing I'm not sure I like about this idea: i'm worried that I'd be writing off his villainous personality as an illness that can be cured with a thing. Obviously, it would be better if he faced that head on, and figured out how to be better. So I'm still grappling with that. But for now, this is an idea I'm entertaining. Of course, I think it would be interesting if there was a plot point where his usual source of ethically sourced human blood was compromised for a time, and he had to grapple with his personality going topsy turvy.

It's actually embarrassing how much I just wrote???? If you've made it this far, wow, I applaud you. I guess this was just my idea of having a good sunday night, writing down my silly thoughts on gideon gosh darn gleeful. Let me know your thoughts too!!!! I'd love to know if you have any ideas, or questions, or ways to strengthen this potential backstory.

[katakaluptastrophy]

I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.

[atlabeth]

heat lightning

pt 1

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you end up at the heart of the bau's latest case.

a/n: took way too long but here's more gideon reader! just as irritable as ever with some actual human emotions this time around. send help and prayers bc she's gonna need it. and before you ask there will in fact be some more parts to close up this case, i just have to write them first and it may take approximately 10 years. thank you for your consideration

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): reader still has daddy issues, still hates spence, and still argues w gideon the whole time. more angst! typical cm case stuff (a stalker that has taken vulnerable pics of reader) read w/ discretion if you are sensitive to those things. more drama and more tension and more not being a good time for anyone but me

“On your right, pretty boy.” 

Spencer stops as Morgan rushes past him back to his desk, eyes trained on the hallway. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he complains. “I nearly spilled my coffee.”

“Gideon’s daughter is here again,” he says. “Did you not feel the temperature drop five degrees?”

Spencer frowns. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears the telltale signs of your arrival: arguing. 

“—so typical of you! I have to drop everything the moment you need me, but it’s like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.”

Gideon turns the corner with you in tow. He has a duffle bag in one hand and a file in his other, his brow furrowed in frustration. 

“That’s because this is important,” he says. 

“Oh, and everything else I try to get you to be around for isn’t?” 

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Gideon says, keeping his voice level. 

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. 

“It’s necessary,” he corrects. “I’m not going to play games with your safety.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you mock. “Because you’ve always cared about that.” 

He just shakes his head. “I’m not debating this with you.”

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?”

You follow Gideon into his office and Spencer watches him close the blinds. The door slams shut, and though he can still hear the muffled argument he can’t make anything out.

“Oh, great,” Morgan says. “Now we can’t even get Reid to read their lips.”

“I don’t think we need it to know what they’re talking about,” Elle says. “They’ve been arguing since she was brought in.”

“Of course they have,” JJ says. “Gideon sent Hotch to pick her up instead of doing it himself. She sees it as another slight.”

“She sees everything as a slight,” Spencer says. “She hates him.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Morgan mutters. “Not when we only found out about her last month.” 

“Surely this isn’t helping with anything,” JJ says wryly. 

Elle shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes pointless arguing makes you feel better, even when you’re in the wrong.” 

“That’s enough, agents.” Spencer’s attention—along with everyone else’s—snaps to the top of the bullpen to see Hotch holding a file with the same expression as always. “I need you all in the conference room.” 

“Does it have anything to do with that?” Morgan asks, tilting his head towards Gideon’s office. 

“You’ll find out,” he says. Hotch starts walking to the conference room, the conversation clearly over. 

JJ sighs as she stands up and grabs the files on her desk. “I’ll get Penelope. The rest of you try not to gossip too much.” 

She goes off, and the others disperse back to their desk to finish up some last-minute things before the case takes them away. Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from Gideon’s office, even though he’s not getting anything. 

All he can think about is the last time you were here, when he got caught in the middle of your argument with Gideon—your dad, which was still a little weird—and he can’t help but feel guilty. 

Gideon is a father figure to him, sure, but it isn’t that difficult to end up with that dynamic when Spencer’s the youngest on the team. And he can go into everything about his father leaving and the psychology of that, but it doesn’t matter. Gideon treated him like a son when he had a daughter all along that he’d been neglecting. 

For all Spencer knows, it is his fault. 

“Reid,” Elle says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “you coming?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding far too many times as he catches up to her in a few quick strides. “Sorry.”

“No need,” she remarks. “Gideon’s kid was all anyone could talk about when she first showed up here. This is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can’t really be that bad of a dad,” Spencer says, “right?”

“All I know is that having a parent in the force rarely ends well,” Elle murmurs. She opens the door to the conference room and looks at him. “We can’t be too hard on her when we probably see Gideon more than she does.”

Spencer recalls his meeting with you, how he barely got a word in edgewise while you spent the whole time arguing with someone half the office viewed as immovable. 

“Yeah,” he says distantly. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

-

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?” 

Your dad shuts the blinds on all the windows in his office, then closes the door behind you. He sets your duffle down on the floor then looks at you, that infuriatingly even expression still unchanged.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he says. “Sit down and lower your voice, please. We have some things to talk about.” 

“I gathered that when you sent your guy to pick me up,” you say, crossing your arms as he walks over to his desk. “Couldn’t even do it yourself?” 

“Aaron Hotchner is the chief of this unit and one of the most accomplished agents here,” he says. “He lives closer to you than I do, and I asked him to pick you up on his way in because I knew you would be safe with him. Sit down, please.” 

“There it is again. My safety.” You remain standing. “Tell me what this is about. I’m missing work right now— I know you can understand that, at least.” 

He lets out a sigh as he says your name and looks at you. “Can we get through this without any arguments for once?” 

“That depends. Are you going to treat me like your daughter or an inconvenience?” 

“You’re my daughter, I love you, and your life is in danger,” he says evenly. 

You open your mouth to retort, but your dad opens the file in his hands and sets it down on the other side of the desk. You can see from your position that they’re photos, but your curiosity ultimately wins out. You walk over to get a closer look, and any words die in your throat as you pick up the first photo. 

A photo of you. 

You pick up the next one, only to see it’s another picture of you. At least ten photos are tucked away in the file, and they’re all of you. Taken outside your work, at your apartment, on your morning run— god, there’s even one taken through the window of your bedroom, half-naked in a towel after a shower. 

You fall silently into the chair, your heart hammering inside your chest as your eyes dart between all of the photos. You want to crawl out of your skin. 

“What the fuck is this?” you breathe. 

“The heart of our newest case,” your dad says. “It appears that you have a stalker.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still glued to your oblivious self, “I would fucking think so.”

“These photos were dropped off at my door this morning,” he says, and he flips to the next section of the file, “with that note.”

The erratic handwriting instantly stands out to you as you pick the photocopy up, the lump in your throat growing with every word you read. 

such a pretty little thing. I wonder if she knows it.

you don’t care about her, but I do. she’s just like all the rest of us, everyone that you’ve ruined.

think about your priorities, agent gideon. I’ll be watching.  

“What the fuck is this?” you repeat. Blood pounds in your skull as a distant chill creeps down your spine. “I— I’m one of your cases now?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” he admits. “These only appeared yesterday, but from the looks of it, the unsub has been watching you for a while. Can you pinpoint when any of these photos were taken? 

You stare at him. “Some psycho has been stalking me for a while?” 

Your dad says your name again, slightly strained. “Please. I know this is difficult to think about, but figuring out a time frame would help us.” 

“Difficult,” you scoff. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

But it doesn’t have the bite your words usually hold. For once, you don’t think you’re mad at your dad. You think you’re terrified. 

“...Yeah,” you finally murmur, and you pick up one of the photos. “I thrifted a mirror a month ago, and this one doesn’t have it.”

Your dad nods, and he picks up two others. “Neither do these.” 

“So this has been going on for at least a month,” you say bitterly. “Great.”

Your dad says your name, quieter this time, and when you finally look at him his eyes have softened. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” he says. “This is a threat against an FBI agent’s family, and it will be treated accordingly. Forensics is doing tests on all the original copies to try and find a lead. The whole BAU will be on your case—I will be on it, and we won’t rest until we find whoever’s doing this.” 

“Yeah,” you say numbly. “You sure that’ll help? Because it looks like all this is happening because I’m your daughter.” 

“I know this is scary,” he says. “This… this is nothing like you’ve ever dealt with before. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. But you have to trust my team. We know what we’re doing.” 

“Of course you know what you’re doing,” you say. “You’re always here.” 

Your words have no bite behind them, more of an instinct as you grab your purse from the ground. You can feel the pinpricks of incoming tears, and you refuse to cry in front of your dad. 

“I— I need a minute,” you say. “This is all just—” 

“I understand,” he says. “Just don’t go far. Stay on this floor.”

You nod and start towards the door, but you pause right before you reach it. Your mouth opens as you try to think of something to say, but it falls shut just as quickly. You shake your head as you reach for the door handle, but before you get the chance, it swings open and you’re met with a familiar face. 

Spencer Reid, the kid your dad likes more than you. He’s nothing less than surprised to see you, from his stumbled step back, the slightly wide eyes, his hand poised to knock on the door. 

A mumbled apology falls from your lips as you move around him, and you can still feel his eyes on you as you speed off. You wonder what ideas he and the rest of the BAU have drawn up about you since your last visit to the office. 

You don’t really care. 

True to your word, you don’t go far—just to the bathroom. Thankfully it’s close, because the moment you make it to one of the stalls, knees stinging as you fall to the tiled floor, you vomit. 

By the time you’ve expelled the contents of your stomach, it feels just as empty as the rest of you. You stare at the wall, breathing slightly harried and skin warm to the touch, and you resist the urge to punch it. 

You have a stalker. Someone has been watching you for a month—at least a month, maybe longer—and you had no fucking clue, and now your only decent hope lies with your dad and his team. 

Normally, you wrote off anything depending on your dad as fruitless, but this involved the thing he loved more than anything in the world: his job. 

You huff a wry laugh at the thought. This wouldn’t get solved because it concerned you, it would get solved because it concerned his job. 

You stand up and walk over to the sink. You rinse your mouth, then just stare at yourself in the mirror. 

It— it feels strange. Looking at yourself like this, knowing someone has been—still is—watching you. 

You recall their words. 

Pretty little thing. 

You don’t care about her, but I do. 

A chill crawls up your spine. You can’t shake the dread settling all over you. 

What the fuck are you going to do?

You have to trust your dad, but you’ve never trusted your dad. God, he’s not even really your dad. He’s Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, nothing more—the estranged kid is an unfortunate side effect of the estranged wife.

You let out another breathy laugh. Would he even care if this psycho actually ends up killing you? 

You stand there for another couple minutes, time idling in the background as you continue to stare at the mirror. 

You haven’t cried, at least. That’s certainly something.

The door opens ever so slightly and someone says your name. Your eyes flick to the mirror almost immediately as your body tenses, and you recognize her as one of the BAU’s agents. She’s pretty and blonde with sympathetic eyes, and you know they’ve been briefed on your situation. 

If you have to deal with an office of pitying looks, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Are you alright?” she asks softly. 

“Just peachy,” you mumble. “My dad ask you to check up on me?” 

She nods. “You can imagine why Gideon is a bit high strung at the moment.” 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I just… needed a second.” 

“I understand,” she murmurs. “Do you still need some time?” 

“What do you need?” 

“Gideon wants to talk to you. It’s best if he explains it.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Fine. Lead the way, Agent…” 

“Jareau,” she supplies. “But call me JJ, please.” 

In lieu of a response, you walk over to her. She offers a thin smile and holds the door for you, then falls into step with you. A moment of silence passes before she speaks up. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” JJ says. “Your dad is one of the best to walk through these doors. If anyone can solve this, he can.” 

“So I keep hearing,” you murmur. 

-

Spencer watches you hurry off with wide eyes, and it takes a few seconds for him to snap out of it. He’s less surprised by your pace, and more surprised that you actually apologized for bumping into him. 

“Reid,” Gideon speaks up, and his attention snaps back over to his superior. “What do you need?” 

“Is she okay?” he asks instead. He can’t help it—after what Hotch just told all of them, he’s worried about you. 

Gideon gathers the photos back into the file then stands up. “Our job is to make sure she will be.”

“Hotch briefed us,” he says, and his eyes darted back to the doorway almost on instinct. “This— this is crazy. We just found out about her last month, and some guy’s been after her for longer?” 

“What this is is one of my enemies targeting my daughter because they’re too much of a coward to go after me,” Gideon says evenly. “We just have to figure out which one before they escalate.”

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“What you said is true,” he admits. “Hardly anyone knows I have a daughter. Even fewer would know where she lives. Someone who wants to hurt me would have incentive to discover both.” 

“So we look into unsubs you’ve put away that have been released,” Spencer says. “Or ones that are still in, but have family that might be bitter.”

“Exactly,” Gideon nods. “But I have to ask something of you, Reid.”

He frowns. “Anything.”

“We’re working on getting a safe house for my daughter,” Gideon says. “I need you to stay there with her.” 

Somehow, his frown deepens. “What?”

“I need to know she’s with someone I can trust,” he says. “There’s someone after her, and we don’t know who—that means we need to keep this circle tight.”

“So you want me to be her bodyguard?” Spencer marvels. “Do you remember that you had to waive all my physical tests?”

“Less of a bodyguard,” he says. “More just… keeping her company. Making sure she’s alright—mentally as much as physically.”

“Why am I the one that has to keep an eye on her?” Spencer asks. “She hates me!” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Gideon says. “She hates a lot of things.” 

“But it is personal,” Spencer insists. “She hates me because she thinks you like me more than her.” 

Gideon doesn’t seem phased at the comment. “She’s opinionated, but she’s harmless. And right now, I need to know that she’s with someone I can trust.”

“I— I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, Reid.” Gideon leans forward, and there’s an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. "If I'm going to be on this case, I need to know that she's safe. I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Spencer wasn’t going to lie—he genuinely thought it was a bad idea. But… Gideon said he trusted him. And this was his daughter—they might’ve argued, but they still cared about each other. if he could keep Lila Archer safe, he could keep you safe. 

“…Okay,” he finally concedes. “Okay.”

Gideon nods, and he watches the change in his eyes, the slightest bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Just… make sure there are two bedrooms,” Spencer says. “I don’t need her to kill me one day in.”

At that, he cracks a rare smile. Spencer is thankful for it, that he can bring even the smallest amount of levity to Gideon’s life right now. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your dad says your name, but you hardly let him finish. 

“No! First I find out I have a stalker, then my whole life’s going to be uprooted until you find them, and now I have to be stuck with boy genius?”

“You know, we’re about the same age—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” you cry, whirling on Spencer.

“I actually don’t talk that much when I’m around you,” Spencer says, his brows creasing. “This is the third time I’ve met you, and I’ve only said nine sentences across those meetings. Thirteen, if you count all of these too.”

You let out a strained laugh as you shake your head, trying to blink back tears. “This is fucking unbelievable. I know he’s practically your son, but this is just—”

“A safety precaution,” your dad interrupts. “Doctor Spencer Reid is another one of the BAU’s finest agents, and he is fully qualified to keep you safe.”

“He looks like a strong breeze could snap him in half.”

“This is not a joke,” your dad says sternly. “None of this is a joke. Your life is in danger—you have a stalker that has been watching your every move for at least a month, and we have no idea what their next move will be. Doctor Reid is more experienced than you in every facet of this, and I am entrusting him to your care. I respect him immensely, and you will do so as well.”

You don’t even look at Spencer, quiet rage simmering beneath the surface as you stare at your father.

“You really don’t get it,” you murmur. “Do you?”

“The only thing to get is that your life is in increasing danger with every moment you spend pushing against me,” your dad says, and he stands up. “Get your purse. Reid, get her duffle. We’re leaving.”

He leaves before you get the chance to do anything—you assume he’s finally tired of you. 

You just shake your head and pick up your purse, and Spencer clears his throat as he reaches for your duffle bag. You wonder if it even has anything useful—Aaron Hotchner was the one who packed it. 

“…So,” Spencer says. “I guess we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

You huff in fully unveiled annoyance, and you push past him on your way out. 

“Great,” he mutters to himself as he follows you. “So this is what Gideon’s trust earns me.” 

It doesn’t take him too long to catch up to you, despite the unnecessary quick pace you’re taking. You bypass the elevator and head towards the stairwell, and Spencer catches the door before it’s able to slam on him. 

He says your name, but you just shake your head. 

“If we’re gonna be stuck together until this is over, I’d prefer silence.” 

“I don’t really do silence,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of books for you to read in whatever jail cell they throw me in.” 

“It’s actually going to be a pretty nice safe house,” he starts, throwing his hand up against the wall to catch himself from running into it as he turns, because god you are moving fast, “Gideon picked it out himself.” 

“Oh, then it’ll definitely be a jail cell,” you mock. “It’s not like he knows anything about me, so he’ll probably think that it’s perfect.” 

Spencer frowns. “Cut him some slack. This is all just as hard on him as it is on you.” 

You come to a sudden stop, whirling around to face him, and Spencer has to reel to the side to prevent himself from running into you. Had he not already been pressed up against the wall, he would have moved back further, what with the fire blazing in your eyes. 

“I’m not going to cut him any slack,” you spit. “This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with my dad in months, and it’s only because some creep is stalking me to get back at him. The only reason I’m in this at all is because of his job that he cares about more than me, and now he’s sticking me with the guy that he wishes was his kid. So no, Doctor Reid—I’m not going to cut him any slack.” 

You’re already off on your way again before Spencer even has time to blink, and you’ve made it down the whole last flight by the time he pushes himself back up. 

He takes the steps three at a time to catch up to you, and he once again barely manages to catch the door before it slams on him. He calls your name, finally managing to fall into step with you right before you reach Gideon. He, like a normal person, deigned to take the elevator. 

“You haven’t started arguing already,” he says, passing a glance at Spencer, “have you?” 

“What do you think?” you ask, your arms crossed. 

“I think you’re giving him a hard time that you usually reserve for me,” he says. “Cut him some slack.” 

Your jaw clenches. “I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. Save the profiling for my stalker, will you?”  

“There’s plenty of profiling to go around,” Gideon says. “You two wait here—I need to confirm the safe house location before we head out.” 

“Can we stop by my place before we go?” Spencer asks. “I need to pick up some things.” 

“You have a go bag, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, but I— I wasn’t exactly prepared for this sort of thing when I came in today.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Gideon says. He walks off before Spencer can protest, and he sighs. 

You lean against the wall, your arms crossed with your purse hanging off your shoulder, and for once you don’t pass judgment on his—admittedly small—plight. 

“I changed my mind,” Spencer speaks up, deciding to try and break the remarkably high amount of tension that had built up in such a short time, and your eyebrows rise as you glance at him. 

“About what?” 

“I— I think I can do silence,” he says. “Temporarily.” 

You huff a laugh. “Really?” 

“I don’t really want to annoy you while we’re stuck together in an undisclosed location,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.” 

And for the first time since Spencer has met you, you actually smile. It’s the smallest thing, just a slight tilt of your lips that’s more akin to Hotch’s moments of levity than anything, but it’s a smile. 

“...Good choice,” you say. It feels like a joke, but Spencer isn’t sure. 

He smiles anyway. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, you’re just another girl. Someone that Spencer could imagine himself stealing glances at in a lecture hall, a regular at his favorite coffee shop that he falls for over the course of an especially cold winter, someone he meets on a night out with the team that he ends up talking to all night. 

You really do have pretty eyes. 

And then your gaze hardens, darts away from him, and Spencer sees Gideon coming back in his peripherals. The moment fractures. 

You’re not just a girl. You’re Gideon’s daughter, you’re in a remarkable amount of danger, and lest he forget, you do in fact hate him. 

Spencer lets out another short sigh. 

At least this safe house won’t have a pool.

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[misserabella]

two geniuses (playing love)

masterlist!

synopsis; feelings flourish in between the two of you as you’re forced to act as a couple. could a kiss finally let the two of you understand what was really going on underneath your supposedly hatred? you’re scared to find out.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!!, guns, shots being fired, girls being bitches, bickering, lots of teasing, so much flufffffff, spencer and reader being confused, pining, neck kisses, making out (their first kiss!!), violence, guns, shots being fired, spencer gets flustered a lot, also gets a boner… (so much more that i probably can’t remember)…

“so what do we know about this unsub?” hotch asked, all of you were sitting on the police station around the table, trying to understand this killers motive.

“well, we know his killings evolve around y/n.” morgan stated the obvious, to what you sighed.

“stalkers may exhibit a range of psychological issues, including personality disorders such as narcissistic personality disorder, borderline personality disorder, and delusional disorders like erotomania. stalking behaviors can also be influenced by insecure attachment styles rooted in childhood experiences.” spencer added, and you nodded.

“erotomania is a delusional disorder that makes a person believe the person of their infatuation hace reciprocated feelings or love and affection, when they don’t. it may even be a person they’ve never met. they might even be famous, like a politician or an actor. people with this disorder can be so sure of this love that they think they’re in a relationship with this person. they may not be able to accept facts that prove otherwise. it is also called de clérambault syndrome, and it’s rare. it can happen on its own. but it’s usually linked to another mental health condition, like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. it can last for weeks or years.” you recited as if you were reading it off of a book.

“you two are like an encyclopedia.” emily smiled, chuckling.

“so this killer will go to the extreme of killing for you if needed.” jj nodded.

“seems like it.” you answered.

“he also seems pretty possessive and protective of you. he seems to have noticed spencer too.” morgan pointed out.

“you think he might think we’re dating?” you inquired with disbelief.

“it would play to our favor. if our profile around him is right, he might not be able to control the need to stay quiet about it and take action.” gideon said, what made you scoff.

“so what now? we should hold hands and act like a happy couple? fuck no.”

“y/n.” hotch scolded you.

“i’m sorry but that’s not gonna work. if none of you have noticed, spencer and i don’t really get along.”

“shocker!” emily sarcastically said, to what you squinted your eyes at her.

“come on guys… i can’t be the only one who doesn’t see this working out.” you tried to make up their minds and spencer pitched in.

“yeah. and to be honest i don’t want to become the unsub’s new target.” spencer pointed out.

jj stepped in. “it's true that your relationship has been strained, but you're both intelligent individuals. i’m sure you can put aside your differences to sell this lie. it's not about whether or not you like each other; it's about stopping this unsub at all costs." you listened to her words, groaning. she was right. you needed to stop acting like children and work together to catch this unsub.

you looked at spencer, who was already looking at you, communicating with a nod.

“you’re right.” you sighed at jj. “i guess it’s the only way, huh?” you gave in.

hotch stepped in, a flicker of relief crossing his face. "good. now, let's think through the details. we need to create a plausible backstory for your relationship, make sure your body language and interactions are believable, and be prepared for any curveballs the unsub might throw at us. this isn't going to be easy, but I have faith in both of you, and I know you can make this work." you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“how should we… how should we act around each other?” you inquired, cringing internally.

rossi answered “for your relationship to appear authentic, you'll need to display a certain level of intimacy and affection.”

“holding hands, touching each other frequently, being in close proximity… you can't come across as distant or awkward, as that would immediately raise suspicions.”emily added.

“you need to convince the unsub that you're truly in love with each other." jj finished and you scoffed.

“well that’s gonna be easy…” you sarcastically said, bracing yourself for what’s about to come.

-

his hand is warm, big engulfing your own. and clammy. spencer is nervous, awkward, you can feel it as you two walk through the beach, the light breeze hitting your skin, the salt engulfing your lungs.

you two have not said one word since you’ve left the headquarters, not on the way back to the hotel, or when you moved your things into his room, or on the way to the beach…

silence. total and absolute silence.

this was your new reality. to play fantasy with the person you hated the most. to act as if only love was what stood between the two of you and not this immense hatred that gnawed at your insides.

“did you know that by the amount of germs a hand holds it’s actually safer to kiss?” he asks, and his voice sounds hoarse by the silence he has buried himself in.

you hummed. “does that mean you’d prefer me to kiss you instead or hold your hand?” you asked, and he choked.

“what? no! no, what i meant is… i just…” you chuckled.

“relax, reid. it was a joke. i want to kiss you as much as you want to kiss me.” you rolled your eyes. “you’re so tense that whoever saw you would think im holding you hostage and making you hold my hand.” he scoffs.

“sorry. it’s just… awkward.”

“tell me about it…” you sighed, leaving your beach bag down onto the sand. “i think this might be a good spot.”

“for what?” he inquired, letting go of your hand.

“we’re supposed to be on a date, reid. doing things a couple does. you know… watch the sunset, spend time together… all of that.”

“oh.” he muttered. “yeah. that makes sense.” he nodded, watching you take out a couple of towels to spread them across the sand.

“gonna help me or stand there watching?” you chuckled, and he quickly moved to help you, muttering a ‘right, sorry’ that made you laugh internally. who’d know spencer could act like this? embarrassed and coy in front of you?

then he sat, book in hand. of course. “seriously? you’re gonna read right now?” you inquired him and he looked up at you.

“why not? the beach is one of the most relaxing places to read.” he shrugged, and you shook your head, pulling from your beach dress to get it off, leaving yourself on a blue bikini.

his eyes trailed down your sun kissed skin, the sun was setting, giving you a golden hue that made you shine.

“come with me.” your words took him out of his mind, his eyebrows raising as you offered him your hand. “come on.” he seemed suspicious, but again, he had to trust you if this lie was gonna be bought. and so he took your hand and got up. he tried not to think about the fact that your body was mostly exposed, and about the feeling of your soft smaller hand on his bigger one.

you let him go once he was up on his feet, and he took off his shirt, leaving him on his swimwear.

“so i wasn’t actually hallucinating it the last time… where were you hiding that?” you teased him, looking at his soft but toned body. he rolled his eyes.

“stop looking at me.”

“why? does it make you nervous?” you rose your eyebrows. “do i make you nervous, spencer?” you leaned in and he took a step back.

“no. i just don’t like it.” his nose scrunched up and you hummed.

“yeah, right.” you rolled your eyes, giving him your back to start walking towards the shore.

“no. really.” he followed you with a frown, feet fast behind you.

“it’s okay, spencer. your little crush on me it’s cute.”

his eyes widened. “what?! i don’t have a crush on you!”

your feet met the water and you walked in. you heard his splashes behind you as the water met your knees. it was just the perfect temperature.

“you’re dumb.” you said while facing him once again. and he gave you an incredulous look.

“i’m not dumb! why would i be dumb?”

“because of this.” and with a quick movement you were maneuvering him into the water, leaving him splashing your thighs and tummy. you laughed at his glare and shocked expression, his pretty hair now mildly soaked. “god. reid. it’s the second time this happens to you. you don’t learn!”

“you think this is funny, do you?” he asks you, looking up at you.

“definitely.” you nodded, still chuckling, your chest heaving up and down with ragged breathing.

“yeah?”

“yea-“ but before you could finish he was grabbing your hand and pulling you down into the water with him. you froze as you fell on his lap, water splashing around the two of you.

“well, check who’s in the water now, huh?” he was laughing at your shocked expression and damp face before he noticed the position in which the two of you were in, his laughter dying quickly enough.

his eyes met your body, wet in droplets that slid down your chest and navel towards your hips submerged in the water and on top of his. he swallowed at the feeling of your soft weight on him, the swell of your chest right in front of his face, centimeters away from his lips. the curve of your neck… your hair falling over it and down your collarbones… the warmth of your hands on his shoulders, the softness of the skin of your hip under his unconscious grip.

you looked down at him. at his messy hair that had started curling due to the salt, at his thin yet toned build, his heaving chest, his sharp jaw, his hazel puppy eyes, his long lashes… the way he was now looking at you…

“uhm…” he cleared his throat. and the spell in between the two of you broke. you shook your head.

“i should probably…” you pointed at your back, trying to gesture that you should get up, and he nodded, pulling his hands away from your body.

“yeah. yeah.” he nodded, and you used him for leverage to get back on your feet. it was awkward. the tension in between the two of you as he too got back on his feet, neither of you looking at each other. the sun was setting.

“i think i’m gonna… go read.” you nodded.

“yeah. okay. i’ll… i’ll meet you there.” he copied the shaking of your head, and after a couple of seconds in silence he staggered in turning around and getting out of the water. you only went in deeper, submerging your head under the waves, where there was no noise, and no thoughts clouding your head. no doubts. although you could still feel the vivid heartbeat of your heart, crashing harshly against your ribs.

spencer tried to focus on his book, but as much as he’d like to not admit it, his eyes were zeroed on you.

-

“okay…” you hummed. “ursa minor.” you pointed at the sky.

the sun was long gone, and yet, spencer and you still were on the beach, lying on your towels, admiring the map of stars above your heads.

spencer took his turn, pointing just a little bit far away from your constellation. “ursa mayor.”

“now that’s and easy one.” you rolled your eyes teasing him, and he couldn’t help but copy you.

“okay. what about… camelopardalis?” he pointed it out in the sky and you hummed.

“now you’re just showing off.” he groaned.

“oh, so now i’m showing off?” he smirked and you nodded.

“yeah, come on. you could have just pointed out draco. instead you chose camelopardalis? you’re a show off.” he chuckled.

“okay. maybe i just wanted to shut you up.” he shrugged and you laughed.

“now, that’s not easy.”

“tell me about it.” he mumbled. “hey look. it’s saturn.” he pointed it out, it shining more than a normal star.

“and mars.” you said, pointing it out as well.

“and dwarf planet 1 ceres.” he added and you looked at him with your eyebrows raising.

“you’re bluffing.”

“i’m not!”

“yes you are, reid. that planet can only be seen with binoculars. you wear glasses!”

“how do you know that?” you laughed.

“caught you!” he rolled his eyes.

“okay. maybe i memorized tonight’s sky map, so what?” you chuckled at his response.

“you’re a nerd.”

“yeah? well so are you. what’s your iq, 170?”

“177.” his eyes widened. “what?”

“i mean. i knew you were intelligent. but we almost share the same iq. that’s… that’s impressive.”

“was that a compliment, doctor reid?” you smirked.

he shook his head with a smile, scoffing. “no.”

“it was though.”

“it wasn’t.”

“it totally was.” your bickering caused him to laugh.

“you’re insufferable.” he groaned, and you smiled.

“i know.” you two rested in silence, looking at the sky. “this isn’t so bad…” he looked at you. “i mean, sure. i don’t like you. and acting as your girlfriend totally sucks, believe me. but i thought it would be worse.” he hummed.

“you have a way of complimenting someone and at the same time insulting them that is fascinating.” he said, and you chuckled. “by the way… what time is it?” you took your phone.

“almost one am.” you answered his question.

“we should probably get going.” he muttered and you rose your eyebrows.

“you want me back into your bed so soon, reid?” he scoffed.

“you really like to assume those kinds of things. in the end i’m gonna start thinking you’re the one who wants me in your bed.” your eyes widened.

“fuck no!” you said while getting up from the towel, and he smirked up at you.

“you sure?”

“of course i am.”

“then why are you avoiding my eyes?” he got up to stand beside you, a smirk on his face. you wanted to punch it out of him.

“i’m not.” you scoffed.

“but you are.” your skin rose in goosebumps as he stepped closer, your breath hitching when he took your chin and made you look up at him into his hazel eyes. the moonlight made them shine. and for a moment you forgot that he was teasing you, playing with you.

“i don’t want you in my bed.” you said, straight into his eyes, pushing away his touch. he smiled.

“okay. i’ll believe you.” you looked away from him as he started gathering his things and put on back his shirt. you wondered why your cheeks were burning. why your heart was racing.

he put your beach bag over his shoulder. “let’s go.” and even though your body jolted underneath his touch as he took your hand to guide you down the shore back to the hotel —and you reminded yourself that this was all part of the lie you were playing—, you let him.

-

“how are our lovebirds?” garcia asked through the phone and you rolled your eyes.

“would be better if you’d catch this guy now…” you said, and heard snickers from the other part of the line.

“he’s behaving, isn’t he?” morgan inquired and spencer frowned.

“what?! what do you mean behave?” you shushed him.

“he’s not being so bad… usual reid.” morgan laughed. “any news on the unsub?”

“actually, yeah.” jj said. “we caught him lurking on the beach you guys visited, but he was far from our reach. seemed pretty angry.”

“so he’s getting closer…” you nodded.

“he seemed to buy into the lie of the relationship.” spencer hummed and you nodded.

“you guys need to keep it up. if our profile is right he will not stand still and watch, he’ll confront the two of you soon.” hotch said.

“alright. we will.” you promised.

“we’ll keep in touch.” emily said before the line went dead and the two of you looked at each other.

“what should we do now?” he inquired.

“go to the pool.” you smiled and he groaned. “come on. he needs to see us.” you said while getting a bikini and entering the bathroom to get changed. once done you got out and found him with a pair of red trunks. “now that’s the spirit.” you smiled and he rolled his eyes. “come on, reid. the sun is up and shining for us. time to sunbathe!” he took some of his books and his sunglasses, following after you out of your room and though the hallways of the hotel until you two were met by happy squealing and laughter from the children enjoying their time in the pool, splashing each other.

you two took a sun lounge each, his umbrella staying open while yours stood shut as you applied tanning oil to your skin after getting rid of your shorts. spencer kept his summer sheer shirt, laying sat up straight in the sun lounge as he quickly went through the pages, reading 20.000 words per minute. you laid on your own, bathing in the warmth of the sun as it prickled your skin.

you were enjoying the tranquility until some shadows took over your sun. you peeked your eyes open to see three girls standing over the two of you, sweet smiles on their faces as they stared at your right. more like… at spencer.

“hey.” one of them caught his attention, and his hazel eyes pulled away from his book towards the blonde.

“what are you reading?” a brunette asked him next, and he stuttered just the slightest before answering.

“uhmm… anna karenina. it’s from leo tolstoy from 1878. it deals with themes of betrayal, faith, family, marriage, imperial russia, society, desire, and the differences between rural and urban life. it’s actually my second time reading it. this time in the original russian.” he spat out, babbling as the three girls listening. more like ate him up with their eyes.

“you’re cute.” the third and last girl, another blonde smiled, and spencer’s eyes widened.

“could i get your number?” the brunette inquired him and you sat up straight, slightly clearing your throat, what made them look at you. “and you are…?”

you smiled. “his girlfriend.” spencer looked at you scandalized, what almost made you laugh. “i mean i get you guys…” you said with a smirk, leaning over him, your chest pressing against his as your arms circled his neck. his breath hitched as you hummed, looking at him before looking back at the three girls that now stunned looked at you. “he’s just too cute, isn’t he?” you took his face with one of your hands, making his lips pout out. he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and widened eyes. you smiled at him, his cheeks flushing at your words and the way your body just pushed closer against his. “but he’s mine.” you crooked your head towards the girls. “so if you don’t mind…”

“actually i do mind.” the brunette said. and your eyebrows rose. “i don’t see your name branded on him.” you slowly pulled away from spencer, getting on your feet.

you smiled softly at her. spencer didn’t like it one bit. you never smiled. not like that. “what’s your name?”

“ashley.” she answered, and you saw spencer getting up get beside your from the side of your eyes as you gave her a once over, your eyes landing on her pool heels. he was cautious, he knew something was wrong. sweet intelligent spencer…

“i like your shoes.” you started, simple, and she looked confused at you. “you gonna… be able to run in those?” you inquired.

“what?” and before she knew what was happening you were launching yourself towards her. good timing spencer was fast enough to catch you in between his arms as her friends pulled her away, running from you with ‘let’s go!’s.

“yeah, that’s more like it. see you, ashley!!!” you said while fighting spencer’s tight hold on you. “bitch…” you murmured when they got lost into the hotel. he let you go when you had seemingly calmed down and stared at you.

“what was that?”

“what? she was being a bitch.” you shrugged and got back to your sun lounge.

“no. i mean. what was that?”

“reid. i’m supposed to be your girlfriend… don’t you think that’s how a girlfriend would act?” you inquired him, and he looked around, scratching his nape.

“i mean, yeah but…” you cut him off.

“then it’s settled.” you said before closing your eyes and getting back with your sun.

he stared at you, still in shock and with flushed cheeks. his mind got filled with images and moments from the last days; you in the pool the night you’d thrown him in, how you had teased him, how your lips had almost touched his, last night at the beach when you had fallen on top of him… and now… seeing you that way, had done… things to him. things he didn’t want to accept. his whole body was tense, his heart was stuttering, his eyes whole face was red, and his stomach was feeling bubbly and… well. okay. no. enough.

he cleared his throat and sat down beside you, retrieving his book, trying to dismiss the knot in his throat. he looked at you. at your slowly tanning skin, the shine it had due to the oil you had bathed yourself in, your beautiful curves accentuated by the white bikini you’d gone for today, your soft features, your long lashes, your plump lips, your soft jaw, the soft skin of your neck, your…

when his eyes dropped too low he looked away, clearing his throat.

he tried to go back to the russian, but he was flustered. after minutes of trying to get back in focus, he gave up, getting up and pulling his shirt off, what caught your attention.

“where are you going?” you inquired.

“i was gonna go for a swim.” he pointed to the pool, and you sprung up.

“i’ll join you.” you smiled, and his heart stuttered at the recurring memories of that night in the pool. let it go, spencer.

following him into the water, you sigh at the fresh feeling of it engulfing you and making your overheated skin find solace.

spencer dampens his hair, pushing it backwards in a slick manner that exposes his strong cheek bones. but it’s when you finally stop staring at him that you notice it.

his breath hitched when your arms surrounded his neck, pulling him closer, your chest pressed against his as you spun in the water.

“what are you doing?” he inquired you, his hands subconsciously grabbing your hips. to push you away? to pull you closer? who knew…

“your twelve o’ clock. i think it’s our guy.” you muttered in his ear swiftly, smiling at him as if you were absolutely smitten, playing with his hair. spencer looked just for a moment. it was a white male, in his late thirties, wearing glasses and a cap, staring straight at the two of you with clenched fists.

“he surely doesn’t look happy.” he muttered to you, pulling you closer. “looks like it might be him.” you hummed. “what should we do?”

“well you should definitely act like you love me.” you smiled, cupping his cheek. “like this…” you looked straight into his eyes, and his breath hitched. if he didn’t knew better you’d have fooled him, ‘cause you were looking at him as if you craved nothing else, no one else but him.

you almost chocked when one of his hands found your hair, his breath pressing against your neck just before his lips did. “does this work?” he inquired you, pressing another chaste kiss on the sensitive skin.

you had to come and get back your trail of thought, ‘cause he had stolen it away just that easy. it was unnerving.

“you tell me. you’re the one facing him.” you whispered, and he hummed against your skin. you had to pretend as if it y didn’t send shivers down your spine.

“he’s just staring.” he stated.

“he wouldn’t dare do something with this much people around.” you figured.

“or maybe he just doesn’t want to taint his image before you. he wants to meet you in the perfect way, perfect place, perfect time.”

“what a romantic…” you rolled your eyes.

“he’s moving.” spencer announced.

“leaving?” you inquired and he nodded, his soft stubble scratching your neck and making you shudder in his arms.

“seems like it.” once out of sight he let you go, and you looked away from his eyes, the imprint of his hold on your hips still lingering on your skin, his kisses still burning your neck.

“he won’t be able to hold on for much longer...”

you nodded, fidgeting. “i’ll… i’ll go tell the team.”

“yeah. okay.” spencer copies your shake of head, and you got out of the pool, his eyes training on your back and down your body before he caught himself staring, quickly looking away and pushing his hair back anxiously. he could still feel the softness of your skin, smell the coconut tanning oil you’d lathered yourself in, remember how right you’d feel in between his arms, taking whatever he gave you…

he sighed. get it together reid.

but he had to spend a while in the water to properly calm down before making his way back to you. this was gonna end badly.

-

dinner with spencer was easy. it was a warm night. and he looked good. with a blue button up shirt and white pants along with his brown shoes. it was easy to talk to him, even easier to let him pay and let him walk you by his hand through the hotel and into the gardens of it. it was so easy to live this lovers lie that it terrified you. the moon and stars were shining bright above your heads, and the silence that filled the distance in between the two of you was as comfortable as it could get.

that was until he was breaking it to stutter about theories of the universe. theories you already knew. but for once you decided to keep quiet and listen to his rambling, enjoying the way his eyes sparkled with knowledge, the way his lips curled into a smile with every little fact that spilled from them…your heart was hammering inside your chest. it has been since the time in the pool. you were scared he could feel your heartbeat by how tight he was holding your hand. you’d come to understand that he wasn’t that bad. sure, he sometimes could get under your skin and make you lose your temper, but spencer reid could be as soft as a feather when he wanted to, and that made it all even worse. you were used to his narcissism, to his hatred, not to his ‘love’. was this how he really was or just another lie? just another façade? you were haunted by the feelings that this side of him flourished in your body.

“there’s someone following you.” since the spotting in the pool, the team had made sure to give you an earpiece each to communicate with you in case of emergency. jj’s voice made spencer’s waver, but to play along he just pulled you closer and continued with his theories. “seems like the man you told us about, y/n.”

you two slowly stopped walking, looking at each other as he kept talking, waiting for orders.

“he stopped. he’s just… watching.” emily announced and you inquired spencer and the team.

“what should we do? he’s not gonna come to us that easily…”

“reid, kiss her.” hotch ordered and his eyes widened, breath hitching and his hold on your hand hardening.

“what? no! i’m not going to kiss her!” he whispered-yelled, completely astonished.

“the physical contact will drive him to approach you both. we’ll be right there.” morgan chirped in, trying to convince his friend, soothe his anxiety. but spencer wasn’t scared of the unsub. he was scared of you. terrified. terrified by how good it felt to have you this close, to hold your hand, to see your smile, to share time with you… he wondered if this last thing would make him crack. would make him understand that it wasn’t hatred all along. he wasn’t sure he was ready to know the truth.

“there must be another way, i-“ he tried, but you groaned at his hesitation, taking the matter into your own hands.

“for the love of god, reid.” you grabbed at his curly hair, and in a tug, you pulled him down against your mouth. he froze at first, surprised, in shock at the soft feeling of your lips against his, at the feeling of your chest tightly pressed against him. but then it all completely changes, he can’t get enough. he cupped yor face in between his warm hands and pulled you closer, until there was no space between you two, something he must hate, but only finds himself enjoying. you gasp into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue inside, pushing you against the wall of the hotel, devouring you as if he had been waiting years for this moment. you were air. and he was drowning.

“slow down…” you breathily moan against his lips, and he groans.

“i can’t.” he confessed.

the kiss that follows is just as desperate and harsh, your tongues dancing around the other as he kisses you like you’re everything he’s ever craved. you feel him press against you, and the feeling of a bulge on his crotch surprises you.

“you seem to be enjoying this a little bit too much, reid.” you said with a smirk as you felt his growing erection pushing against your thigh to find solace, some friction, anything to make him feel better. he’s losing control, he knows. but he looks into your dazed eyes and he knows you are falling just as hard. he hopes the fall doesn’t hurt as bad as his heart right now.

“i hate you.” he muttered against your lips.

“say it like you mean it.” and before he could kiss you again, the sound of a gun being loaded sounded.

“get away from her.” a male voice filled your ears and spencer stepped away from you, leaving you cold, confused and in need of more you thought you’d never crave. “get away!” he repeated pointing at him with the gun.

“okay, okay… calm down…” he softly said, taking a couple of steps away from you.

“how do you dare touch her?!” he screamed. he seemed scattered. “nobody should touch her. she’s mine!”

“no, she’s not.” spencer said just as morgan knocked the unsub to the ground, a shot being fired, the bulled burying itself inches away from you on the wall. he was quick to reach out for you as you looked down at yourself. “are you okay?” he inquired, taking your face, inspecting it.

“don’t touch her!” the man screamed again as you nodded.

“easy!” morgan yelled as he cuffed him up.

“yeah… i’m alright.” you muttered and spencer nodded, looking right into your eyes. you could still see his flushed cheeks, and his swollen wet lips, could see traces of you left behind. you wanted to taste him again. and again. and again. until the only thing you could remember was him and his lips, and the feeling of his body pressing against you.

that night. something changes. and it scares not only your bones, but your soul as well.

-

[lesbiancientforesttroll]

Think about Harrow's AU Bubbles

Thinking about Harrow's AU bubbles, not as fanfic references, but as expressions of her subconscious fears and desires, is so fascinating.

The Harrow Nova one is pretty obvious. Harrow's parents were obsessed with her being a necromancer, were willing to kill for it. It's only natural she'd wonder, "What if I hadn't been?"

And the answer Harrow gives herself is: Your parents and everyone would reject you (except, wildly, for Crux). Also they'd be alive cuz you'd never opened the tomb, and you'd be an unpopular orphan they'd abuse (Just Like Gideon). And you'd still be just as devoted to serving the Ninth with a blade. There's a lot there. But the other really telling bit is her relationship with Gideon. Harrow Nova professes to hate the reverend daughter even as she seeks to (re) create the necro-cav bond with her. But that hatred doesn't seem to be mutual. And the bit about the daughter intervening when Harrow was whipped…

That's Harrow's subconscious saying if their roles had been reversed, "Gideon would have treated me better than I treated her. Gideon would have protected me."

The Ball AU also seems like a reasonable extension of Gideon's childhood query: "What if my other parent is the most important guy in the universe?" Answer: Emperor Dad would throw a big party.

But also… it's a bride-finding ball! That's so very telling. It could have been anything, but Harrow invents another scenario where she's fighting, competing to get to Gideon, to be awarded the role of her sworn partner (first cav, now bride), while outwardly claiming not to want it.

Now The BARI Star AU often gets described as a "coffee shop" one, but it's actually set in a cohort cafeteria. And normally I wouldn't split hairs over that, but I think the cohort setting is actually really significant. The Cohort was Gideon's dream, and also Harrow's rival for Gideon's attention. It's what she kept trying to leave Harrow for.

So now Harrow dreams that she's left Drearburh to join the cohort and will meet Gideon there. Not fight or compete for a role where they're bound to each other, but just meet her there. That feels like yielding. Like compromise. It makes me think Harrow's subconscious has matured past trying to keep Gideon with her always and is instead looking for ways that SHE can be with Gideon. Meet Gideon where she is.

(Also this may be a stretch, but I always find it low-key funny that Harrow imagines Gideon in the cafeteria… I like to think her brain is skimming lists of hypothetical military jobs like... what sees the least action... ah, coffee-adept, she'll be perfectly safe there...)

[daisukitoo]

I am 40% of the way through Gideon the Ninth. There are no plot spoilers below.

What is refreshing about Gideon as a protagonist and POV character is that she is a jock. She fundamentally does not care about all this nerd shit going on, i.e. the entire setting and plot. She misses exposition, background, and other explanations because, as one person who starts explaining how magic works observes, "right, you're not even pretending to pay attention."

Most writers are writers, so this is not a common perspective for a book to hold. Plot-relevant details can be sprinkled freely because Gideon's narrative will see them and not even shrug before moving on.

GIdeon lacks the emotional and mental maturity to be a good person. She is not evil as such, just apparently unaware of the existence of moral implications. When we meet her, her motivation is to get out of this hick town and join the military, because fighting is glorious and cool and this hick town sucks. She likes weapons and fighting and working out and hot chicks. She fantasizes about leading military charges that bring death to new worlds and fuel necromantic rituals because that would mean hot goth babes would see how cool she is and be grateful. She does not dwell on the thought of worlds that apparently have never known death and her plan to look cool leading imperial invasions and killing enough people to fuel necromantic rituals. She does dwell on the thought of that prissy bitch from her high school having to see how cool and hot she is now that she's a war hero who gets medals and hot babes.

You as the reader can be carried along very quickly by this incurious perspective that does not think twice about things. You as the reader may want Gideon to backtrack and dwell on something or explore it further. The weirdness of the setting is more or less swept under the rug by Gideon's not noticing it. 98.5% of the children on a planet gone (died?), but Gideon doesn't devote a second sentence to boring backstory like that. What was that about galactic conquest, in a setting where the main weapons are swords and necromantic magic? How little advancement has there been in technology or magic in 10,000 years, despite a possibly continuous civilization that whole time? Or some references to what sound like dark ages? Damned if Gideon cares or even notices.

The necromancers are dying to talk shop about their powers. Gideon rolls her eyes and wants to talk to that woman about the cool flip she did, because Gideon wants to look cool doing flips during fights and have girls notice how cool she looks. Also her biceps. Gideon cannot pay attention for a full sentence on necromantic magic, but she does have a half-page to dwell on girls noticing how big her biceps are.

[ithebookhoarder]

Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field. 

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together. 

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over. 

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary. 

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?” 

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?” 

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes. 

David Rossi 

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover. 

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.” 

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either. 

One, because he’s kind of flattered. 

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves. 

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you. 

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” 

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks. 

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you. 

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss. 

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it. 

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss. 

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms. 

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.” 

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.” 

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple. 

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you. 

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck. 

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision. 

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.” 

With that, she’d be off. 

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself. 

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.” 

JJ

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so. 

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in. 

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control. 

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.  

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss’ it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.” 

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house. 

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights. 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“ 

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.” 

“I - ok.” 

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed. 

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.” 

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.” 

Penelope Garcia 

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.  

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it. 

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”  

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.  

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together. 

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally. 

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body. 

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear. 

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.” 

Masterlist

[beguilingcorpse]

toxic locked tomb crackships that deserve to be explored

babs/coronabeth (one-sided. uncomfortable. deeply unhealthy. they would have to keep it a secret because everyone thinks he’s her cavalier…. except he ISN’T her cavalier. and almost nobody knows. the scandal! the perceived taboo! the way corona would do zero work in the relationship! the way ianthe would murder him if she ever found out!!!)

judith/camilla (the ‘we’re both in love with other people but that’s a sore subject right now’ pity squad. and also they kiss each other about it)

marta/dulcinea (the soldier who’s never been allowed to stop and look at pretty things vs the pretty thing that keeps looking at her. two people who rejected the ones who could have been right for them and have to figure out whatever the hell you do next)

abigail/cytherea (the way abigial historicized and anthropologized cyth’s whole life and never realized that she had the real damn thing right in front of her. like finding a well-preserved fossil only to discover that the dinosaur that left it is still alive and right behind you. scholastic psychosexual murder-flavored bonding)

colum/mercymorn (the bred and built battery of the eighth and the mourning woman who created that culture finally meet. what happens next may shock you! [traumatized sex])

pash/harrow (harrowhark FINALLY decides to take a chance on someone who isn’t literally undead and it’s gideon’s COUSIN??? drama. intrigue. resentment. delicious)

admiral sarpedon/colum (duty-bound servants. scrunkly and normal-pilled. two inconsequential characters who frankly never leave my brain)

alecto/ianthe (i have zero textual basis i just think it would be pretty funny)

[sreidisms]

Early seasons Reid and with BAU!reader whom just has a HUGE crush on her and Gideon has to spell it out to Spencer? I just love season 1/2 Reid. Him in glasses just makes me swoon ❤️

THIS IS SO CUTE, like it's so probable too. I didn't understand if you meant that Gideon had to spell out that Spencer likes the reader or that the reader likes Spencer, so I went with the former. If you wanted the latter, tell me and I'll write it!

An Oblivious Genius

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer has feelings for you but is too oblivious to realise - Gideon helps him.

Genre: subtle fluff

Word Count: 862

Warnings: none

A/N: the way I ended this leaves it open to a part two, so please comment if you'd like one!

“I think you have feelings for her.”

“Huh?”

Gideon didn’t lift his gaze from the newspaper in his hands, the wrinkles on his forehead peeking from behind the inked folio. “I said, you may have feelings for her, Reid.”

Spencer never turned to anyone for help, because why would he? He knew more than anyone else when it came to most things - well, except socially. And emotionally. And anything having to do with you.

The only person that wouldn’t bruise his ego was Gideon - his mentor, his guidance. He held more of a God-like presence than a fatherly one for Reid; his advice and experience were almost holy, a dogma which Spencer believed and followed without questioning.

So when his number one source of truth told him he had a crush on you, it was a shock.

“I don’t think that’s the case-”

“Reid.”

Spencer stopped his attempted rambling as Gideon’s eyes made an appearance from behind the lowered paper.

“Just repeat what you were telling me at the start of the conversation,” the older man sighed.

Spencer shifted on his legs, picking at the rolled up sleeve that was settled by his elbow.

“I know she’s my closest friend, the person I feel most comfortable with, although she’s been working here for less time than everyone else. It’s probably because she doesn’t interrupt me and listens when I talk.” He paused for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I like that.”

“What else?” urged Gideon, setting his newspaper on the desk in front of him.

“I get really excited to see her. Well, I enjoy seeing Derek and Elle too, but I get this weird feeling at the pit of my stomach when I see her.” He pressed his palm to his sternum, showing the origin of the sensation.

“That’s because she means more to you.”

“Yes, but surely not in the way you’re implying. It could be heart burn; do you know that twenty percent of Americans suffer from a gastroesophageal reflux at least once a week-”

“You’re telling me you happen to experience heart burn each time she enters the room?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, making the younger agent feel dumb for such an improbable conclusion.

“Okay … okay maybe not, the two variables cannot be fully independent of each other if they occur simultaneously every time.”

It was surprising to Gideon that such an intelligent and well-rounded person could be so oblivious to something as romantic feelings. He pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing them slowly and dragging his fingers down his cheeks, buying himself some time to think.

“I think an obvious question is, do you think she’s pretty?” he asked and waved his hand to the side.

Spencer bit his lower lip. He thought you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on if he had to be entirely honest; but he couldn’t admit that, not out loud at least.

“I do.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say, Gideon? That I think that she’s breath-taking and there’s not a thing about her I don’t like?” He said it with a certain anger, one that was buried somewhere deep inside him, a result of the pent up emotions and anxieties in his chest.

“Is that the truth?” You’d think that with his profiling experience, he would have learnt to mask the way he was suppressing the fluttery feelings and adoration he had for you.

Gideon sighed before speaking again: “What are the signs that one is supressing emotions?”

“Struggling to identify and express feelings or appearing emotionally distant, unexpected mood swings, and avoidance of specific topics, people, or situations.”

“And doesn’t that seem to mirror what you’re going through?”

Spencer thought about it. He was definitely finding it challenging to pin point his emotions, he couldn’t really understand what he felt for you; he didn’t really have mood swings, but had just lashed out at his mentor over a comment; and he certainly avoided the topic of liking you or the teasing of such from his workmates.

“Shit, I like her.”

Gideon chuckled at his out-of-character swearing. “First off, watch your language. Secondly, I’m glad you’ve come round.” He laid back in his chair once more, lifting up the paper to continue his reading.

The young genius didn’t know what to do with this newfound information. He liked you. More than liked you, really. He was fascinated by your mere existence, your kindness, your humour, and most definitely your looks. How hadn’t he realised this sooner?

“What do I do now?” he mumbled, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his button-up shirt.

“You tell her you like her.”

Spencer near snapped his glasses in half with the way the pads of his fingers pressed firmly in shock.

“You want me to do what?”

“Reid, it’s not a secret that she has a soft spot for you.”

The boy sputtered, jaw opening and closing like a door on rusted hinges. “I- I can’t do that!”

The newspaper rustled as Gideon flipped the page. “One of you will eventually.”

God I need him, he's such a cutie

[wisteriaiswriting]

Reader That Can Bake

Words: 1757

Includes: Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, Wendy, Gideon, Pacifica and Bill

Honestly, he doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but being young he still craves them a bit.

Knows the basics about baking in general but only with box sets, so he’ll stay out of your way in the kitchen.

Won't ever decline anything you give him, opting to either eat them right then and there, or hide them for later. (And away, safe from Mabel.)

Normally whenever he heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen, assuming it was Mabel, he would walk the other way immediately. But now that you’re spending more time in there he’ll take the gamble of peeking in, hoping it was you baking and not Mabel ready to drag him in.

This time he was lucky, finding you washing up all your used dishes and putting away the leftover ingredients. Standing in the doorway until you noticed, waving him over. “Dipper, you’re just in time!” Hopping on the spot as you stepped out of the way, revealing a whole bunch of cooled cookies.

“I tried some different flavours this time,” Grabbing one of each to shove into his hands, which he almost dropped. “There's classic chocolate chip, white chocolate, uhh… What else?” As you rambled and thought he took a bite of each, silently ranking them favourite to least favourite, not that he’d ever tell you.

“And oh! Hazelnuts, oreos and s'mores!” “You made s’more cookies?” “Yeah, this one was a small batch, I’ll get more stuff tomorrow.”

While yes, she bakes pretty often, you’ll always be the better chef around! (And she’s not afraid to admit it, sometimes.)

This girl will never shut up about ‘How good these are!’ ‘Even Waddles loves them!’ (It’s true, you have found him scarfing down a whole pile of your baked goods.)

Occasionally (And if you let her) she’ll join you, while she enjoys baking just spending time together is enough for her.

As soon as the door opened Mabel ran off, skidding into the doorframe. Smelling something very familiar and delicious. “ARE YOU BAKING AGAIN!” Your only response was to laugh, of course she would notice, really, you’d be an idiot thinking she wouldn’t.

“Yeah, they’re in the oven right now, so I’m just cleaning up.” “I’LL HELP!” God, she was excited about your baking. “Why don’t you pile up the dirty dishes while I start the sink.” In no time you had finished the dishes, everything was clean, dried and put away.

Reaching for a hanging cabinet, but this one was just out of reach. Stretching to your limit but unable to grasp the handle, about to turn around and ask Mabel for help only to be jolted upwards. Looking down to find Mabel's toothy grin looking right back atcha.

“Whatcha grabbing? More dishes? Decorations? Is it the icing? SPRINKLES!?” Laughing once again as you grabbed, as you could guess (And Mabel.) the icing and sprinkles. Being dropped back down when you had the items. “I think they’re ready for the toppings.”

Stan doesn’t go around flaunting his love for baked goods, but he doesn’t really hide it either.

But he does openly compliment anything you make, even if it’s not his favourite, he’ll make it positive.

He may not like to spend a lot of money on anything really, but he’ll throw you a wad of cash to buy whatever you need. (As long as he gets the first taste test.)

“Where ya going toots?” Arms wrapped around your waist, his head sitting on your head. One of your hands held your car keys, well, they were Stans but he’s given you permission to take the ‘Stanmobile’ out. “Gotta buy some more ingredients.”

His body pulled away from yours, hands digging into his suit pockets before pulling out a decent wad of cash. Grabbing a few notes (Which were 100s btw) and passing them over to you, “Make me my favourite later.” “Oh I will~”

He’ll scarf down plates full of your stuff, he hasn’t eaten anything this good in years! (And no he is not exaggerating, thank you!)

Always takes something with him on every adventure he goes on. (At first he was nervous to ask, but now he’ll try to ‘bribe’ you for anything. (Both of you know he doesn’t need to.))

Part of him is curious about how well supernatural ingredients would go, he would never force you to do it, but that means he would. So at least watch over him. (But by gods, don’t let him eat anything he makes. Who knows what would happen, and you don’t want to know.)

Hearing the front door slam open you peeked out of the living room, only to find Ford stumbling by, into the kitchen with a large box. After gently shutting the door (With this amount of abuse you don’t think it’ll last much longer.) you followed him, watching him pull and lay out plenty of things on the counter.

“Hope you were going to clean up after yourself?” “AH!” Throwing something between his hands for a few seconds before calming down, “Oh! Y/N, I was, don't you worry.” “With everything you brought in here? I will.”

Quietly laughing to himself, “I don’t blame you, but how well would these bake?” “Ford, honey, I just bake, you’re the one who knows about these guys.” Gesturing to the box, “I guess you’re right.”

Very similar to Stan in the sense, she won’t go out of her way to admit her love for sweeter things but will if asked.

If you’re willing to make more she’ll take a bunch for her friends. (They all love them, even if some won’t admit it.)

Brings some to work with her, which makes her shifts actually bearable.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Lifting her hand as a quick wave before turning to leave, “Wendy!” Looking back to find Lee rushing towards her, skidding to stop just before hitting her. Throwing her a now empty container, which surprisingly enough, was still in one piece. “You gotta bring more of those snacks, they were amazing!”

“I’ll let them know.” Now that she was finally able to leave the group, she started her tract home. Pulling out her phone to send you a quick message, nothing much really. (It was a whole paragraph.) Watching you respond, pause then send the message, along with a picture. ‘Already ahead of you!’

Tapping into the image to find you back in the kitchen, flour covered every surface. There were other ingredients on the floor and everything, really. She couldn’t stop her laughter, taking a pause in her steps to catch her breath. ‘I’m on my way, don’t make a bigger mess.’

Luckily she wasn’t that far from home, and it was also a good thing that her family loved you. (They wouldn’t let you live down that image.) Letting her spend the night to help you clean and finish baking.

Absolutely will not go anywhere near the kitchen when you’re in there. (He may love you, but he also loves being clean.)

This doesn’t stop him from rushing in the second everything is cleaned up, impatiently waiting until the food is finished. (You will have to stop him from eating them hot, because he will whine about being burned.)

Will never share them with anyone else, the only exception is at the Tent of Telepathy.

Placing the hot tray onto a cooling rack before shutting the oven door, it’s been hours since you started baking. As Gideon wanted some baked goods to hand out to anyone who comes by the Tent of Telepathy, and that meant you had to bake it all.

Although he made sure to pay you for it, so it wasn’t a complete loss. But that's when you heard a door slam open and footsteps running down the hall, watching as Gideon entered the room. His first stop was the currently cooling tray of cookies, not the others that were cool and in containers.

“Gideon do–” It was too late, his hand touched the tray first. “OW!” Guiding the hand under some running water as he complained, “Why were they hot?” “I just pulled them out from the oven, those ones,” Pointing at multiple containers put to the side, “Are for you.”

Huffing as he removes his hand from the water to dry it off, grabbing the containers before leaving the room.

Honestly, she never thought about baking in general really. (There’s always been butlers or chefs, or whatever to do it for her.)

Doesn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but will eat any of your less sweet items. (It better not be messy, otherwise she’ll (lovingly) wipe it on you.)

Sometimes she’ll sit around and watch you bake, she secretly finds it interesting but it’s highly likely she won’t join you for a while.

“What did you make this time?” Even as her face showed disinterest her tone gave her away, “This one is funfetti!” Handing over the cupcake, watching as she made her way through the wrapper. Trying to avoid the icing, although she wasn’t successful, a small chunk smeared over her fingers.

Clearly unhappy with it, the fact you were waiting next to her and no tissues or anything nearby. Reaching over to ‘subtly’ wipe the icing onto your shirt. “HEY!” “These aren’t that bad.” “Don’t ignore me!” You tried to stand in front of her, except that she kept turning as well.

“Pacifica!” “You should probably check on the other ones.” Oh yeah, you probably should.

Sometimes you forget that he can actually eat as he doesn’t do it much. (That’s until you watch him eat some deer teeth. Which is so disturbing…)

There have been so many times where he comes to bother you for some food, then just leaves with it. (You have no clue what he does with them but you can only assume someone else* is eatting them. (*Ford))

He will try to bake on his own with ‘non-human’ ingredients even if you try to stop him. (They end up inedible, even to other demons. Like fuck, he’s terrible.)

It was fucking comical how Bill entered the room, floating through the window towards the tray of cookies. Staying afloat for a few extra seconds before dropping to sit on the counter, batting his eyelashes at you. “No Bill, they’re still hot.” “WHO CARES?” Grabbing a handful (Which was like 2.) before shoving it into his mouth (Eye? Honestly man, you have no idea anymore.). “Are they good at least?” “HMM, THEY'RE ALRIGHT. COULD DO WITH SOME ꀤꈤꁅꌃꀭꀸꈤꍟꊼ.” “What.”

[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter 1: The Manuscript

“He thought about how they said-

Since she was wise beyond her years everything had been above board. Now he wasn’t sure…”

series masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader

summary: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

genre: slow-burn romance?

cw: age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is 24), a couple y/n’s (I’m sorry, I know I’m sick of it too.), fake marriage, possibly eventual smut in later parts we’ll see, female reader she/her pronouns, bad writing! lemme know if I missed anything! And as always, lemme know what you think!

wordcount: 1.3k

“The professor said the write what you know”

Spencer sat at his desk, anxiously scribbling away at a case file that he knew he simply wasn’t ready to hand over just yet. Not ready to let go or say goodbye. The office was deserted with the exception of Emily still fussing around in her office like she always was these days, just like Hotch before her, and Gideon before him. Back in the days when he was the youngest member of the team— god how things had changed.

“Looking backward might be the only way to move forward-”

six months prior:

"Come on, Em. She’s too young. I’d hardly say she has any real-life experience, and as helpful as she’s been, she certainly doesn’t have the field experience. And you want to drop her into an undercover operation at a university thousands of miles away? I just can’t logically wrap my mind around how you think this is our best option,” Spencer sighed, anxiously pacing the length of Emily’s office. Maybe it was the lights, but more likely it was the outlandish plans being laid before him that were bringing on the all-too-familiar throb of a migraine.

Emily cleared her throat, glancing up at Spencer with a tight-lipped, not-quite smile. “If you would let me finish, I wouldn’t be sending her alone. I’d be sending her with you. The unsub—or rather, unsubs—are targeting couples where the man,” she pointed to him, eyes widening as if to say keep up, “in the relationship comes from a position of power above the woman.” She wildly waved her hand toward the door, motioning to the woman sitting just outside the office.

“You’d be posing as a professor, which technically isn’t anything new for you. Though we might have to rub a little dirt on your good name.” She shrugged, glancing back down to shuffle through the pile of files on her desk until she found the one she was looking for, holding it out for Spencer. “A handsome professor and his new, albeit young, ex-TA of a wife... forced to move after your relationship went public. Tragic.” She quirked a brow, offering Spencer a playful smirk. He did not return it, instead rolling his eyes as he thumbed through the file containing what could be his life for the next couple of months.

“Look, if we place you both at the university, she’ll fit in with the students, you’ll fit in with the professors, and now we have eyes and ears everywhere we need them. It’s logical enough, Spencer, and she’s already agreed as long as you’re up for it.”

There was a long pause as Spencer’s mind ran wild, figuring the probability of everything that could and likely would go wrong if he agreed to this plan.

“Look, we’ll even count this towards thirty days of teaching if that sweetens the deal at all?” Prentiss let out an exhausted sigh. Clearly, this was her only option, and everyone else, even the higher-ups, had approved this plan. It all now sat on Spencer’s shoulders. All he needed to do was agree.

“Fine…” he mumbled, his palm digging into his eye socket briefly trying to dull the growing pain behind his eyes. If Prentiss noticed, she chose not to address it. “Great! See, maybe it’ll be good for you? The faculty housing looks nice-ish..? And you’ve gotta admit, Y/N is sweet. I think she’ll learn a lot from you.”

Before Emily could finish her statement, Spencer turned on his heels, stalking out of the Unit Chief's office past the probie, her doe eyes fixed on him like he was a predator. Her gaze startled him in a way that sent him tripping over his own feet. He quickly righted himself, not daring to glance back at the younger agent on his way to the kitchenette.

An hour and several cups of coffee later, Spencer Reid found himself at the round table, sitting perfectly still as his breath caught in his lungs, watching the young woman in front of him sign her name on the dotted line. It’s official; Doctor Spencer Reid is officially a married man—sort of.

It felt so absurd, having to sign a marriage license. Though, logically, he understood. If they were using Spencer’s name and reputation as a backbone for this assignment, there should be a paper trail. At least when it came to this, he knew Penelope could fabricate anything and everything else they might need, but this silly piece of paper, declaring them man and wife—that was free and public information that needed to be real.

“So…” Y/N's voice was soft as it attempted to cut through the heavy weight of the awkward atmosphere. She fidgeted, tapping the pen against the table.

Spencer cleared his throat, eyes raking over her as the voice in his head told him once again that this was an awful idea, that she was too young, that she had no field experience, and there were far too many ways this could all go south. He tried his best to shake them off. “If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t mean this to be rude. I was a young agent—actually one of the youngest agents the BAU has ever had—” he caught himself in his ramble, his eyes searching her face for any kind of discomfort before blinking harder than necessary in an attempt to focus. “Sorry—uh, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll be twenty-five in October… so twenty-four.”

"Right..." he chuckled, shaking his head, "that means...w-when you were born I already had two PhDs and was nearly finished with my third."

She groaned, a slight blush covering her cheeks as she fought the embarrassed grin threatening to take over her lips. “Doctor Reid—”

“Spencer.” He cut her off, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I—Uh… you can just call me Spencer. I don’t think couples typically use such formality when they’re addressing each other…”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, offering a little nod. “Spencer,” his name felt too personal on her lips, “I—” a rosy blush creeping up her neck as her mind went completely blank, every thought she’d ever had lost in the warm glow of his golden eyes.

As if on cue, Emily entered the room, a smirk on her lips as she observed the younger, seemingly awestruck agent gawking at her favorite genius. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I thought these might be useful?” She shrugged, placing a velvet box down beside Spencer before sliding the other across the table to fall into the younger woman’s lap. “Congratulations. I now pronounce you man and wife or whatever they say—beware, Penelope is likely going to throw rice or glitter or whatever she found in her desk at you as you walk out of this room. You’ve been warned. And I’d say kiss the bride, but frankly, I don’t want to see that. Wheels up in thirty.”

With that, she offered the new couple a nod before retreating back out of the conference room, back to her office, leaving them to open the velvet boxes. The rings were simple, nothing too flashy, like something you’d expect a professor to be able to afford without breaking the bank.

“Right…” Spencer said, sliding his own ring onto his finger before rising to his feet, his fingers awkwardly clenching and flexing at the unfamiliar weight. “Maybe if we don’t leave together, Garcia won’t ambush us.” He turned towards the door, hesitating a moment to glance back at the woman he could now call his wife. “Unless—unless you’re ready to go… we could, uh, head out together?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Y/N nodded quickly, jumping to her feet as she organized the pile of papers back into their folders and into her bag. She crossed the room, stopping beside Spencer. She glanced up at him, her own ring feeling heavy on her finger as she hesitantly reached out, offering him her hand. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes going back and forth between her waiting palm and her eyes before reluctantly accepting the offer.

“Shall we, Mrs. Reid?”

“Now and then he re-reads the manuscript. Of the entire torrid affair~”

Chapter II: Guilty as Sin

Thanks for being interested in my silly little concept 🩵

@flowerpott1978 @olives-and-sunshine

[reiderwriter]

She's a Silver Lining

Chapter Nine of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer comes to terms with your abduction.

Warnings: ANGST, Suicidal ideation, kidnapping, mentions of fetal abduction and murder of pregnant women, descriptions of abuse, descriptions of prenatal care, typical case details. Spencer is depressed.

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is a day late, I literally saw God this weekend (I saw Taemin perform live), and really, all that's been on my mind is how God is Good (Taemin is hot), and so I haven't been able to write anything as depressing as this chapter. I hope you enjoy (?) it anyway~♡

Masterlist || tags are currently broken, I'm sorry ♡

Eight days. It had been eight days since Spencer had last seen you. Eight days since he'd screwed up his one job so massively that he'd lost you. 

He'd lost people before. He'd lost people on cases. Victims, unsubs, bystanders, and family members who didn't stand a chance at recovering from their own loss. He'd lost Maeve, which was a little too similar to his current circumstances to think about too hard. He'd been losing his mother since he was born, and he'd really lost her again a few months ago. He'd lost Gideon. He'd lost Elle, too, before that. He'd lost Emily, and though she'd come back too, it wasn't the same. He'd lost Morgan, and then Hotch. He'd lost Alex Blake.

He'd lost nearly everyone in his life. Some of them had come back, most of them hadn't. 

He'd thought himself immune to the pain of losing someone at last. 

He'd certainly lost enough of himself in prison. 

It may have only been 84 days, but whatever was left in him of hope before was gone. He'd emerged completely empty. 

He supposed that's why he'd accepted the role at the university. There was nothing left for him to give to the BAU, but he couldn't be the one to leave. 

As it was, he'd already been unsettled enough by leaving you behind when he'd finished up his time there. 

It felt weird to him, saying goodbye. Not that he'd actually said goodbye. He'd kissed your forehead as he slipped out of your bed, sure, but you'd been neither conscious, nor fond of him in anyway. It was a parting gesture just for him  and he hadn't been quite sure why he'd done it. 

It was just a gesture and one he'd repeated multiple times after getting you back. You didn't know, of course. How could you? 

He'd either woken up before you and kissed your forehead, or climbed into bed beside you late at night and greeted you then. 

You'd lain side by side, drifting to sleep slowly, when he realized it had become a daily habit. 

He hadn't any idea of what he'd do when you left. 

And now you had. And it was his fault. 

In the eight days since you'd been kidnapped, Spencer had come to terms with a few facts.

He knew 64,956 women were currently declared missing in the United States. He knew that 77% of adults reported missing were found in 24 hours. You weren't. He knew 4% were found in 48 hours. You weren't. Only 3% were usually missing still after a week. 

You were somehow in that small minority, even though there was an entire team of FBI agents working around the clock to find you. 

He'd had faith in his coworkers before. Before, he'd begged for their help, and they'd succeeded in 24 hours, even if the outcome wasn't preferable. 

This time, he didn't beg. He had no faith. He just hoped to be present with a gun, loaded with two bullets, if this time went the way of the last. 

On the eighth day after your abduction, Spencer finally returned home.

The damage from your abduction was still apparent. 

Not that your captor had left many clues. In fact, they'd left none. Not even a fingerprint or a good angle on the CCTV. But he hadn't taken returning to an empty apartment well.

He slashed through the crime scene tape quickly, letting in hang in the doorway as he entered. The bookshelves he'd attacked were limping, leaning on each other for support after he'd ripped books off so violently he'd set them askew. 

He'd kicked and ripped and punched the wall so hard he'd needed stitches that he'd absolutely refused to get. 

He'd cried and sobbed into his bloodied and bruised hands until Emily had arrived, and then he'd cried some more, leaning on his friend, his sister, for her support. 

Returning now, there wasn't a single tear left.

In the hospital, they'd addressed his flesh wounds, but the emotional ones would never hear. 

You were gone. And now there was only a 3% chance he'd ever see you again. 

Emily hadn't allowed him to stick around to make their jobs harder. She's placed him on house arrest - funnily enough, her house, where you should've been if he wasn't such a selfish ass - and assigned a watch. 

She’d said it was for protection, but what she'd meant was it was to protect him from himself.

The rest of the team had avoided the topic entirely. They didn't know how to deal with whatever stage of grief he was going through. Many of them had comforted him the first time. They didn't know how to do it a second. They didn't know if they could. 

After eight days, Spencer had left Emily’s apartment. He'd dodged the Agent she'd stationed alongside him, got into a taxi, and gone home. 

Surveying the damage, he was surprised how deep the hurt had already cut to not feel much anymore. 

He looked at the books splayed on the floor. It was a title that you'd been reading that week. One he remembered you using at the office, one that had been on both of your courses reading lists. He picked each of them up and put them back on the shelf. He righted each shelf and organised them neatly, how he thought you'd like them. 

He picked pillows up and rearranged them. He vacuumed the debris from the floor, the thin layer of dust that had gathered since he'd left, the splinters pf bookcase that had crumbled off, the shards of wall that were speckled with his blood. 

He wept the entire time, though silent, until there were no tears left to cry. 

Then he'd come across a tiny package underneath his coffee table, a single corner of plastic peaking out, begging for attention. 

He'd picked it up and wept again as he found depths of sadness to reach further down than what he'd assumed to be rock bottom. 

Aa he lay in a pool of his own despair, a new, haunting fact crashed from his brain to his heart. Since 1987, there had been 21 foetal abductions in the USA. 19 of them had ended in homicide, with the mother dying. 

You made 22. 

In the two months since you'd been abducted, you'd learned three things. 

The first was that you absolutely loved Spencer Reid. You'd spent enough time sitting introspectively about everything in your life to realize you had to stop being so stubborn and admit just that. You'd been about there before all of this, but now you knew for sure. 

You should be cursing the man that inspired your horror show of a life, after all. But instead, you thought about him and held back tears. 

She gave you updates these days, testing your reactions to his name, waiting to see you crack, to see you cry, and sob and break down completely. 

Today, Spencer had been to see his mother, she said. He'd broken down in her arms and caused her to have an episode. She'd hit him so hard, his face had already been bruised by the time she saw him. 

The second thing you knew was that your baby was going to be born healthy. You had no plans of having a home birth, but now, at seven months pregnant, and large enough that you almost thought about doing your conception math again, you knew you were on track for giving birth in the room you'd been in for the last 58 days. 

You hadn't counted. 

She’d been good enough to tell you the date, the day, and her plans every morning when she visited you. She checked your vitals, your blood pressure, the position of the baby, your temperature, your heart rate, and recorded everything in her chart. She asked you how the pregnancy was going, almost as if she was the nurse she'd been training to be. 

Her bedside manner was so good some days. You forgot entirely that you were tied down to the bed, ankle clamped down. 

She let you walk for an hour a day, but recommended bedrest after that for health reasons. You didn't complain or talk back because she didn't like that. 

She let you read, and she was even curious about your reading, asking you questions and taking notes as if this were just part of her regular college schedule, an office hour that had taken over her life. 

You shuddered sometimes as she stared up at you with those big eyes, so wide, and young, and naive, and full of hatred, and evil, and you wanted to claw them out and scream for help, and stab her with the pencil she wrote notes with, and stab, and stab, and stab, and-

The third thing you knew was that you'd never hold your baby in your arms because you'd be dead moments after they breathed their first breath.

You knew, because she had told you as much everyday since you'd woken up. 

In two months, Spencer had become more manic and self-destructive than he'd ever been in his entire life. 

His world centred around you, and finding you, even as his 3% slipped to 1%, slipped to 0.1%, and he knew deep inside that he'd never see you again. 

He hadn't returned to the BAU but had instead turned his home into an investigation room, emptying the walls so he could pin up information, evidence, pictures of you, everything he could find. It wasn't that he'd regained hope, but he'd grown so desperate that he suddenly gripped hard onto the only slither of it that he had left and refused to drop it. He was a dog that didn't know the game of fetch only conti he'd if he dropped the ball. His life would not go on without you.

So he searched. He knew how far along you were. He knew how far along a woman had to be for a c section, professionally performed or not. 

He barricaded himself into his house and paced for days as his friends pounded down his door. He let none in. He didn't go out. He wasn't sure what he ate, or drank, or if he slept, but he knew he paced, and he thought, and he came up with theories. 

After two months, Emily was tired of knocking. 

“Spencer Reid, I am coming in,” she shouted from behind the door. 

He usually ignored her. She couldn't pass the bookshelves he'd moved in front of the door anyway, even if his superintendent had given her a key. 

This time though, he heard a banging, a creak and a crash as the bookshelves went down and Emily, who had left him and returned, made her way inside his apartment. 

“You barricaded the door?” she said, looking at him. 

He took a shaky breath and tried to answer as she surveyed his apartment, the mess of papers, books, string on the wall. He saw her stare down at the pile of sheets on the floor where he'd been sleeping, the bag of your things he had dragged to be closer to him. 

He saw her look at the baby shoes, and baby grows he'd laid out neatly on the floor, and he saw the pitying look she turned on him. 

“She's pregnant,” he finally said out loud, though you must've been 7 months along by then. “I'm going to be a father.”

“Spencer,” Emily said, grasping his hand, voice cracking from the strain of emotion that coated her tongue, making her voice thick. “You would've been an amazing father.” 

“No. No-” he said, breaking away and moving back to his wall. “No past tense, I won't let you… I won't let you give up on them.” 

“It's been two months.” 

“So she's only seven months pregnant. I have two more months to find her, Emily. Two more. At least allow me that.” 

The tears in his eyes streamed freely now as she nodded. 

“We will…. you know we'll help you. We'll do everything we can, so come to the office.” 

He didn't want to give up his space. His reminders of you, the baby grows, the information he'd gathered.

Equally, he didn't like Emily being in this space. She thought you were already dead, and he couldn't even look her in the eye. 

Reluctantly, he nodded, lifting himself up on legs weakened by insurmountable grief, and he followed her to Quantico. 

By the end of your third trimester, you wondered how you could ever have gotten so big. When you gave birth, the child inside of you would only be the size of a small pumpkin. You felt like you'd swallowed five regular size pumpkins whole, and you felt you were still expanding. 

The point worried her. She'd broken two glasses in tantrums this last week alone, measuring you every day. 

The closer you got to birth, the more agitated she grew. 

“This demon inside of you is going to kill you. I won't even have to do it myself,” she'd whispered to herself, or to you, as she took your vitals that morning. 

“Please don't say that.” 

“Why not? You're a whore, and you're going to give birth to a devil. You have seduced my soul mate, because you are a jezebel and the Lord is punishing you.” 

You'd needed all the strength you could get for these conversations. Even one tear, and she'd erupt and put a knife at your neck. With only a few weeks left, there was no saying whether she'd speed her plan along. 

“I did not seduce your soul mate,” you said as calmly as you could muster, taking deep breaths, hoping that she would mirror them and calm down. 

“Do we have to watch the fucking video again?” she spat at you, stomping around to the side of your bed and pulling out her phone. She queued up the video quickly and you averted your eyes. 

She turned them back quickly, holding your head in place as she forced you to watch your own office space. She showed you the videos of you and Spencer talking, teasing each other. She showed you the video of you insisting you were not attractive to him. She showed you the video of Spencer fucking you on the sofa, though she screamed and cut her fingernails into her skin the entire way through. 

She even showed you the video of her attempting to seduce Spencer during their office hour. It was the first video in her collection, the first time she'd set up the camera. She used your entrance as proof that you were breaking her apart from her soul mate. From Spencer. 

You were a whore who had thrown herself at him in anyway you could, and you had trapped him with a baby. 

She was going to free him from all responsibility so he could be with her. 

“My baby will be your devil,” she said as the video ended, and you forced your heart to settle. 

“It is not your baby.”

“Spencer won't know that. He doesn't know it's your baby either, and who are the authorities going to believe when I show up with his child. One paternity test later, and I'll have him, and we can be a happy family together, and we can live happily. I'll take in your devil  and raise it as my own, and we'll forget about the whore who almost ruined it all.”

The psychosis was so clearly written on her face, you were surprised no one had caught onto her state yet. She was devolving. She'd been calm, and contemplative the first week. She'd laid out her plans still, her insane plans, and seemed somewhat coherent. 

Then she'd began rambling about the devil and soul mates, and you'd pitied her, even in your fear. 

Now you were just glad she counted your office tryst as your conception date, and you'd never corrected her. 

She still believed there was a month left until your death. You knew it was days. 

You just prayed your baby could buy you some time.

“Professor?” she said as she carried away the tray of items she'd checked your vitals with

“Yes.” 

“You are not in love with Spencer Reid,” she said, as if trying to convince you. 

“No,” you said, trying to convince yourself  though it was hopeless. “I am not in love with Spencer Reid.”

The first lead in the case came on your due date. Patient confidentiality was, happily, overlooked by a few doctors when he pressed the issue, needing to know until when he was counting down. 

He'd done the rough math himself, but he needed a professional opinion. 

The lead came in the form of an email. The university was cleaning out your office to make way for a new professor, despite his insistence that you'd return, and they needed him to collect things. 

And though he knew you'd be giving birth that day, and he had run out of time, something compelled him to go and do this menial task on today of all days. 

Luke had joined him, and then so had JJ and Emily, and Penelope and Tara. Rossi had even arrived to watch you pile books into boxes that were supposed to have lived on these shelves for a long career. Everyone in the room was so busy watching him, waiting for him to crack, that it had to be him to find it. 

At first, he thought it was a hole in the couch. It was so dark and black, its curved corners giving the illusion of introversion. Then he'd touched it and felt the rough bump. 

“Penelope, here, now,” he breathed out, gasping for air as he finally pulled the tiny spy camera free and thrust it into his friends hands. 

He had a lead. He had you now. 

The first hour of labour was inconvenient only because you weren't alone. She'd been tending to you all morning, fussing over your food, trying to maintain the right amount of prenatal vitamins as she usually did, but she'd ran out of two bottles, and the pharmacy wasn't open. 

You sat still and uncomfortable, trying to not even flinch as your water broke, too afraid of death to be thinking about the life you were bringing into this world. 

The second hour ticked by much the same until she left. 

The third came, and you ceased your screams of pain, even as your hands bore holes into your sheets. She returned, and you knew there wasn't much longer until she knew. 

By hour four, she had your legs spread and was watching you deliver your baby, and you knew the same blade that would sever your umbilical cord would also end your life. 

By hour five, you were so delirious with pain that you thought you saw Spencer. You heard his voice cooing to you as you pushed. You felt his hands wipe away your sweat, smooth the hair from your eyes. You heard his voice announce your daughters birth, and you felt his lips against your skin as you finally gave up fighting and drifted into oblivion. 

[mayasaura]

Harrow got so unbelievablely horny dreaming about Gideon's rolled up sleeves exposing her lean, taut muscle, a little dewy with sweat and steam but you know what.... thinking about it. Gideon does not disrobe basically ever, except in private to bathe. A tantalizing glimpse of forearm may legitimately be the most Harrow's imagination has to work with

[motimatcha]

"nostromo"

PART 5. Survivor for the Nostromo.

parts: one | two | three | four | five

dbd Xenomorph (alien) x fem!reader. smute: unprotected sex; vaginal sex; tongue fucking (cunnilingus); sperm inside; tongue in mouth; size difference; a large amount of sperm; bloating; sex with a monster.

The familiar crackle of the fire filled the space, but for the first time, you bet you could feel its phantom warmth. Perhaps you were warmed by the thought that you would still be able to meet the xenomorph. But asking yourself the question “why do I need this?”, you did not dare to give a clear answer. Because this could be the beginning of the end for you and for you to accept those brewing feelings for a humanoid creature.

Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together? The answer to this question could only be given by you yourself, and since you decided to go into the forest to search for an offering that could lead you to the xenomorph, the answer was more than obvious.

The moon was your only companion on this thorny path . Decorated with millions of stars in the dark sky, she looked blankly at your futile attempts and searches in the forest. During all this time, you happened to find several abandoned lanterns of good quality, collect herbs for good luck, a first aid kit, even a high-quality key to the hatch was in your pocket. On any other day, you would have been happy about such a large number of valuable and rare items, as well as improvements to them, but the situation was different and you were looking for offerings for certain territories.

One got the feeling that they exchanged rarity with the items or that the Entity, in mockery, took them away altogether. What did you do with the xenomorph? This couldn’t help but anger you, but gritting your teeth and wrapping yourself in a jacket so that the biting branches of bushes and low trees wouldn’t hit your hands so hard, you continued your search.

He who seeks will find, as your grandmother said, and therefore you did not stop at the achieved result.

The first location found for your offerings was the Loray Memorial Institute, followed by Springwood, Gideon Meat Processing Plant. Apparently the Entity decided to take pity on you, but not too much, and give out offerings in the reverse order of your stay in its world and during the trials. If everything goes on like this, then you won’t be able to get the offering you need in a century.

Exhausted, you sit down on the grass, damp due to fog and dew, and then lie down. In silence, far from the fire and the hubbub of people, you feel calmer than ever. So what if you are a black crow among black crows? You should be proud of yourself, no less; survive the hunt, aka courtship, of a xenomorph , and then be under the protection of the same creature from David, on top of everything else, a successful conversation with GhostFace... it’s time for you to become a living legend of this small world, so as not to go completely crazy. But the idea is not so bad. It will be possible to tell other survivors about this while you are all... while you are imprisoned here for all eternity.

Deep in thought, you don't notice Ellen's silent approach. The woman, concerned about your disappearance, even though she believed in your strength, and the forest shrouded in white fog itself was safe for survivors, but she still decided to check on you. What if you had a nervous breakdown and need the support of a loved one? Ripley , in any case, tried to think that you were close people to each other.

There may be a family not related by blood.

“Are you okay?” a calm and quiet voice pulls you out of your slumber. Louise sits down on the ground next to you, you can feel her familiar warmth and smell, this time mixed with swamp mud. Apparently she was lucky enough to be tested in a rotten swamp, although it also took place at the AutoHaven landfill. “You look inspired, albeit tired.”

“Um, I was looking for an offering,” you answer vaguely before turning from your back to your side towards the woman. So you looked even more like a family, strange, but a family: a mother and daughter, wise in life, in love with a monster. The plot is suitable for a film adaptation of one of the versions of “Beauty and the Beast,” except that the rating will be much higher than that of a regular cartoon, filled with blood and corpses. “So far the search has been unsuccessful.”

The brunette was silent for about a minute. Either she couldn’t find anything to say, or she knew, but had no idea how to do it. Finally, with a sigh, she continued the conversation:

“Do you want to meet him?” and you both didn’t need to clarify with whom exactly. Your nightmare, at the same time an object of interest, haunted you in your sleep and in reality, and with the departure of the xenomorph from the usual tests, this need only became stronger. And thoughts, dark and vicious, visited your dreams much more often than they should have.

And it was time to give answers to my own questions. Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together?

“Yes. Really want to.”

The ex-officer does not grin amusedly, but does not express any negativity or disgust towards your choice . You may still regret your choice, but the choice is entirely yours. Everyone must develop their own skills in order to make new decisions based on their experience. Ellen, as a caring person, can only support your aspirations and give advice, but not insist.

“As you said, “after courtship, you must prove your strength by resisting the xenomorph’s attacks , and then you yourself will find your way to him. If you want,” Ripley laughs with you and nibbles grass from the clearing. She pulls out one particularly long spikelet and presses it between her lips, thereby reminding you of a cowboy from the wild west. “It seems your words were prophetic.”

“Yes, I can see it myself,” the woman grumbles demonstratively and waves her hands in the air, and then rummages in her pockets. “Take it. Found it on the way.”

What was in your hands made you sit up abruptly and look in disbelief at the hand holding the offering. The "sluice doors" leading to the xenomorph's territory are in your hands.

“You can take all the things I found while scouring the forest if you give me this offering.”

“I was going to give it to you anyway, I still don’t understand how they work.”

“Thank you thank you thank you…”

You stood up from your seat and, as if under hypnosis, headed towards the general fire, before the voice of the former Nostromo officer brought you out of a kind of trance.

“To the edge of the fog,” was all the woman said before disappearing behind the trees.

You nodded gratefully.

As you moved towards the edge of the safe zone reserved for the survivors and separating those from the killers, the white fog began to rapidly thicken. Was this another test from the Entity? Maybe a test of your determination to see things through? Will you retreat at risk or will you still meet with the one you have been afraid of for so long? Shaking your head, dismissing the thoughts imposed on you that nothing would work out, you moved on.

Soon, a white fog enveloped every part of the space, making it impossible to go further. Somehow subconsciously you realized that this place is the line, the transition between the recreation area and the test, and it is here that you need to use the offering, otherwise the insidious entity will return you back to the fire.

You picked up a green polygon with doors drawn there and threw it into the fog. It, inexplicably fluttering and gurgling, began to become denser, and you were drawn to sleep.

Before you fall into oblivion, you think. How could you talk to Ripley if she was on trial and how did she know where to go?

A brutal industrial interstellar cargo ship where human life takes a back seat to brutal efficiency. Death lurks around every corner of its labyrinthine decks. From Ripley's well of memories, a dark and hopeless realm turns into a terrifying nightmare.

That's what you once thought, but finding yourself at the crash site of the Nostromo, with no generators or grappling hooks, surrounded by control points without turrets, you felt safer than ever.

You hesitantly step forward, hoping to meet the xenomorph, but as you search and spend time walking around the entire map, you realize that it is not here. But this is not so. Otherwise, why would the Entity fulfill your whim and allow you to step into the territory of the fallen spaceship? One can, of course, assume that your the captor just likes to watch how your face is distorted in despair that the stranger has been excluded from the kingdom of essence, and maybe everything is not as simple as it seems at first glance.

You approach the nearest control point. The strange thought “can a person go down there?” takes on new colors when the underground tunnels of the alien remain the only place that you have not yet explored. Exhaling, you turn your back to the entrance and slowly crawl through the narrow hole in the ground. The familiar mucus covers your body from head to toe, and now it becomes clear to you why the alien himself is constantly shiny and so sticky.

The dungeon, made of a material unknown to you, flavored with mucus, greeted you with gloomy silence and rare rays of light penetrating through the tunnels from the control points. You could almost stand up completely, the passages themselves were so wide, but it is worth noting that you still had to bend your head a little so as not to crash into something incomprehensible. And then you had to get down on all fours, because otherwise walking on two legs on the sticky floor threatened you with collapsing on it, and then suffocating in the mucus. Shameful death. Following your plan, you decided to go around the tunnels first along the edge and only then inspect the center, believing that this way you will increase your chances of meeting a xenomorph.

But here you are inspecting every passage at the border, then slowly crawling towards the center because of all the mucus stuck to your body, and the one you are looking for is still not there. There were no tears when you leaned against one of the walls and sat down with your legs bent towards you. The heavy realization that the xenomorph has been removed from the realm of essence falls on your shoulders. A heavy lump rises in your throat when the first plaintive sob escapes your lips. This was, at least, unfair, but the natural outcome for violating the rules of the world of the Entity and the corresponding punishment - for the life of one survivor, the killer pays with his own.

“Apparently, it’s time to leave,” you thought and directed your gaze to the exit to the control center ahead of you. You had just managed to lift your butt off the floor when suddenly there was a sound of a passage opening and a xenomorph descended, gracefully and naturally . “Is he really...”

The stranger you were looking for underground was himself looking for a violator of his peace on earth, sensibly believing that none of the survivors would think of descending into his kingdom. To see you here - covered in the mucus of an underground tunnel, tearful, but seemingly happy - was beyond all his expectations. His precious couple, who reciprocated his advances in marriage, themselves came and descended on him, honoring him with great honor.

The creature from distant space froze in place before taking a step towards you, then another, and now he was already at your feet. Seeing a xenomorph so close, knowing that it would not harm you, was surprising and amazing. Adrenaline hit the blood, and the heart began to beat so fast, attracting the attention of the predator. The alien made a sound similar to a purr, at least you could interpret it that way, before burying his smooth head into your chest. The strangers' hearing was a little weaker than that of a human, but even so, leaning close to your body, practically pressing you into the soft surface of the walls, the creature could hear the beating of your heart.

You knew that once you came and descended here, the xenomorph would not let you go. Remember Ripley said that the humanoid wants to create a new colony with you and you, being a vicious child of the Internet who knows about rule thirty-four, hoped that creating a colony implied a method common among people. Just the thought of what a monster’s penis might be like and how it penetrates inside you already excites your nature: there is a pleasant tug in the lower abdomen, it becomes wet from the approaching vaginal lubrication, and you want to see with your own eyes, feel for yourself everything that can give you xenomorph.

The latter seemed to sense the excitement hanging in the air . He hissed, but not threateningly, as it had always been before, but low and gutturally, so that his knees began to tremble. The alien took two steps back, allowing you to take a more comfortable sitting position, and just when you thought that everything would happen right here, the xenomorph suddenly shook his head negatively and waved into one of the corridors. You had no choice but to follow him.

He led you to one of the far corridors of the tunnel, where you had already been, but you did not properly examine the seemingly identical walls at first glance. And apparently in vain, because they lost sight of one of the secret passages leading somewhere deep down, where the temperature only rose, but not so much that it became unbearable for you. Clothes soaked in mucus clung to your body, outlining the curves of your body, giving the xenomorph an excellent view not only of your juicy ass covered in the fabric of your pants , but also of your breasts with hard nipples, and your long neck, so thin and inviting to leave its mark there. The stranger does not need imagination at all, his instincts and the growing desire to possess your body, heart and soul - all of you - did their dark work. The humanoid creature paused before smoothly descending, standing on its hind legs and extending its large palms towards you, lowering your half-size body down.

Based on generally accepted human standards, you could describe this place as a bedroom, making allowances for the non-human appearance of your future or current lover. The floor under your feet, which was a kind of flesh, was warm, soft and slimy, making it impossible for you to walk on your feet with shoes on. Perhaps, if you had the same sharp claws as a xenomorph, allowing it to cling to any surface, it would be much easier for you, but for now, overcoming the fear of the unknown, you take off your shoes. Your feet touch the soft floor, slightly springy and sagging under your weight, but overall the feeling was not disgusting.

You, drenched from head to toe in the secretions of a strange cave, feel more relaxed than ever.

The xenomorph hisses, attracting your attention and pulls the sleeve of your sweater towards him, pushing you to sit in a small recess in the bedroom. Can this thing be described as a bed? Maybe yes.

Surprisingly neat and gentle movements contrast so much with the wild nature of the stranger that it becomes almost funny. A light half-smile adorns your lips when the creature, picking up the hem of your T-shirt under your jacket, tries to pull it off of you over your head. As soon as you do this, it seems as if it becomes easier to breathe, but inside everything is tugging and burning with impatience. The mucus, which no longer seems so disgusting to you, envelops and warms the body, allows you to relax as much as possible, and now you forget about any pain in the body that tormented you due to both the uncomfortable posture while moving and the for a long walk on the surface. All fear has receded, relaxing and preparing your mind.

The stranger’s attempt to take off your pants was unsuccessful, just like yours, because the fingers covered with a layer of mucus simply could not grab the slippery button. For the first time, the sharp tail of a xenomorph was so close to your body, not in an attempt to kill, piercing through your body, but to get rid of a wardrobe item.

“However,” you think, looking at the sharp tip of the alien’s tail, “I wouldn’t mind trying games with a knife.”

You decide this for later, when the degree of your mutual trust moves to a new level. The xenomorph , kneeling in front of you, hisses and purrs contentedly. You slowly, a little fearfully, spread your legs to the sides, giving him a view of your womb, the pink folds of which are covered with your own juices and mucus. The xenomorph is dripping with saliva from his mouth when your hand reaches down along his stomach, covers his pubis with your palm, and thin fingers spread the natural barrier to your entrance to the sides - another narrow hole shrinks around the void, calling on the alien to fill it with himself. You thought that this creature had no mouth, that it was replaced by that extending thing with fangs, and for a second you even doubted the correctness of your decision when the alien opened its mouth, but instead of seeing the usual second mouth moving forward, it touched your womb something cold, thin and just as slimy.

The xenomorph has a tongue. Long, with a green tip that turns black the closer it gets to the throat. The xenomorph's tongue became thicker somewhere in the middle, you could compare its thickness to your three fingers, and there were also ribbed protrusions along the entire body.

It was hard to believe that it would be inside you, and you were counting only on light caresses, but the alien was determined to prove you wrong. Even if he himself had no idea about the course of your thoughts.

The actions of this snake tongue can be described as “chaotic” rather than “planned” or “purposeful,” but it is worth giving credit for its efforts. The sharp contrast of the coldness of the tongue and the warmth of the room excited your nerves brought to the peak, causing his every movement to tremble in your body. Here the xenomorph caresses your clitoris, tense with excitement, and you are ready to burst into ecstasy at any second, and a second later it teases your entrance to the vagina, penetrating inside with just the tip, and a disappointed groan already escapes your lips. All you can do is rush around the floor in the hope that the absolute weapon will stop playing with you, or mocking you, to be honest, and will fill your needy body, if not with its penis, then at least with its tongue.

Perhaps your prayers have been answered.

As soon as you open your mouth to tell the creature exactly how to move in order to bring you the maximum amount of pleasure, it puts its tail across your stomach, and its paws with razor-sharp claws touch your thighs, spreading them even further to the side. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but as soon as his cold tongue slides inside, stars flash before your eyes. It’s so unusual, strange, but pleasant to feel inside, from this feeling of gradual fullness as the xenomorph slowly and carefully pushes its tongue inside your womb. His movements are rhythmic and slow, first a little forward, then almost completely withdrawing from you, touching the sensitive clitoris with his growths along the tongue. Oh, that wonderful feeling of friction and pressure, pulling moans from your lips. Your hands are rushing around, not knowing where to place yourself . Maybe grab a stranger’s tail, counting the vertebrae with your fingers, or play with nipples swollen from excitement? Well, you have two hands to do both.

As soon as you touch the tail, slightly touch a sensitive point of the alien body, the xenomorph begins to squeal, pushes its tongue into you a little sharper and deeper than originally planned, as you arch your back, but most importantly, your lover’s tongue arches after you, touching and pressing on the very point that brings you a lot of pleasure . Your loud moan, the echo of which reaches your ears, in which you can hear the frantic beating of your heart, marks the arrival of your first orgasm.

The alien had to do so little to get you to your peak that it's almost astounding. Will you then be able to normally perceive caresses from a person or will you become addicted to the feeling of buzz and euphoria from the alien language, and then the penis?

With one hand you cover your tightly closed eyelids. You try to catch your breath, but it’s all in vain, because the overexcited and full of energy xenomorph is ready to continue giving you affection and pleasure. After all, you are his couple, who reciprocated. The tongue inside you rubs and curves, getting thicker and thinner and always touching your swollen clitoris so that you don't have to worry about having a second orgasm. The movements become faster and more chaotic, as if the alien is trying different methods and approaches on you to find what gives you the most pleasure. And when you are ready to reach the peak of orgasm for the second time, the xenomorph allows you to do this too, smearing the wide part of his tongue along your scarlet bundle of nerves.

This time it just rings in horror, and black dots flash before your eyes in place of the stars.

The xenomorph steps back. His slippery tongue comes out of your womb. And such a sound is heard, vulgar as in porn, but damn exciting. It’s as if a plug was pulled out of you and all that mucus that came inside along with your tongue began to flow out of your body.

Having barely caught your breath and found the strength to open your eyes, you look down to where the xenomorph is located. But he soon reached forward, placing his huge paws on either side of your chest. You were wondering if someone else has a penis, right?

There, pushing the groin shields to the sides, it appeared. Something that will divide your world into before and after.

Big, long. The tip of the xenomorph's penis was slightly elongated and thin, becoming thicker just below, and tapered again at the creature's hips. Its color was identical to the tongue - green at first, gradually turning black - and had growths, two of which ran along the upper part of the penis and one below. You could assume that the maximum length of these protrusions does not exceed half a centimeter, but this will be enough to give you an unforgettable experience.

A clear viscous liquid dripped from the tip of the penis, not the same as the mucus that envelops your bodies and you remembered the word pre-cum . Apparently this is typical even for xenomorphs .

“I want to touch,” became your first thought, and you listened to your desire. The stranger, showing you the highest degree of trust, allowed you to touch his most sensitive part of the body without any obstacles. And he hissed in surprise as soon as your hot hand touched the alluring flesh. "Marvelous".

The penis in my hand felt pleasantly heavy. It was slightly warmer than the alien creature's tongue; either the humanoid was simply excited until the body overheated, or its organ itself should be warm. In addition, it itself was soft to the touch, but hard, no matter how paradoxical it may sound. Mucus began to accumulate between your fingers as you ran up and down the ribbed shaft. Soft, pleasant, slippery. And it will end up inside your body.

Being under the influence of hypnosis due to the fascination with the xenomorph’s penis, you yourself, without knowing it, bring him to his first orgasm in his life. The alien life form does not know what it means to hold back, applying a similar concept to you for the first time, so as not to simply break the bones in your body, but otherwise gives its all. White streaks of sperm spread across your chest and stomach, slowly flowing down. You pick up one track with the tips of two fingers, spread them to the side, noting how thick and viscous the sperm of the creature from outer space is, that between the fingers spread in different directions, a string of sperm remains hanging between them.

It tastes... strange. It’s as if there is no taste at all.

The xenomorph groans . His nervous, twitching movements of his pelvis back and forth lead you to the idea that he himself wants to fill you with himself as soon as possible, and not only with his penis. You yourself have to raise your body to align yourself with the length of the penis and place the tip at the entrance to your body . My mouth was dry from anticipation. The creature's strong tail grabs you at the waist, sharply lifts you a little more, which is why you have to grab onto the powerful shoulders of your lover, in particular, reach for the tubes protruding from the back, in order to keep yourself in place. The legs can barely be locked behind the xenomorph's back, so you rest against the area above its tail.

Unusual pressure and stretching constrains your body . Despite the preliminary preparation, a copious amount of lubricant such as saliva, mucus and your own secretions, this is not enough to fully prepare yourself for the meeting with this monstrous penis . Only the head has penetrated, and it already seems to you that there is nowhere else to go . But at the same time, you want it to enter you completely, to divide you into two parts, to destroy your pussy, declaring its sole rights to your body and pleasure. Therefore, the xenomorph slowly moved further, penetrating you deeper and deeper with its monstrously large penis, exerting pleasant pressure with its size. The lumpy growths only complemented this wonderful sensation, pressing on the most sensitive points inside your body, and rubbing against your clitoris along with the thick penis. From pleasure, your mouth opened by itself, and pleasant moans, along with unintelligible babble, caressed the stranger’s ears. He was happy to feel that his partner was getting as much pleasure as he did from the feeling of how tightly the vaginal walls fit around his penis . How they tremble every time he plunges deeper into the supple body. He might think that he is intoxicated by this sensation and now he will certainly not let you go from his grip, he will fill you with his sperm, even if you cannot get pregnant in the realm of the Essence. He didn't care at all as long as it meant he could have you in every sense of the word.

The xenomorph stopped moving as his cock entered you fully, tearing through your sensitive walls, overloading your nervous system with the signals it sent. It was hot, cold, hot, everything throbbed and burned, but the vicious desire to become a victim of an alien creature, to be completely fucked and filled with his seed, overpowered any feeling of fear. But you were afraid to move, reasonably fearing that the feeling of pleasure would disappear. The alien decided to act first; slowly, his pelvis began to move away from you, creating many trails of mucus connecting your bodies. You wanted to tell him to stop, not to deprive you of this wonderful feeling of fullness, when he succumbed back forward, a jerk of the entrance turned around, crashing into your fragile human body with all his bestial power.

For long seconds you lost touch with reality, and when you returned, the feeling of lust, pleasant bliss and excitement that spread throughout your body, capturing every part of your body and soul, dispelled all doubts. You loved the xenomorph, his monstrous cock in particular adored you just like he did. The thrusts became smoother each time as your body and womb got used to the size of the alien creature, adjusting and stretching to suit its needs. And when there was no resistance left between you, when the xenomorph could freely penetrate you, desecrating your flesh with his nature, the angle of entry of his penis into you changed, as did the speed. The creature from another world had strength and endurance incomprehensible to the human mind, so it was not difficult for him to rise with your body on his hind legs and sharply lower him onto his penis, touching with the tip of his penis such places that you could not even think about.

It was nice. It's terribly pleasant. The vulgar sounds - your moans, his animal hands, as well as the slapping of your bodies against each other and the squelching sounds coming from the entry of his penis into your womb - only spurred the arousal of the two of you. The xenomorph opened his mouth, releasing his tongue, which immediately entered your mouth. The feeling of movement, both in your mouth and inside, completely severed your connection with reality and there was nothing left except the pleasure you received.

The pace of the thrusts gradually changed, becoming faster and sharper with each passing second. At the edge of your consciousness, you understood that the xenomorph was about to cum and his sperm would paint the walls of your vagina white. I wonder if there will be enough of it for your tummy to become bulging, if even now, by touching the designated part of the body, you could feel its ribbed penis under your fingers? Most likely, yes, but the excitement to check was as strong as your excitement.

After a few thrusts, the xenomorph released his cum into your body. You felt his cock throb as load after load of cum shot into your body. And there was really, really a lot of it. So much so that, despite still having his cock inside you, acting as a plug, white streaks of his seed were already running down the inside of your thighs and large white drops fell onto the slimy surface of the floor. The alien's long tongue licked the tip of your nose before being hidden in the creature's mouth. It, carefully supporting you in the air, sank back onto the warm floor and laid you under it.

It was clear as day that the xenomorph had no intention of leaving your body just yet. At least until he satisfies his hidden desire to impregnate you.

a little about this work.

Initially I planned to write only one part, the fifth, but I thought that without a pre-story it would not be so interesting.

It took me a day to write. in total there were 32 pages in Word, font Times New Roman, size 14.

I was thinking about attaching files with the Russian and English versions, but Tumler does not have this option. In any case, I don’t know about this.

At the moment, I finished making the last changes at 4:33 am on May 1st, whereas I started at 11 am on April 30th.