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blingblong55 · 28 days

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Worth it- 141 & Laswell

pic credits: @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot (left)and @ave661 (middle)

Based on a request: Wait, wait, first of all hope you're doing well and make sure to drink a glass of water if you haven't already. Cozy? Yeah? Okay, Can I request something (you can choose whether it's a HCor not,etc etc) on how TF141 would react to meeting a teen boy around 15-16, who's like a genius in engineering, mathematics, and physics? Like the boy could legitimately build a rocket if he had the time, help and materials. Maybe the meet him because he got in trouble with the government for unknowingly making a weapon? Maybe he made it for a class assignment and it was stolen without his knowledge? Whatever you think makes sense here. Leaving space for you to enter your own creative thoughts, just the general idea of it. The boy is based on a character of mine from a book I'm writing, his name his Michael, but ofc you can switch that up however you wish. Have fun with this one Ignore if it doesn't sound fun to ya <3 ---- M!Reader, genius!reader, platonic!relationship? ----

A/N: drank enough water, thanks for the reminder <3

Y/N, the name of the unknown internet user that had been chased by many governments and caught by the one and only Task Force 1-4-1.

You created something so dangerous that no one believed Laswell when she told her bosses the age you had when you started all this. You created the one thing most geniuses working for the government didn't know existed outside of the numbers and graphs they had done for it. At first, the FBI had named you un-sub A. Now, they can finally put a name to the unknown face.

How were you caught? Well, it wasn't easy, let's start there. When all this mess began, you were no older than fifteen. You are practically a ticking bomb to the government so when they heard that someone was asking the right questions to chemists around your city, they began to search for you. Laswell at the time was on a small break from work but the journals you had left in your parent's home when you ran away one rainy day.

In the journals, Laswell found all she needed to have a task force assigned to find you. She called it Operation Mikey, the name was just to fill in the void of the one thing she couldn't find, you.

Your parents weren't much help in giving your name, hence why Mikey became a temporary replacement. With them high off any drug and you on the run with the rest of your journals, Price was tasked with finding you and making sure you were secured in their care.

For three months, you ran away. Moving to different cities and continuing your research of the chemical weapon you fabricated in your bedroom, the same one Laswell had locked in a laboratory somewhere in the capital of the country.

In month four, you found an abandoned building in the middle of the desert. That's where your laboratory, if you can call it that, began.

For months after that, you collected data and it wasn't until nine months later that Soap found you trading chemicals with some scientist that you were caught.

Once you were brought in, they had realised so much about you. You were way younger than what their profile had thought of, much more intelligent than they'd think a person your age was and so skilled in engineering, mathematics, and physics.

"Why didn't we find his information sooner," Laswell questions her bosses. "Kid was never even registered by his parents." The man on the phone answers. "How the hell did he even get this kind of education then?" She asks again but you had that answer.

"My parents just bought me books and hired a weird guy from the street to teach me anything," you respond and Price chuckles. "Bullshit, kid. Now tell us, how the hell did you get all of these journals?" He points to the evidence bags. Your research of months now being read by other scientists.

"I am the creator of them, not let me go," you protest against Ghost's grip on you. "No chance," Price barks. "What's your real name?" Laswell asks you. "Y/N," you answer knowing it was either this or get thrown in some federal prison.

"And you created this weapon? do you have any idea how dangerous it is to create something like this? How many people it would take to create a mathematical concept and then make it into a physical form?"

"It's not that hard, lady," you answer with an attitude. Were people this dumb?

It took hours, lots of bribing and one request from Soap and Gaz to give you food for you to open up. What? you are a teenager who needs enough food for growth, of course, you'll talk once they give you food. Talking and having to dumb it down took hours though. After all, how can you explain to hardheaded soldiers about probability theory, and why it mattered so much to your project that it took ten trials and two journals worth of failed work to get?

Laswell was more than impressed, no seriously, she was like a proud mother listening to you explain every page and even give notes in only a way that a teenage boy would to idiotic adults like them. She thought it was so adorable how a boy your age would throw nerdy jokes into the explanations and how she watched you be the only one to laugh at them.

Ghost would often smile when you'd give a snarky comment to Price. Don't get him started on the chuckles he let out when you threw a few old man jokes at Price or made comments on Soap's weird hairstyle. The comments towards Gaz were funny but also adorable how you tried to find more reasons to get him annoyed.

Price thought of his son who was about your age when you'd get excited over your most recent discovery for the weapon you had created. It was nice to know that behind all that matter in your head, you were still a kid. It was even nicer when you'd make the jokes no one understood but secretly, Price's nerdy self understood some jokes.

Gaz saw his younger brother in you, which is why even when you made jokes at his expense, he would let them pass. The way you looked at him when having to explain things was nice in some way but it was way funnier when you called Soap the smart one of all four for being able to understand the way bombs work better than anyone and then have Ghost shake his head and tell you, "that man is just a muppet, don't believe what we tell you about his work."

Soap was fascinated by you for sure. Just like Price, he understood some of the jokes, even the cheesy puns you made about certain elements. He liked you, it was something fresh from the people he usually deals with.

The team, for the past few days, grew to adore the nerdy man you are. Yeah, you teased and even called them out on wrong facts but it was new. It's good to have someone so intelligent and be so honest with them this time. What was funny is that you know so much about many topics few understand but you don't know much about real life outside of the nerdy realm you live in. It's a nice feeling when passing by Laswells office you find a framed picture of the day Ghost and the other men of the team taught you about hunting and even how to play baseball, something you sucked at in the beginning but have gotten better over time.

It's like having four funny, serious, and cool dads and an amazing mum whilst being taken care of at the base the team called home.

A/N: I hope this was somewhat okay and good luck on your book!

Tags: @liyanahelena @mangowafflesss @froggy-anon @jinxxangel13 @enarien @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @avidreadee123 @ikohniik @konigssultwithghost @luvecarson @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @marshiely @sleepyycatt

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writingbyshiloh · 8 months

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Part 6

Parts 1-5

CW: Reader gets injured on the job!,(TBH it could be either hand as long as you have a weird handshake),Making out in a closet. Flashbacks to when Ressler walked in on R and Red having sex (part 2) and Liz and the earring (part 3)

WC: 2.3 (!!!!)

AN: Reader did work with a mob team, Flashback to when Ressler slept with Samar in season 4. I’ve never broken a bone so I tried to google as best as I could :) It ends a but abrutly, but I tried for an hour to work out a better ending and nada

Thank you to everyone who read the series, esp those who provided kind comments/feedback/let me bounce ideas off of them!! Whether you read just half of a chapter or all 6 I truly appreciate it. 7 months later we are done!!!

“And how is the happy couple doing?” Reddington asks, sliding up next to you at the bar.

“Oh, you know. Hopefully going to get into a huge argument in 10 minutes,” you reply.

The task force was undercover at a cocktail party, to which a known member of the Blacklist was invited. Red and Liz are paired up, same with you and Ressler, while Samar and Aram are in the van, monitoring everyone.

The first part of the plan was for Reddington and you to point out the mob member - Sonny Someone or other. Raymond knew them through business, while you knew him from trying to take him down while on a mob squad.

Part two was you and your “husband” of the evening get into a fight, giving a reasonable excuse to not be mingling with others hoping to let Ressler bond with some of the other criminals.

Currently, it's part three. You’re slinking around the halls of the event while not being outed as an FBI agent. Your bigger task is making sure you and Reddington are safe from any mob-connected individuals who may want him dead.

You’re both out of sight, being tucked into a storage room with your back uncomfortable against a shelf with a first aid kit next to you, while his hands gently squeeze your hips.

“We shouldn’t. Everyone here is suspicious!” you hiss, weakly protesting his advances, knowing you’re going to give in. He looks too good and you haven’t spent any time with him in the past two weeks outside of work.

“Personally, I’ve always found the threat of death an aphrodisiac. Don’t you?”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. What do you possibly say to that? You let out a small snort of laughter.

His lips dropped to your neck, kissing any exposed skin. You sigh, not daring to make a louder noise. Your arms, however, pulled him closer.

Dipping your head, you tried to catch his lips with your own. He understands and brings his lips to yours, gently tugging your bottom lip with his teeth as a suggestion of you opening your mouth.

The squeaking of hurried dress shoes caused you to break apart, both leaning closer to the door to hear what's happening.

You can hear Ressler's voice, strained as if he is jogging, saying, “They said they’re going down this hall, I just don’t see them!”

On instinct, you flinch back, knocking the first aid kit off the shelf. You wince hearing the dull smack of the kit hitting the floor, then wince harder at the steps before the door.

You barely hear the end of Donald's phone call, the opening of the door distracting you. Raymond positions his body in front of you, in case of the possibility that it's not Ressler on the other side of the door, but an attacker.

“What the fuck.” is the only thing Donald can manage.

You understand how bad the situation looks, Raymond Reddington looking flushed, and you standing behind. You see emotions flit across his face, not quite sure what to say. You squeeze past Reddington to go closer to Ressler.

Your motion spurs Ressler into action.

“Are you out of your mind? He's a criminal!” Ressler hisses at you, trying to keep his voice down.

Reddington wants to correct him, pointing out that he is one of the most wanted criminals but the look you shoot at him makes him close his mouth.

“It's not that bad!” you protest trying to save face.

“It is!”

“It's not!”

“Does Cooper know?” Ressler lets out a small huff of a laugh “Does Liz know?”

“NO! You’re the first to know. But you can’t tell anyone. Please.” you beg.

“What's stopping me?”

“I never told a soul about you sleeping with a subordinate! I planned to take that shit to the grave!”

“A subordinate? I never knew you had it in you, Donald.” Reddington chimes in from behind.

A new voice around the corner makes you all freeze. You’re certain it's Sonny from listening to his voice through surveillance plans.

Ressler’s comments and discovery have your nerves set ablaze but you still have enough sense to get your work weapon out and ready. You see Ressler do the same.

Catching Reddington's eye, you jerk your head to the side, trying to get him to go behind you and Donald. He returns with a bewildered look as if you thought he’d willingly place you in danger.

All three of you are pressed against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next. Ressler is in front of you, Reddington close behind.

The voice is nearer, talking but no one is answering. Ressler uses his free hand to make the sign of a phone using his thumb and pinky. You nod in agreement.

Your stress-addled brain tells you this is the best time to get your man.

Rounding the l-shaped corner you smack into Sonny, trying to come across as a distracted and drunk partygoer, not an FBI agent on the verge of losing their job.

“I’m sorry! I should watch where I’m going.” You apologize, trying to buy some time for Ressler and Reddington to understand your plan.

“It is okay. Sonny.” He introduces himself. His hand is extended for a handshake but you would know him without the introduction. You spent months trying to get a lead on the racketeering he's done.

You take his hand without thinking, glad he doesn’t recognize you. His left hand is on your right, patting your hand. You want to pull your arm away but can’t, wanting to stay in partygoer character.

It's too fast for you to react until your index and middle fingers are bent back and you're gasping out in pain.

Your surprise shouting alerts the two men behind you. With your half-baked plan ruined, they round the corner to come and find you and Sonny.

With the mob member gone, you hold your hand in shock, telling Ressler to go after the mob guy. Instead of following your order, Ressler communicates with Samar and Aram in the van, telling them that Sonny ran towards the exit.

The combined adrenaline of undercover, being found out, and having at least one finger broken is what keeps you from crying. Or at least what you tell yourself.

----

Hospitals are never your favourite place, but it's exceptionally awkward now. Reddington is off doing something (he sent someone from his team to pay the leftover medical bills) to save some face. You have two broken fingers and want nothing more than to go home.

Ressler is keeping you company (you suspect he's also the reason a nurse has checked in on you twice in the past 15 minutes). He only left briefly for Cooper to call you to say you’re not fired, but one out of the three weeks off (suggested by the doctor) was a suspension. Inappropriate relationship with a CI. But with the black site, nothing will stay on your file.

Outside the room, you hear the voices from your team, most of them hushed, one angry.

Aram being on the verge of tears is not what you expected to see when. You expected anger, or arguing, but not this level of upset from your close friend. Knowing Aram’s tendency to talk when nervous you’re sure he's going to tell you what's going on.

“Why would you cheat on Dembe with Mr. Reddington?” The hurt in his voice is obvious.

You can't control the way your jaw drops in shock or the way that your eyes widen. The doctor only gave you regular painkillers, but now you’re wondering if they’re making you loopy. You make eye contact with Ressler, who slowly shakes his head, not wanting to be part of this.

“Cheat? On Dembe! What does Dembe have to do with this?” you can only hope that no one else can hear the conversation.

“Dembe! Your boyfriend?” Aram fills you in.

“My who?”

“You’re dating Dembe. The evidence adds up.” Samar chips in.

“What evidence do you even have?”

“What about the earrings you left at the safe house? You and Dembe kept looking at each other and the earrings.” Liz supplies.

“Who remembers things like that?” Fucking profilers apparently.

“What about how you light up when Dembe comes into the post office?”

Okay. Maybe you’re not as subtle as you think you are. In your defence, however, that would be because he walks in with Raymond.

“It's even more messed up that it’s with his boss!”

You suppose it is a good thing your coworkers are so sharp, trying to tease information from your personal life to fit into their theory.

“What if I told you I’m not actually dating Dembe. So your theory sucks.”

Maybe you are getting a bit worked up. You watch the wheels spin in their head, trying to figure out.

Aram is the first to put the pieces together “Mr. Reddington? He's like 60!”

“That's why you dropped your coffee when Aram asked how things are with Mr. Right! You heard Mr. R and jumped to the conclusion. ” Liz supplies. It takes everything in you not to ask if this is the hospital where her ex-fiancé works.

You meet Samar’s eye and she frowns in a way that says not too bad. You make a mental note to ask her what the fuck that means.

“Does Cooper know?”

“Do I know what?” The man himself asks, entering your hospital room, a bottle of juice from the vending machine for you tucked under his arm.

If it didn't make you want to crawl into a hole, his timing would be comedic. His appearance still makes you pleased, he can't be that mad if he is visiting you, and bringing you a gift.

“Yes! Can we stop talking about it now?” you plead.

Your idea is shot down to a chorus of “no!”s.

“Hand me my drink, I will answer one question each. Choose wisely.” You say. Might as well get something out of this situation.

---

“If you clench your jaw any harder we'll have to turn back.” you joke to Ressler, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping the steering wheel. It was nice of him to drive you home, but his anger for you is coming and going in waves.

“You know, it's a shame how you never managed to catch Reddington before the task force started.” you notice his back stiffen at the mention of the FBI most wanted. You pretend to study your splint before continuing. “And do you remember when you wanted to drop off the files at my apartment? At literally the worst possible time?”

For the first time since being in the car, he looks at you.

“I bet you're the first FBI agent to walk in on the most wanted having s-”

“Stop talking.”

---

It's a rarity to see Reddington unsure of himself. Even when you’re alone with him, he carries himself with confidence. Now he looks torn between making sure you’re okay and leaving you alone.

“You can ask, you know,” you say, putting down your phone. The news about your fingers has spread to non-FBI friends, but typing with one hand is getting exhausting.

“How did it go?” He’s sitting next to you, as close as he dared reading his newspaper.

“Better than expected. No more broken limbs, everyone still talking to me, I’m still employed.”

You shift the bag of frozen strawberries on your hand to get more of the cold.

“Cooper called me on the way to the hospital, I was slapped with inappropriate relationships with a CI, much better than with a wanted criminal.” You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Cooper also said he wouldn’t tell the team if he didn't want me to.”

“But you did. Liz called, and let's just say your friends care about you.”

Your chest feels warm at the idea of your friends fighting on your behalf.

“I didn’t, they figured it out. I think all Ressler told them was he found us in a closet. It's whatever. I don’t think I could figure out another reason why it's so funny when he offs to beat up the mystery man.”

“Yes, he always is a real go-getter, isn't he?” Raymond agrees.

You press your lips together to hide your guilty expression. Reddington notices and his hand creeps up to the back of your neck, trying to be reassuring. You lean your body weight into him trying to get comfortable.

“The next time you see Ressler one-on-one” at least you hope he respects you enough to not talk about your sex life with everyone “he's going to have some choice words.”

You twist your head to look at Reddington's face, eyebrows raised slightly, tongue between his teeth as he tries to understand what you’re going to say.

“I may have brought up how he, um, interrupted us one time,” you say. Now is not the time to bring up what other sexy details you shared with the team while he was unnamed.

“Is that why he ran as soon as your door opened?”

“Yeah, I think I traumatized him in the car.”

“He’s a strong man, he’ll live.”

#raymond reddington x reader #raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #the blacklist x reader #the blacklist fanfic #5+1

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nekoannie-chan · 10 months

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All day

Title: All day.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Word count: 330 words.

Warnings: Smut, PWP.

Summary: Steve and you have a free day, so you have sex all day.

A/N: This is my entry to @multifandom-lover, Annie-1018 & square 5:

"I can do this all day"

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit

When your mobile phone rang, waking you up, you mentally hoped it wasn't a mission. After a long time, you had finally been able to take a break from the hectic pace of life you were leading at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Fortunately, it was an unimportant message, so you left your mobile phone; you didn't have to go to the Triskelion, so if you woke Steve up at that moment... you picked up your mobile phone again to check the time; it was four in the morning, so if you woke him up at that moment, you could have some fun before breakfast.

You got on top of Steve and started kissing his hair, then you started going down his neck without stopping kissing him. You knew how much he liked you waking him up that way, and it was also very useful for what you wanted.

"It's not fair," Steve mumbled, turning around and putting you under him. "You're playing dirty, Y/N," he complained.

"Are you sure?" you questioned as you ran your hand down his hip to where you knew you would have complete control. When you came, he let out a growl. "I know what you like, and we seem to have time to enjoy each other."

He took your hand and began to run his tongue slowly down your neck, paying attention to all the parts he knew gave you the most pleasure.

You lost track of time as soon as you started, just as you had already lost track of the number of orgasms you had had; however, your stomach began to protest, and you needed to eat something before continuing.

"I can do this all day."

"I know, but I need to eat something to recover my energy; I don't have the serum like you," you answered.

Steve took your hand and kissed it. "Okay, but we'll continue with this later," he said as he lightly and playfully ran his hand up and down your thigh.

#multifandom-lover #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut

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moon-spirit-yue · 1 year

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It's Not Living (if it's Not With You)

Chapter 1: Raya Ran into Some Complications

(TW WARNING!!!!!! This mini series is based heavily on the show Criminal Minds so if murder mysteries and descriptions of that sort of thing are not for you, just don’t read this fic. It’s not like my other fics where I let you know of a small uncomfortable part. I really don’t want to make this fic too horrific and gory, but it will get dark. Basically, if you can get though an episode of Criminal Minds this fic will be fine. These sorts of topics are not for everyone so please just be aware of this if you choose to proceed)

“Please don’t hurt me this way! I have a wife! And a sweet baby boy! How could you be so cruel?!” Raya whimpered, turning her head away from the monster that was trying to torture her.

“God, you are so dramatic,” Noi snorted without looking up from her book.

“Okay first of all, your “wife” does not count, and second, you don’t have any kids,” Tong began before getting cut off.

“Objection! Tuk Tuk is my beautiful son and I don’t appreciate you acting like he isn’t,” Raya huffed. “And I am married! Sisu and I have the certificate framed and everything! What’s with the judgement? Is it because we’re gay?”

“I’m pretty sure the judgement is coming from the fact that you two only got married to get grant money for college,” Boun laughed.

“And who the hell asked you, twerp?” Raya glared.

“Your dog and sham marriage do not count,” Tong sighed.

“You know, you’re being awfully negative to someone who literally got shot at this morning,” Raya grumbled as she reluctantly opened her eyes.

“Yeah well, the unsub missed and honestly? I’m kinda wishing he met his mark. Now wake up,” the unit chief scowled.

“Oh please! We’re the smallest unit in the BAU! If I get shot and go out of commission we’d literally have no choice but to dissolve and relocate to other units,” Raya scoffed. “And you know that Noi despises change.”

“It’s true. My mother used a different kind of cereal to feed me as kid because my usual stuff was out of stock and I protested by refusing to eat breakfast until I got my cereal back,” Noi confirmed.

“And you call me dramatic,” Raya laughed.

The bickering continued like it always did until they finally landed back in Quantico, their beloved home base. The quartet wearily got off the plane single file and entered the FBI building. It was long a flight and they were all ready to crash.

“Hello my dazzling little agents! How is everyone?” Sisu greeted them once they got on their floor.

“Feeling like I’m about to pass out. The guy was maniac. I mean, who carries three guns on their person at all times? Even for a serial killer, it’s a tad excessive,” Boun groaned.

“I do not envy any of you. It’s bad enough I have to see the crime photos, I could not imagine having to see the guy that caused them, let alone capture him,” Sisu shivered.

“This job is certainly not for the faint of heart,” Tong confirmed.

That was the understatement of the year.

“Agreed. Hey Sisu, can you drive me? If I go behind the wheel I’m scared I’ll fall asleep,” Raya asked.

“Anything for the wife!” Sisu laughed. Boun and Noi had small smiles on their faces as Tong loudly sighed in displeasure.

“The sanctity of marriage is wasted on you people!” Tong declared.

“We’ll get a divorce one day, don’t worry sir,” Raya giggled.

“A man can only dream. Alright, before we all disperse, I do want to say that you all truly outdid yourselves this past week. The unsub did his damn hardest to shake us off, but we managed to pull through. I really am proud of how this team has grown,” Tong said.

The other four agents beamed at his words. As much as the whole team likes picking on each other at every possible opportunity, they really did care about each other and yearned for their boss’s approval. The next words he said were not nearly as uplifting.

“We’re going to need to get in here early tomorrow. We’re all behind on some important documents that have to get on my desk by the end of the month,” the unit chief stated with a stern look on his face.

“Boooooo!” Boun groaned.

“Dang it, I thought he forgot about that,” Noi mumbled.

Raya just decided to stick with her classic pout. She’s getting too tired to talk.

“On that note, I’m going home to my wife, that I married for the right reasons,” Tong said, shooting a look at Raya and Sisu.

The other four then went their separate ways, mumbling some tired goodbyes and see you tomorrows. Sisu had to practically drag Raya to her car and shoved her in.

“At least stay awake until we get home,” Sisu sighed while starting the car.

“Can we just go to your place for night? Tuk Tuk’s already there and it’s closer,” Raya mumbled.

Tuk Tuk always stayed with Sisu when Raya was out on assignments so she really didn’t feel like relocating him tonight. Plus, she had a good portion of her stuff at Sisu’s anyways.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Your bed is already made,” Sisu laughed.

“Have I told you that I literally love you?” the agent yawned.

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt me to hear it more often,” Sisu laughed.

“Oh, do you still need help dying your roots?” Raya asked.

She was now vaguely remembering Sisu asking for her help at some point when she was out on her previous assignment. Considering the fact that some dude with mommy issues damn near killed her, the text was shoved in the back of Raya’s mind for a hot minute.

“Yeah, but let’s save that for tomorrow. I don’t think you can be trusted with anything permanent right now,” her best friend said, side eyeing how Raya was nodding off.

It took everything in her to muster up the strength to give Sisu a thumbs up, so that’s probably for the best. Raya’s pretty sure she did fall asleep during the brief car ride because she blinked and bam! There was Sisu’s house.

“Carry me,” Raya demanded, slumped over.

“Oh my god,” Sisu groaned

After much pulling and tugging on Sisu’s part, they made it through the front door and was greeted by Tuk Tuk’s little yips of happiness. Raya grinned the second she saw her fluffy puppy and began pressing kisses on his furry face.

“I missed you, my beautiful baby! Oh yes I did! Yes I did!” Raya cooed as her precious pup licked her cheek.

“I’m gonna turn in. Anything you need?” Sisu asked her.

“Uh, can you drop Tuk and I off at our house before work? I just got the notification that my package got delivered and it is dangerously unsupervised right now. Other than that I’m good,” Raya explained.

“That’s fine. See you tomorrow, bestie. Love you! And I love you too Tuk!” Sisu said while scratching his fluffy ears.

“We love you too. Night!” Raya waved as she walked into her designated room.

She kicked off her shoes and changed her clothes before immediately flopping on the bed. Raya heard Tuk Tuk jump on the bed and snuggled right next to her. She multitasked by using one hand to pet her dog and the other to text her father she’s back in Quantico, safe and sound.

One of the major downsides of this job is knowing her father is going into cardiac arrest whenever a case pops up. He tried to convince her for weeks not to take the job but alas, her mind was made up. So then Benja decided to force to send texts when she left for a case and when she came back. Raya carelessly tossed her phone on the other side of the bed once the message was sent and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

****************************

The best way to wake up is seeing Tuk Tuk’s adorable face right beside her. Man, she missed this dog.

Raya had to speed through her morning routine to get out the door at a reasonable hour. Ushering Sisu to get moving, Raya and Tuk Tuk were already waiting in her car by the time she got in.

“You know, you’re a lot less pushy when you’re tired,” Sisu huffed while driving off.

“It’s not my fault someone’s stealing packages from people’s doorsteps!” Raya exclaimed.

“You’re a profiler, catch them!” Sisu snapped.

“Too busy tracking down serial killers, thank you,” Raya told her.

“I hope you have an extra load of paperwork to finish,” Sisu glared.

“You are so hateful in the morning,” Raya frowned.

They made it to Raya’s front door with no serious injuries, so she grabbed Tuk Tuk and made her way home.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Sisu yelled.

“I’m good! See you in the office!” Raya yelled back.

Her beloved wife nodded and proceeded to drive to work. Raya turned her attention to where her packages get dropped off at.

She absolutely beamed at seeing her mail sitting there, unstolen by the neighborhood thief. Raya grabbed the package and tapped the passcode lock combo to let herself and Tuk in.

Raya awkwardly opened the door to let Tuk Tuk in first and kicked her package in the house. Stumbling in herself, she gave the house a quick clean from it’s lack of use. Once Raya finished eating cereal straight from the box, she was already back out the door.

“Tuk Tuk, take care of the house for me while I’m gone, will ya?” Raya asked the little pup. He gave a bark in response which in Raya’s mind meant he totally agreed to her task.

“I love you bud! See you tonight!” Raya said before locking up her house and getting into her car.

The FBI building wasn’t that far away but of course it was far away enough to hit some major morning traffic. Patience isn’t exactly where Raya shines. She didn’t even have the time to go to her favorite coffee place.

Finally, she was able to make her exit and entered the building of her workplace. She walked up to her desk to be greeted with Boun and Noi arguing over what case they think will be chosen next.

“I’m telling you, those murders down in Texas have to be serial! There’s just too many gun related deaths!” Noi exclaimed.

“No way, there’s several missing people in North Carolina that have never returned for the past couple weeks! Oh Raya, you’re here! Hey, which case do you think is the next one?” Boun asked as she plopped into her small cubicle.

“No clue. Have either of you guys started your paperwork just at a curiosity?” Raya asked, pulling over her papers.

Noi and Boun looked at each other guiltily before scrambling to get their own papers out. Raya snorted and shook her head before focusing in on her own work. Those two remind her of actual kids and the fact that they’re both younger than her doesn’t help.

The day was an uncommonly quiet one. Tong summoned them all near the end of it to discuss the files they had to get through in one of the meeting rooms.

“We did make good progress on what we finished today, but there’s still a hell of a lot more to be done. I highlighted which ones are top priority and we need to-” Tong began but was cut off by a random voice.

“SSA Spine, I’m very sorry to interrupt, but someone needs to speak to one of your agents,” the person told them.

“Did any of you have plans for company?” Tong asked with a raised brow.

The other four agents shook their head while giving each other looks. Who on earth could be looking for one of them?

“Well which agent do they need? And who’s asking?” Tong questioned further.

“Oh, Virana Fang wanted to speak with Agent Heart,” the woman said.

Raya’s blood somehow chilled and boiled at the same time. Seriously, Virana? Of all the fucking people that could meet with her?

“Isn’t she like, a big time attorney? Raya, did you get into someone legal trouble?” Boun asked with furrowed brows.

“No, no I did not get into legal troubles. We know each other from uh, I guess when I was in college. And let me tell you, she is not a fan of mine. The fact that she’s here is honestly making me feel rather nervous,” Raya frowned.

“Oh my god, I remember her! Man, she did not like you,” Sisu scoffed.

“Did Mrs. Fang say what exactly she wanted?” Tong asked.

“No, all she said was that it was urgent,” the woman answered.

“Do you want to tell her you aren’t available? I’m not entirely sure what’s going on but I can see your hackles raised, Raya,” Tong said with concern. Raya stood up from her chair.

“There’s no point. The woman’s relentless. If she says she wants to see me, she will see me. I have a feeling I am not going to like this conversation,” the agent sighed as she reluctantly followed the woman.

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” Noi inquired.

“That’s fine. I can take her in a fight,” Raya joked as she left the room.

Once the door got closed behind her, she allowed the dread to kick. Tong was right, her hackles were raised. What the hell could Virana possibly want with her?

Raya’s arms were crossed and her jaw clenched as she approached Virana. Oh, how Raya loathed her regal, menacing face. The older woman looked professional and impeccable as Raya has always known her to be. Never a speck of dirt on her clothes nor a strand of her hair out place. Confidence and ferocity ooze from her every pore, ready to suffocate anyone that tries to challenge her. This is how Virana Fang presents herself.

But the Virana Fang Raya is currently looking at doesn’t have the usual intensity she frequently possesses. Instead she looks around anxiously, like something terrible is about to happen. The agent can’t find it in herself to feel any sort of sympathy for this woman.

“Virana Fang. Why have you come to haunt me on this otherwise peaceful afternoon?” Raya drawled. Mrs. Fang almost seemed startled to find Raya standing right in front of her.

“I do not have time for your typical unnecessary remarks. Look, I want to keep this as short as possible. The bottom line is, I need your help,” Virana whispered quickly.

“I’m sorry, you need my help? Me? Raya Heart? My help?” Raya asked, utterly baffled. Virana stiffly nodded in response.

Raya blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then she smiled. A smile turned to a laugh. What kind of bullshit is she playing at?

“Does it sound like I’m joking? What punchline did I just deliver?” the woman hissed.

“Oh come on, I’m sure even you can see the irony in this? I mean you asked for my help, Mrs. Fang! God that’s hilarious!” Raya laughed. She honestly can’t take this situation seriously. “You know, it’s probably best if you just go. I thought I could get through this conversation but I think I overestimated myself. Please, have the day you deserve.”

Raya shook her head and turned away but the other woman’s hand stopped Raya. The agent looked back and saw how desperate Virana really looked. Before the agent could respond, Virana decided to speak words that alarmed her even more.

“Listen, I am well aware that in a perfect world, we never see each other again, but this world is not perfect. In a perfect world, my daughter would not be in danger,” Virana hissed in a frenzy.

This conversation could not get any more insane. What on earth was going on with Namaari? If Raya had any doubts about helping the lawyer, they were all gone now.

While her and Namaari weren’t exactly having sleepovers and braiding each other’s hair, Raya still cares about her. Plus, Namaari was certainly in better standing with her than Virana. (Then again, the raccoon that dug around in Raya’s trash last week was in better standing with her than Virana so that didn’t really mean much.)

“Fine, I’ll bite. Why is Namaari in danger?” Raya asked with annoyance.

“Because a serial killer is after her. That’s why I came to you, considering the fact that catching them is your job,” the older told her in a low voice.

The agent’s jaw dropped. A serial killer? After Namaari? Well, to be fair, Namaari is a lawyer so it’s entirely possible a client is out for revenge?

“How can you be so sure? I assume you came with evidence because this is not something I can just take your word for,” Raya managed to ask.

“Of course I came with proof, but I would prefer to speak of this in a more private setting,” Virana requested. First reasonable thing she’s said since she got here.

“Follow me,” the agent relented. Raya spend up the stairs to the conference room her team was in with Virana hot on her heels.

“Hey, sir, can I use your office really quickly? It’s important,” Raya asked while gesturing to Virana.

“Of course,” Tong nodded while giving the two of them a suspicious glance. She is so getting interrogated when this conversation is over.

Raya then walked to Tong’s office and closed the door behind her once Virana stepped in. The agent sat on the little couch in the office with crossed arms.

“Lay it on me, Fang. Why do you think a serial killer is coming for Namaari?” Raya asked.

Virana opened her briefcase and pulled out two envelopes. She handed them both to Raya.

“Just look at the cases with those two girls that have unfortunately passed away. I’m sure you’ll realize I’m right,” Virana said while sitting on the chair across from her.

The lawyer said it in such a haughty way that it made Raya really hope that there isn’t a case for more than just Namaari’s safety. The agent took the two envelopes from her and opened the first one.

The first girl’s name was Anchali Chakan. She was born in Nebraska, moved to New York when she was ten, then transferred to a college in Maryland where she’s lived ever since. She got married only three months ago to her long time girlfriend, now wife. Or, now widow. A relatively normal upbringing from what Raya can tell. She had dreams of being an artist and made some very impressive pieces before her passing. Now that Raya knows the basics about this girl, it’s time to get into the actual crime that was committed.

Yikes. That is the first word that comes into her mind when she saw the picture of this woman’s untimely death. Raya doesn’t care how many cases she comes across, she will never get over all the horrible ways people kill.

The murder happened in her house on March 1st. The place where she’s meant to feel safest. There was bruises around Anchali’s neck, an obvious sign of strangulation. Medical reports say that her windpipe got crushed which was the cause of her death. But alas, the atrocities did not stop there. There was an arrow that went straight through her neck. The only thing that made that detail a little less horrific was the fact that the arrow was stabbed into her neck post mortem. Raya cringed, shook her head, and went on to the second case.

The second woman is Cai Lan. She grew up in New York and stayed there until her last days. Unlike Anchali, Cai was born into poverty and had to claw her way out. She had been a foster kid since she was five, homeless for a period time in her late teens, went into massive debt getting into college, and had to live in an RV until three years ago. Cai did manage to make her way into upper society by scoring a manager position at a financial firm.

Cai’s murder occurred exactly one month after the first one, April 1st. It took place in Cai’s home just like Anchali’s. Again, just like Anchali’s murder, Cai was also strangled to death and ended up with an arrow through her neck post mortem. Looking closer at the arrow, Raya was disturbed to find that there was a heart at the front of the arrow. She glanced back at Anchali’s crime scene and found the heart was at the front of her arrow as well.

Was the killer trying to imitate cupid’s bow? Ah, shit. This case is one hundred percent serial. But Raya still can’t see the connection with Namaari.

“I will give credit where credit is due, this is a serial case. Even though it crosses state lines, the signature is way too specific to be the average murder. I still don’t understand what this has to do with Namaari, though,” Raya sighed, looking up at Virana.

“Both of these girls are Namaari’s ex-girlfriends. Their break ups were very friendly and the two of them stayed in contact with Namaari after their relationships had ended. It’s how she became aware of their passing,” Virana said.

For the first time since she entered the office, Virana had a mournful look on her face. Raya may have actually found it in her to feel bad for her but there was a very serious problem at hand. Then the attorney handed Raya another envelope, though this one was much smaller.

The very stressed agent opened it up and felt all color drain from her face. There was two plastic baggies with strands of hair. One strand of hair was significantly lighter than the other.

“Please tell me these weren’t mailed to you,” Raya begged, looking up at her. Virana’s grim face told her everything she needed to know.

“Two days after Anchali was killed, we got this bag with the light brown hair. News of her death hadn’t reached us yet, so we weren’t quite sure what to make of it and sent it to the police for investigation and figured out who it belonged to. Same thing with Cai,” Virana told her.

Wordlessly, the agent pulled out her phone to check the date. All the color drained from her face when she saw that today’s date is May 1st.

“Follow me, we don’t have much time,” Raya commanded.

Raya gathered all of the evidence presented and all but sprinted out of the room. The older woman quickly followed suit. The two of them barreled into the conference office where her teammates were sitting. They all flinched when Raya tossed all the information of this new case on the desk.

“Listen up people, we have to get through this quickly. Here you see two girls going by the names of Anchali Chakan and Cai Lan. The connection between their murders is the fact that they were both in a romantic relationship with Namaari Fang. They both died from strangulation. Part of the unsub’s signature is to put an arrow through their victim’s neck after they passed,” Raya said, talking a mile a minute.

“So it’s personal. Is, is that a heart at the tip of the bow?” Noi frowned, pulling the photo closer to her.

“Yeah, I think it’s supposed to reference Cupid’s bow. Namaari also received a strand of both the women’s hair two days after they were killed. These murders occurred on the first of March and April. Considering the fact that today is May 1st...,” Raya trailed off.

“We need to act now. I don’t like the fact that she’s been getting gifts or that the unsub knows where she lives. No need to bother collaborating with any local PD, this crosses state lines so we have full jurisdiction,” Tong began, explaining what he’s read in the files. “It’s safe to say that the unsub is targeting those who have had a romantic relationship with Namaari. They’ve also been going in order of who Namaari dated. She was with Chakan from eighth to ninth grade and then Cai from eleventh to twelfth grade. Mrs. Fang, was Namaari with anyone in the time period between Ms. Chakan and Ms. Lan?”

“Uh, kind of. After her break up with Anchali, I got word she did date a couple of other girls but they were just attempts at forming a relationship. Her next real girlfriend was Cai,” Virana answered immediately.

“Okay, looks like the unsub focuses on official relationships. Who did Namaari date after Ms. Lan?” Tong asked.

Raya could have sworn that Virana eyes landed on her before returning to focus on Tong. Must have been a trick of the light.

“From what I’m aware of, the only other girlfriend she had is her now fiancé, Jintara Niran,” Virana told him.

“But you’re not sure?” Tong pressed.

“No, I’m not,” the lawyer confirmed.

“First, please write down your daughter’s address. I take it her and her fiancé live together?” Tong asked. Virana nodded and hastily wrote it down.

“Perfect. Now I need you to call your daughter and ask if she has had any other serious girlfriend between Ms. Lan and her fiancé and that she needs to be completely honest. If we’re right, she could very well be killed tonight,” Tong instructed.

Virana turned rather pale at the last statement but nodded nonetheless. She walked out of the room and grabbed her phone, calling her daughter outside. Tong turned to the rest of the group with a serious look in his eyes.

“Okay, Sisu, you head to the computers and start sending police to stand guard at Ms. Fang’s and Ms. Niran’s house right now. If Mrs. Fang is right, the unsub is going for Niran next,” Tong began, but Sisu was practically out the door by the time he was finished with his sentence.

“Boun, I want you to just get to their address and kick start the process of asking them questions. Plus, I want one of our people to be with them as soon as possible,” Tong told him.

“On it!” Boun confirmed, launching himself out of his seat.

“Noi, stay with Virana and get whatever else you can out of her while simultaneously giving her some comfort. I’ll head out to the local PD where they live. It’s only two hours away but we should set up shop there anyways. Two hours can easily be the difference between life and death,” the agent told the only girls left.

“You got it boss man!” Noi nodded.

“And Raya, you know those case files I had you look at for review?” Raya nodded, causing Tong to continue. “I want you to get those files then head to the local PD with Boun. There’s a case in there similar to this one so we can get a better idea of how to handle this.”

“Understood, sir. I’ve got it covered,” Raya told him while rushing to get out of the room.

Holy shit. Someone has been killing Namaari’s ex girlfriends. This was not on Raya’s 2023 bingo card.

As Raya glided down the stairs, she passed by both Noi and Virana conversing. Before she could leave the floor, Virana spoke to her.

“Ms. Heart!” the lawyer exclaimed.

“What is it?” Raya asked anxiously.

“Please, just be careful,” Virana almost begged. Ah hell, that is so weird.

“Of course. I always am,” Raya told her confidently. With that, Raya turned around and dashed out of there.

The agent all but sprinted to her car. Once the car started, she began driving like a bat out of hell to get to her house. Because what on god’s green earth is happening right now?

When Raya got back home, she didn’t even bother locking her car before throwing her front door open.

Raya stood at the door for a moment, completely forgetting where she put the files. Then her brain started working again and she remembered that she shoved them underneath the dryer.

As Raya walked towards the kitchen, something made her pause. Is, is something burning?

Side tracked from her original mission, she found that the stove was turned on. That shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t turned on this morning when she first got here and Raya’s breakfast was cereal straight from the bag. She did not touch the oven.

Tuk Tuk then made his entrance by running right by Raya and her fears quickly disappeared. Her big old dog probably accidentally knocked into the stove and turned it on. It has happened before.

“Hey bud. Were you trying to make some dinner for yourself while I was gone? I should probably feed you anyways,” Raya smiled, giving him a light scratch on the ears. Before Raya could blink, she was pinned against the wall by someone wearing a mask.

It took a couple seconds before she realized that this masked man now had their hands wrapped around Raya’s throat, slowly squeezing the life right out of her.

#raya and the last dragon #ratld #rayaari #namaari #raya x namaari #namaari x raya #raya and namaari #ratld namaari #raya disney #ratld raya #rayamaari #raymaari #raya of heart #disney raya #raya namaari #namaari of fang #raya incorrect quotes #ratld incorrect quotes #disney ratld

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masschase · 6 months

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Rowvember Day 14: Brain

Just a short little written piece about a moment I've mentioned happening before :)

-------------

Matt watched the readings spike up and down rapidly and dramatically, showing no signs of calming or slowing. He stared at it for quite some time, it was an oddly hypnotic pattern. This was different from a lot of the sample data he could find, but he was no psychologist, so he was reliant on what he could look up about it.

He glanced over at his fellow tech expert, who was currently looking bored out of her mind as she leant on her hand, watching the Boss fight a warden on her own screen. He was kind of terrified to ask. He was kind of terrified of her, truth be told, but his curiosity got the better of him. “Kinzie... have you seen this?” he said before gazing back at it once more.

“What?” she asked in a displeased manner, not even looking up. She still wasn't entirely happy working with him and she made little effort to hide it. He remained fixated on the screen, however, because he was a little perplexed by it. When he didn't answer, she glanced over, rolled her eyes at him and slid her chair closer. She took a moment to watch before commenting. “An EEG?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah...” he said slowly. “It’s... data from the some of the checks I run on the simulation... Do you... know anything about them?”

“Hmm...” she replied. “I mean, a little. The FBI was working on some experimental stuff around brain fingerprinting before I had the joy of running into you.”. The sarcasm in her words was twinned with a great deal of bitterness.

“Oh... right...” he muttered. “S-sorry.”

“You know it loses all meaning when you apologise 5 times a week, right?” she criticised in response.

“But you just-“ he began. He could hear himself speaking in the whiny tone he downright hated hearing out of his own mouth but couldn't seem to do much about. “Never mind, look... can you help me?”

She sighed and looked his screen over. “OK, so there’s... a lot going on there. A lot of activity.” she said with a shrug.

“That’s what I thought...” he replied, nodding slightly.

She gave him a look as if to ask why the hell he’d bothered her if he’d already worked that out. “So... a faster neural network function?” she asked. “From what I’m aware, that could be a sign of high IQ.” She paused and a look of disgust quickly overcame her slight interest as she shifted away from the screen. “Oh god, this is a recording of yours, isn't it?”

He shook his head lightly. “No, it's... it's from the simulation I’m running right now.” he explained. He looked at her pointedly. “It's the Boss's.”

“Oh.” Kinzie remarked, raising her eyebrows ever so slighly. She didn’t look quite as surprised by him by the information. She took a second to mull it over, and shrugged again. Then her expression did turn a little. “Oh God, do not tell her.” she warned.

“What... why not?”. He honestly thought it was an interesting topic of discussion, even if he had no solid interpretation of it. He’d only been here for a few days and for various reasons he was really struggling to talk with her. She’d always seemed polite enough in their brief dealings at the White House but now things were sort of... tense... between them.

“Matt, have you met the Boss?” she protested. “It’ll go straight to her head!”

“Yes, but-“ he protested, then realised this probably wasn’t something worth dealing with a pissed off Kinzie for. He sighed. “Fine. I suppose you’ve got a point.”

“I just think... we want confidence to take down Zinyak, not overconfidence.” she explained a little more gently.

“Alright I... I get it...” he replied a little disappointedly.

“You’re on your own for the last few minutes anyway, I’m going to get lunch.” Kinzie told him. “Luckily for you, it looks like she’s almost done.”. She turned and walked over to the door which slid apart with a soft mechanical noise.

“If she’s not, could you um... maybe bring me something back?” he called out.

“Probably not.’ she called back matter-of-factly just before the door slid closed again behind her.

“...Sounds about right...” he mumbled. It wasn’t like he didn’t still punish himself for it all at times. He looked between the Boss fighting on the screen and the EEG thoughtfully. He didn’t have to wait long before the warden was defeated, and the Boss sprinted her way to the nearby gateway.

The pod opened and the President- or perhaps former President would be more apt- emerged from it, stepping out confidently and shaking out her wavy hair a little with her hands. “Did you fuckin’ see me in there Kinz, it...”. She seemed to realise her friend wasn't there and stopped herself. “Oh, uh... hey Matt...”

“Hi...” he responded, his eyes fixed on her. Very fixed. It was hard to take his eyes off her in that bloody spacesuit, she was just... so... “Your brainwaves!” he blurted out.

She seemed completely taken aback by what he meant by that phrase out of context. “...My what now?” she asked, perplexed, frowning at him.

“Your... I um...”. He felt so stupid for having said it. “I saw your... your brain activity while you were in the simulation and there was just, there was so much going on-“ he began to ramble. “I mean I've not seen many of these things but it was really quite remarkable, I-“

She shook her head, laughing incredulously. “Sure, whatever Matt, blah blah FUUUUCK...” she complained, clearly unimpressed at his rambling. God she really was a bit of an arsehole at times. Kinzie was right, he shouldn’t have fucking said anything. But then there was an awkward silence as she seemed to hesitate for a second, putting a hand to her forehead as if embarrassed by her own response. “Uh... shit... I’m sorry, I... I’m just fuckin’ starving...” she admitted, shaking her head slightly and blinking like she was perhaps a little woozy. “Uh... you wanna go get some lunch?”. She gave him an oddly gentle smile.

It brought a slight smile out of him too. “Yeah...” he said. Suddenly the whole brainwaves thing was kind of... gone for now. But it would forever colour his perception of her. “I’d like that actually." he replied.

-----------

I hope she doesn't come across as irredeemable here I really don't...

Honestly too tired to make any other notes 🥲

#saints row #rowvember 2023 #rowvember #masschase rowvember tag

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k-s-morgan · 2 years

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Hi!! First of all, Ukraine deserves help and solidarity and peace, contrary anons are disgusting. Second, I love your Tomarry. My actual question: what do you think Hannibal was doing, framing Will in S1? Did he really want to have him internated in the asylum?

Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words <3 Today is a particularly bad today for Ukraine, but thankfully, there are things I love to distract myself with a bit.

With the framing, there are two major versions. One is supported by Mads, another one is supported by Bryan. I believe in the one Mads described because this is exactly what I felt when I was watching S1, so I’ll focus on it.

Version 1

I think Hannibal never intended to seriously frame Will, but he was forced to do it in Releves (E12 of S1) because Will got too close to the truth without being ready to accept it.

Throughout S1, Hannibal has been actively trying to make Will realize he’s a killer and make it easier for him to accept it. He’s been planting suspicions around him but not the actual evidence. He wanted to back Will into a corner where he would have to either self-destruct out of guilt or to say ‘fuck it’ and embrace who he is. He and Will discuss it in E5, when talking about the Angel Maker: “Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.”

If Hannibal wanted to actively frame Will, he would have started taking much more decisive actions. Like with Sutcliffe: the FBI immediately determined that Will didn’t kill him. Hannibal was in a hurry, sure, but he could have planted at least some actual evidence. He saw for himself that Georgia was completely out of it, so he could at least paint Will’s fingers with blood and give the knife to him; better yet, he could quickly kill Georgia and set Will up for double murder. That would be very easy to do.

Similarly, apart from Sutcliffe, Hannibal tries to make Will believe he killed Georgia’s friend Beth (not seriously but he deliberately talks about it like that to make Will at least consider it, to which Will protests). He always uses the available victims to make Will accept the idea of him being a killer a little more. He uses various approaches, including reverse psychology and direct faulty suggestions for that. He affects Jack’s opinion to create a bigger distance between him and Will, hoping that Will will become fed up with such treatment sooner and accept the other side of the veil.

At the same time, Hannibal never actually does anything that could really set Will up. He does it only during Releves, after Will refuses to listen to him. Will insists he’s going to take Abigail home because he can catch the Copycat, and Hannibal tries to talk him out of it. Then he is shown as frustrated and upset after Will storms out - he closes his eyes in defeat, as if forced to do what he would have preferred to avoid. That’s when he uses the recording and plants the real evidence.

Hannibal is crying when talking to Bedelia after Releves. Mads said Hannibal is always emotionally genuine and I don’t see a point in this scene unless it’s to show that he’s genuinely upset. His plan of a family got delayed, he was forced to set Will up, and Abigail went into hiding. Hannibal voices his annoyance at Will for that, so to me, it once again shows he didn’t want it to happen. He found how to twist this situation to his advantage but I don’t think it was ever his big intention. As a back-up plan in case of an accident or if no methods worked and Will continued to deny who he is - maybe, but I don’t think Hannibal was ready to give up and use this option then. The circumstances forced his hand.

That’s what Mads said: “There was never the intention to frame Will for anything, but the problem was that the arrows were starting to point towards Hannibal.” You can also see bloodsmile’s analysis of it here https://k-s-morgan.tumblr.com/post/164015612368/hannibalstan-k-s-morgan-typicalher.

Version 2

Another version supported by Bryan is that Hannibal wanted to push Will as far down as possible to trigger his fury and his Becoming. Here’s a meta about it https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/d3qqg6/hannibals_long_game_spoilers/. Here’s Bryan’s quote: “I think that everything that Hannibal has done to Will has been a radical, unorthodox form of therapy. I would argue that all of the deeds still come from a place of genuine care. He is trying to help Will see himself better and get to a truer version of who Hannibal thinks Will is. Even setting him up to take the fall for these murders has been an act of therapy, in Hannibal’s mind.”

So I believe in the first version, but the two of them are possible! The most important thing is, framing was never intended to be long-lasting. Hannibal treated Will as his potential partner from the start.

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta #framing #s1

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healthstyle101 · 7 months

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Arizona man pleads guilty to attempted murder of federal officer, sentenced to 30 years

Shooting at New Mexico Conquistador Statue Protest In Española, New Mexico, things got pretty wild. People were all worked up because they wanted to put up a statue of a Spanish dude named Juan de Oñate. But then, a guy got shot, and it turned into a big mess. Arrested Suspect The police grabbed a guy they think did the shooting. This dude, Robert Benjamin Nelson, already had some trouble with the law. He's the same guy who shot at a cop in 2020. And guess what? He's going to spend 30 years behind bars for that. Serious Charges The top law person in New Mexico, Alexander Uballez, said that Nelson tried to kill a federal task force officer and fired a gun during a bad crime. Nelson admitted to doing these bad things in March, but they couldn't figure it out back in January, so there was a big mess with the trial. Big Win for Law People Uballez didn't hold back in saying how proud he was of his law friends. He said, "Today, bravery beat fear, and truth beat crazy hate." The cops work hard to keep us safe, so when someone goes after them, they'll get some tough punishment. The Crazy Day The Department of Justice says this all happened on September 12, 2020. A cop, Sharron Duran, pulled over Nelson because he was driving too close to another car. When she walked up to his truck, he shot at her three times! The first shot broke the window and hurt her face. She tried to protect herself, but he hit her in the hands and one of her eyes. The Chase Even though she was hurt, Duran didn't give up. She got back in her car and chased Nelson down. He tried to grab a rifle, but she waited for her friends to help. They got him without more trouble. FBI Gets Involved The FBI says this kind of thing is super dangerous and a big problem. They're not playing around when it comes to people hurting law officers. Today, Nelson is paying the price for his bad choices. Read the full article

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castle-dominion · 11 months

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c4x19 47 seconds

The protest bomb ep

heck yeah! Let's go protestors! Mum & lil bro thought this was an episode of Arrow at first

She's lucky there are no swears

Cool how he kno-- wait ringo was the drummer for the beatles, not this guy's name

She got anxious there bc the filming was just a bit later than she expected bc of the drummer

heck yeah!

FUCK NO

Love how the camera one was shocked for a sec but immediately started filming again

"if you've just tuned in" girl it has been like three seconds since the explosion & six seconds since you went live

Ah, her face, she did not expect people to be injured

Oof all these injured people here.

wait is that the mime? Poor fellow there.

there is still fire here?

five dead is a LOT... 28 injured, depending how bad they might still die. Why was it so bright earlier & now so dark?

Good on her, no comment, deal with press relations

Did she somewho she recognized?

Ooh the music today.

She actually listens to someone tell her she, nypd, is not allowed to enter the crime scene, which is under control of the fbi? Wowie.

I hope they get both lanie & perlmutter (& possibly slaughter's mortician girl & alexis) here looking at bodies.

Castle looks so shocked & sad.

Ok on the outfits, castle is wearing typical castle garb & looks hot as always, beckett has a nice grey turtleneck, ryan & esposito have coats & I can't see them v well rn but I like their coats & outfits rn so yeah. grey detective-looking jacket for ryan, black collar-up for espt it looks like. I'll give another update later.

Could still be a suicide bomber but with like a briefcase bomb not a vest bomb. Also who is your medic friend? I need character names & faces!

VG, someone whom I actually respect: Listen up, people! We're still piecing together what happened here, but what I can tell you – FBI and Homeland Security will be taking point on this investigation. [Beckett looks disappointed & esposito & ryan kind of follow suit.] NYPD will act in a support capacity. Our first assignment is to determine if any of the victims were targeted because of their involvement in the protest. Uniforms are bringing families to the precinct as we speak, so…let's go hold some hands and do our jobs.

"To sin by silence when we should protest makes…cowards of men."

Heck man, look at ryan's jacket! Squares!

Dang, they were tourists..? That's honestly rly sad. & they were planning on starting a family...

[04:03, INT. PRECINCT, BREAK ROOM - DAY]

[Castle stares out the window ((btw wearing a leather dress jacket)); Beckett approaches him from behind.] ((he is not interviewing anyone, he is not excited over the case... this is something))

KB: You good?

RC: Yeah. Yeah, it's just this case, you know? It kind of gets to you. How'd it go with the rest of the families?

KB: Um, one victim was the first kid in his family to go to college, and the other was a mother of two, so… about like you'd expect. No one seems to have been targeted, though. ((How many people? We have the recruiter, the tourist, the college student, & the mom. that is only 4, who is the other dead victim?))

RC: So their deaths were random. You know, most of our victims they…they die for a reason. You know, there's a logic behind it. It's a twisted logic at times, but…at least it makes some kind of sense.

KB: Yeah, but in this case, these people were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

RC: And their future and all their plans, everything is just gone in a flash. ((pUNintended))

[Beckett and Castle gaze at one another.]

KB: It makes you think about all those things in your own life that you don't want to put off anymore.

[Castle's mouth opens as he takes Beckett's meaning. Esposito enters, interrupting their confession of love.]

he says "troops" & I thought that was a colloquial term, just smth he said abt ppl congregating, but it could be actually the term for them.

I love how they show a clip of the bomb going off there. Good choice by the editor or whoever made that choice. I can't see it v well though & Ithought slowing it down I might be able to see more of it

OK SO: the reason I got into unus annus was bc during the protests in what, april, possibly may of 2020, I saw protest information including what it was like to get pepper sprayed, I saw the unus annus pepper spray video. Pepper spray sucks. They say to use milk but water is better (tho an acidic dairy product might help), however, be sure to wash AWAY from your eyes.

I bring this up because the fbi recovered a photo from one of the protestor's phones.

Do Not take photos! Don't include faces! Cover up any scars or tattoos, wear nondescript clothes. Turn off your phone's GPS, data, & wifi. In fact, turn off your phone entirely, only turn it on if you need to make an emergency call.

If a pig throws in a can of tear gas, you can cover it with a pylon & douse it with water.

Do Not wear suction swim goggles, if you get hit with a rubber bullet or even just thrown to the ground too hard, you can pop out an eye.

If you wear contact lenses: do not wear them if there is a risk of tear gas or pepper spray.

If you wear glasses: only wear them if you really need them, try to wear the most nondescript frames you have.

If you use mobility aides, use the nondescript ones, not the cane you personalized with stickers. If you use a wheelchair but can also use a walker/rollator, go for the rollator. You can still sit on it if you need to, but it is safer. If you do use a wheelchair, cover up the logo & anything you did to personalize it. I highly recommend using push-handle spikes to prevent people from moving you without consent. Hell on wheels is a business that sells them suited for your needs. You can get a pair that can be removed easily if you do need someone to push. Be aware, if rubber bullets are a risk, your mobility aid could be damaged.

& I repeat, do not take photos of protestors, I know it was a "good" thing in castle, but usually if the feds want photos of a protestor's phone, it is not good.

My question is though: why did they take a pic of where the bomb would have been?

47 seconds is a short zone, usually you have like a two hour kill zone

lots of names on the list wow.

Love the diagram on the board!

How did they get the names of all the ppl there tho? The injured ones maybe, but the ones who were just there? They would have run, they would refuse to give their names to pigs.

Holy moly only on the second intro rn! I have to go to work in an hour & a half!

Corinne: Do I look like I'm in the 99 percent?

Me: Uh, kind of. Do you have over 11 100 000 dollars?

Flashbacks are a good decision for this kind of stationary episode. (lol, really is stationary, they are in the station.) Like, even Castle is technically not in the top 1%, his net worth is like 4mil. There is a difference between rich-because-I-work-36-hour-shifts-as-a-surgeon-but-I-never-get-to-enjoy-my-mansion-because-I'm-at-work-all-the-time, inheritance-rich, rich-because-I'm-an-author-&-not-the-starving-artist-kind, & rich-because-I-commit-massive-wage-theft-on-all-the-employees-beneath-me. Now of course you can be hella rich, but the top 1% is about three standard deviations away from the mean. ofc statistics are probs wrong here. there is a wage GAP, not a nice bell curve. Anyway, you probably ARE within the 99%, just the rich side of it.

Good guy wearing a gas mask. There's the hoodie guy. There's the drummer.

Oh & btw you can LOOK at stuff online & buy them irl or vice versa. When buying my knives, I was told to go to a knife shop & test out the ones they had, find what I liked, & then buy it cheap online.

Box guy, "that's mine," spilled coffee

If he was carrying a bomb of course he'd look nervous & sweaty. Just like how the other dirty bomb the guy was calm bc he didn't know it was a bomb.

WEST SIDE WALLY! THE MAN IS BACK! Westside is one of my fave recurring characters.

(espt why do you look so weird when he says to call him westside.)

Johnny Law lmao

Love his sign. Will work protest for food. He is The Best.

Beethoven?

JE: Stop. Let me understand this. You…you saw Beethoven, [Ryan looks to the side on concern] the composer who's been dead for 200 years, in the plaza this afternoon?

WSW: Oh, yeah. And I bet that half-dead bastard is behind all this.

[Ryan clears his throat.]

KR: West Side, are you on any medications of any kind?

WSW: I don't see how that's relevant.

it's probably that he is NOT on medication lol. or hungry & dehydrated.

Man looks familiar. I swear tho, he's going to be real, not just west side's imagination.

You know, westside would look really good if they trimmed his beard, he's a really good looking actor.

Oh no, not more bomb threats...

RC: It's like trying to find Waldo in a sea of Waldos.

prioritizing interviews is a great idea.

RC: You know, the witnesses that were closest to the bomb aren't on our list. ((oof he right))

KB: *looks at him to continue*

RC: Maybe dead men do tell tales.

Jesse Freidman? More like Jesse fried-man eyo! Sorry that was distasteful. He wasn't even fried, he died in an explosion from blunt force trauma, not the fire of the explosion.

Oh poor alexis.

Except that Dr Parish said alexis needed to get stuff done. Lanie might say the same thing but Dr Parish said to get the personal effects done. You should at least talk to the staff & ask if you can take her home & let beckett know you're taking alexis home & staying, not talking to alexis for a minute like you implied when you said you needed a minute.

K but the film clips don't seem like they were what they were at the beginning of the episode

MR: Honey, do you ever wonder why I never visited you at the precinct the first year you were working there?

RC: I always thought it was because of the harsh lighting.

MR: (chuckles) Well, that was a consideration. No, I thought if I—if I saw you acting like a cop, I'd start thinking of you as a cop, and I just…whew. That—that brought on all manner of nightmares.

RC: How did you get over it?

MR: Eventually, you realize, your children are gonna make choices you don't like. Just a fact of life. ((this made my mom hug me so tight))

RC: Well, if the bombing proves anything, it's that bad things can happen no matter what you do. Nobody's tomorrow is guaranteed.

((In Cree the word for tomorrow is "IF the sun rises tomorrow" which implies that we don't KNOW that the sun will rise tomorrow, we just have FAITH that it will. wapaki. Edit: see the rest of this comment after the quote))

[Martha raises her eyebrows.]

MR: So…how do you plan to act on this realization?

RC: What do you mean?

MR: Oh, you know what I mean. Richard, how much longer are you gonna drag your heels before you tell Beckett how you feel?

[Castle shifts uncomfortably.]

MR: And I mean, while she is awake, not lying on the ground with a bullet in her chest.

((Wapaki comment, continued: I actually spell it wapaké bc that's how I was initially taught to pronounce it but other ppl say wapagi bc in cree k/g, t/d, n/ng, p/b, s/sh, & ts/ch are all both kind of considered the same. Ojibwe has different spellings but similar words: pimohte means walk, bimo'tee I think is it in ojibwe, & ojibwe is an anishinabe language so I saw an anishinabe word that meant "walk in a good way" & at first I didn't understand a thing, but then I saw the relation to the ojibwe word & I related it back to Cree. Languages are so cool. You know, I thought celtic languages would be removed from romance languages, I thought they might have a bit of german influence, but slainta means health in gaelgie (irish gaelic) & sante is health in french. That's the only relation I can remember rn but I think there was one more that I learned of recently.))

Martha is so right. I love her with all mu heart.

they are in LOVE!

RYAN NO YOU ALSO INTERRUPTED THEIR LOVE CONFESSION ACH (at least ryan is pretty)

castle it cannot wait until after the case, you never know if you have a tomorrow

This is why you turn off your gps.

That is a damn good friend!

Where did they get the audio from?

Andrew Haynes

I don't think he's planning on bombing you.

*just eating their food*

lmao he probably is not even in the 1%

She's making buddy buddy with him.

*all close to her*

lmao I hate him. Most of these people HAVE jobs, they just are still poor bc the wage is stupid. Besides, SOMEONE has to mop floors & wipe tables, who is going to do that job? They still deserve to live. Covid taught us which jobs are actually essential. Factory jobs, cashiers, medical professionals (including people like porters & janitors)

That's freidman, right? Who turned around Haynes?

Man this guy is so dumb.

& the longer you go, the more they forget & witness accounts get scrumbly.

The drummer <3 as a busker, I really respect him.

Well he's probably infamous, like that guy who plays the drum while on a skateboard in the city nearby. Everyone knows him. If he was drumming near the protest, he is probably going to be at the next protest.

I really respect him, not wanting to say anything. "I gave the wrong answer?"

Haynes should TOTALLY remain in custody.

VG: Not you Mr Castle, I have a special task for you

Me: "get out of my investigation?"

VG: I'mma get u to speedread

She actually thinks he has value uwu.

"no I'm not" she says & Iove her

ALEXIS' CHOCCY CHIP PANCAKES

Well he also does it bc he's in love with beckett

Well… they say genius… skips a generation WOW THAT'S--

Apparently, so does funny.

"Hey bobby" he says with a GUN

holy crap I need to take a pic of ryan's outfit

Man's an early greying bro.

Castle is back with COFFEE

"& I missed it?"

Castle acab moments

OH NO SHE'S NOW REVEALING THE TRAUMA THING.

Girl you can NOT remember every second of it. Different people have different reactions. Plus, at what point do you not remember?

& castle talks to her to himself

Talking to his mom. They have such a great relationship.

Maybe she didn't say anything bc she has that wall in her or bc she doesn't remember as much as she thinks

(But also bro you can't remember all of it, at what point do you not remember? Do you remember the surgery? No, they put you under. Do you remember every second of the shot & falling to the ground & that means "Every second of IT" it meaning the shot & nothing after.)

He's right. It is about MORE than books, more than HER even.

You can redirect love... & also he has worked with her for YEARS but he was pining with hope, not pining hopelessly

Castle you're communicating like a girl. You say these double entendres & half expect her to understand that you were watching.

There are only so many garage door opener frequencies out there so sometimes in big parking lots or alleys you can beep your car or try your garage door opened & someone else's will open.

*Tosses evidence bags FULL of that stuff*

He's a pickpocket?? I mean sexy ig but bro you're preying on OTHER POOR PEOPLE

The beethoven

& THEN THE MUSIC CHANGES LIKE THAT SO GOOD

Oh he has so much guilt bc he didn't mean to bomb anyone

WHY did they show freidman's photo? maybe bc he was the closest so he was chasing the backpack

RC: And since he placed the bomb between two dumpsters…

KB: He didn't think that anyone would get hurt. Then Bobby stole the backpack.

chronology!

"haranguing"

"business opportunity" lmao

How do they know it was seconds? Right they had his phone records w/o the ophone

Hold on, Westside knows that this is beethoven's 5th?

She called HIM? when?

Except when did SHE call HIM?

it was NOT the best vantage tho bc it exploded in a different place?

Except she would have had to continue reporting, she didn't just pop in for a few seconds, blow the bomb, then run to the storm drain

She KNOWS he's talking to HER but she DOUBTS it

Music recall & she gives congrats

captions said holler, sounded like he may have said yell. Does that mean he'll call her later?

LOVE HEARTBREAK GAACK

as always, thank you livejournal transcript https://scriptline.livejournal.com/64171.html

#castle 4x19 #castle 4x19 spoilers #castle s4 spoilers #castle 4x19 quote #the protest bomb episode #plot heavy but only in the sense that beckett accidentally revealed to castle that she doesn't remember nothing

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singingfolife · 2 years

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#AFewThings: 1. Many of us celebrated #Juneteenth by attending theme parties, cookouts, museums and events that included education about this time in US history. It cannot be discussed enough; A) Two years after the #EmancipationProclamation was established Black folk in the south and west were still treated as property as they did not know they had been freed. B). Former slave owners were compensated for their estimated losses (at appx $300 per person) as they no longer had free workers formerly cnsidered property. C. 2. Day 4 #January6thCommittee released information revealig @kanyewest publicist went to a Black woman's house to question her activity while she was volunteering at a Georgia voting precinct with her daughter, another volunteer. What made @treviankutti a publicist and average Amerian citizen believe she had the right to intimidate a volunteer poll worker falsely? #RubyFreeman began getting death threats because she was vewed pickicg up a pile of ballots and putting them back down. That's it. Did #Ye who referred to #45 as being, "like a father" to him support this? @CNN reported she told Ms. Freeman she was a "crisis manager" sent from "a high profile indvidual". How many more Black people supported #45 efforts to stay in office after being voted out? In addition, #45 supporter picketed at the homes of Secretaries of State and poll volunteer in appx 20 states to intimidate voting officials to "recount" votes already counted. There were no arrests. What would it take for @DOJ & @FBI to get involved? #BLM supporters protesting police misconduct were arrested in EVERY civic engagement. 3. What kind of Black folk like #45 even though he supports white suprecist violence against Black people and other POC? Have you asked your white friends how they justify this? The decision not to excercise your right to vote is a win for racism everywhere. Political opponents to equality do not want you to vote. #racematters #seeandcalloutinequality #crushracism #crushbigotry https://www.instagram.com/p/CfE9NXUuBex/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#afewthings #juneteenth #emancipationproclamation #january6thcommittee #rubyfreeman #ye #45 #blm #racematters #seeandcalloutinequality #crushracism #crushbigotry

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Long Time Coming

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,664 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics. Link to A03 or read below! You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.

The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.

You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.

The new suit further complicates things.

“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.

God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.

“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…

JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.

“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”

For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.

“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.

You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.

It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.

You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins. You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.

God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.

Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.

“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”

You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.

“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.

“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.

The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.

“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.

Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.

“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”

“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”

There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse. You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.

“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”

“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.

You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.

JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.

Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.

He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.

He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.

There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.

When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.

While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.

The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.

“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.

He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.

It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is. You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.

“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.

“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.

You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.

He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.

“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”

“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.

“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.

You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed. Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.

“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”

“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”

“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”

“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”

“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.

“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”

“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.

“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”

The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.

It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.

“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.

You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.

By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.

The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.

The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.

“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.

“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.

“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.

“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.

“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.

“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene. Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.

He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.

“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”

“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.

“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”

You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.

“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”

“Do you really mean that?”

You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.

Oh fucking fuck.

“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.

“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.

He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.

“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.

“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.

“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”

You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.

“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”

He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.

“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.

You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.

You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.

For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.

“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”

You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.

“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”

“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.

“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.

You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.

“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.

“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”

“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”

“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”

He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.

He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.

You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.

“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.

“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.

“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.” After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.

Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.

Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!

JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.

Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!

Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.

You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.

Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #prompt

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

rationalizations

rationalizations: a defense mechanism in which one makes up a false but reassuring explanation to explain their behavior and/or feelings to both themselves and others, thus avoiding the reality of why they are really acting or feeling as they do.

summary: You’re the psych evaluation for Spencer. You think he’s full of shit, so you refuse to sign his clearance form until he actually tells the truth.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

category: angst (happy ending)

content warnings: spencer’s canonical trauma, flashbacks, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, swearing

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ enemies to lovers event. it’s not my favorite trope, but one of the prompts sparked inspiration for me. i also took a good amount of inspiration from meredith’s various therapy scenes in grey’s anatomy, so if some of it feels familiar, that’s why! i swear i intended to make this cute and funny, but, well… here we are lmao.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Spencer throws his bag onto his desk with a frustrated huff. It thumps loudly, startling JJ at her desk across from his. She gives him a sympathetic look regardless. “Still not cleared yet?”

“No!” Forgetting that it’s wheeled, he drops himself into his chair. It skids backwards and he has to scramble to grab something to keep from falling out of it.

“Careful there,” JJ says, trying valiantly to suppress a laugh. “That psychologist's got you really worked up, huh?”

“I don’t know what she wants from me!” he complains. “It’s been nearly a month! Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub, but they cleared him. I was only shot in the neck.”

“I mean, that’s still kind of a big deal,” she says. “You could’ve died, from the gunshot, or from the nurse that tried to kill you afterwards.”

“Speaking of that nurse,” he starts, “Garcia is the one who shot him and she’s been a wreck over it. She insisted on going to the guy’s execution. But the therapist cleared her!”

“Penelope’s not in the field,” JJ points out.

He crosses his arms. “Still. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. That possibility is part of the job. It’s not like it came out of nowhere and I was completely unprepared for it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spence,” she says. “Just keep all of your appointments and I’m sure you’ll be cleared soon.”

He pulls a stack of papers on his desk towards him. Paperwork—one of the things he’s actually allowed to do. “I better be,” he mutters.

---

“And it was really scary, you know?” Spencer wipes at his eyes with a tissue. “Not knowing if I was going to live or die.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He takes a deep breath. “But… it’s over now. The preacher who shot me died in the same shootout. Owen McGregor, the leader of the corrupt deputies, died later that night, in another shootout. And Greg Baylor, the one who posed as a nurse and tried to kill me, was sentenced to death row and he’s gone now, too.”

His psychologist makes a note on the paper in front of her, but doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“I… I feel better now, just letting that out.” He takes a new tissue and dries his nose. “I feel ready now. Ready to go back to work.”

She nods slowly, considering him. But she doesn’t even look towards her desk where the clearance form sits, frustrating him to no end. After five minutes of silence, he breaks.

“You can’t be serious.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve been coming to these sessions for over a month, and I’m still not cleared to be in the field. I…” He musters up more tears and makes sure his voice wavers during his next words. “I just don’t know what you want? I’ve tried everything.”

“No, you haven’t,” she says plainly.

He blinks in surprise, sending some of the crocodile tears down his cheeks. “What?”

She crosses her legs. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not being honest with me, and I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself either,” she says. “You’re a great actor. I can see how you’ve gotten clearances easily before. But that stops with me.”

Spencer stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

She moves her notebook to the side. “What happened in Texas isn’t the first time your life’s been in danger. Why do you think that is?”

“Wh—that’s part of my job,” he argues, fake crying long since forgotten.

“Not to the extent that you take it. I’ve read your file,” she says. “You take unnecessary risks with regularity.”

The tissues crumple in his hand as he clenches it. “I do not.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of your career.” Yet she doesn’t take out his file, or look at her notes. She speaks from memory. “2005. The BAU is assisting with a hostage situation. You go into the train, posing as someone who is there to remove a microchip from the unsub, but the first thing you do? You take off your bulletproof vest.”

“Okay, clearly you don’t understand what the situation was,” Spencer cuts in. “Ted Bryar was suffering from a psychotic break. He was somewhat unpredictable, and he told me to take off the vest.”

“And you just listened?”

“He—he had a gun, and was threatening both me and the other passengers with it!” he says. “What was I supposed to do, not listen?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replies. “You easily played into his delusions just a few minutes later to distract him. Why not do that to keep yourself safe?”

“I was twenty-four and was running on adrenaline,” he says defensively. “And it was my first time doing something like that. You can’t expect me to think of everything.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” she agrees. “So let’s jump forward a few years. How about the time you approached a teenager who was wielding an assault rifle with no protection, not even your own firearm?” she challenges.

“You mean Owen Savage? That was a unique situation,” he protests. “I knew I could talk him down.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought you had a good chance, but there’s no way to be one hundred percent sure of that. He was volatile, and on a killing spree,” she counters. “You didn’t know if you’d succeed--”

“I did!” He startles himself by unconsciously raising his voice, but he doesn’t apologize. “I did, because….”

“Because you related to him,” she fills in. “And that’s fine. Having empathy for an unsub doesn’t suggest something’s wrong in and of itself. But you still put yourself, and the rest of your team, in danger, didn’t you?”

He crosses his arms. “I got that lecture from Hotch when it happened, okay?”

“So then why’d you confront an unsub alone a few years later in Miami?” she asks. “You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going. You left your vest behind and just ran off.”

“I was having a head—wait, how do you even know that happened?” he questions. “It wasn’t in the report.”

“Well, first of all, you just confirmed it,” she points out, and he wants to kick himself. “Secondly, I can read between the lines.”

“I was having a headache,” he repeats. “I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. I just knew Julio’s life was in immediate danger, so I went to help him.”

“Uh-huh. More recently,” she says, brushing past his excuse, “You confronted your girlfriend’s stalker without your vest or gun.”

Spencer’s getting angry now. “I was trying to save Maeve. She asked me to leave them behind.”

“And you simply listened. Do you see the pattern I’m drawing here, Dr. Reid?” she asks. “These are just a few of the instances that stand out. Time and time again, you put yourself in unnecessary danger. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think that is?”

Spencer looks over her—really looks over her, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “Are… are you suggesting that I’m suicidal?” he asks quietly.

She looks him straight in the eye. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

It’s like she set off a bomb in his brain. Memories, and the feelings attached to them, emerge—Elle handcuffed to a seat, a teenager with a rifle, a blinding headache, Maeve and blood on the warehouse floor.

“Here’s what I see,” she says. “I see a man who’s been through so, so much. Your mother is mentally ill, your father left--”

His father is packing a suitcase. Spencer doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say, so he falls back on what he knows.

“Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households.”

It doesn’t help. “We’re not statistics, Spencer.”

“Your file says she’s staying at an institution, and with your father out of the picture, I can only assume you were the one who had her admitted--”

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me!” she cries as she’s escorted out of the house by Bennington Sanitarium’s transport staff.

“A few years into your work here at the FBI, you were kidnapped, tortured and drugged--”

He’s tired and cold and his whole body aches. Tobias—the real Tobias—looms over him with a syringe.

“Please. I don’t want it,” he pleads of his captor. “I don’t want it, please.”

The needle punctures his skin regardless.

“—you were held hostage by a cult leader--”

Emily sits across from him on the plane with a black eye. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault.”

He pretends to agree.

“—you went through the death and reappearance of Agent Prentiss--”

He’s tried to make it clear to Jennifer that he wants to be left alone, but she won’t stop trying to talk about it with him, and he’s had enough.

“I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“—and your girlfriend was shot in front of you.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton? Who is he?” Diane demands, gun pressed against Maeve’s head.

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve replies, and Spencer’s heart drops. Thomas Merton is Maeve’s way of saying goodbye—she’s giving up.

“Wait!” he cries out, but it’s too late.

“This is just some of the more traumatic stuff. And then there’s what happened last month, which is why you’re here. You present a face of not being bothered by all of this, because that’s what you’ve been doing all your life, but I think you are bothered. You really, really are. And you don’t want to admit to anyone just how much it all has affected you. Maybe you don’t even want yourself to know.” Her expression and tone of voice are certain.

Spencer can’t take it anymore. The whirlwind of emotions and memories is overwhelming.

“The number of times you’ve almost died is staggering--”

“Yeah, and sometimes I wish I had!” He glares at her, breathing heavily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

But she doesn’t seem intimidated or alarmed at all. She leans back in her armchair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The response only serves to make him angrier. She questioned him relentlessly and made him admit something he swore in the dark hours of sleepless nights that he’d never think again, never voice, let alone admit to anyone. She forced it out of him, forced. She made him say it against his will.

So why does he feel a sense of relief?

“I…” Tears well up in his eyes—real ones this time. “I’m done,” he chokes out.

He pushes himself off of the couch and out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

---

He storms in Hotch’s office and demands to see a different psychologist. But she was one step ahead of him—a few hours before the appointment, she had emailed Hotch and told him that under no circumstances should Spencer be allowed to get a clearance from someone else.

“And you’re going to believe her?” he cries.

“She’s doing her job, Reid.”

“You barely know her! You’ve known me for a decade!”

“Yes, I have,” Hotch agrees. “And you’ve told me yourself that you’ve fooled psychologists and therapists before. So if this one is saying you’re not ready yet, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Spencer just stares at him, but as usual, Hotch doesn’t blink.

“Unbelievable,” Spencer eventually mutters.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Hotch replies, glancing down at fists Spencer hadn’t realized he was clenching.

“Fine.”

Too agitated to stand in the elevator, he takes the stairs. As he stomps down them, he swears he’ll never go back to her office, even if it means never going into the field again.

A week passes, then two, and he hasn’t seen the psychologist since. But he doesn’t feel any better—he actually feels worse. It’s like her words broke a dam in his mind, in his gut, and feelings of unease and uncertainty won’t pass. It keeps him up at night. Her words echo in his head. “You don’t act like someone who wants to be alive.”

Spencer’s had yet another sleepless night and is struggling not to doze off at his desk despite the coffee he’s drinking. He stands up with the intention of splashing some water from the bathroom sink on his face, but his feet take him somewhere else.

He stares at the nameplate on the door. He swore he’d never go back, yet he feels compelled to knock.

It only takes her a few moments to answer. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?” she asks.

“I…” He sighs. “Are you busy?”

“No. Come on in.” She steps to the side, opening the door wider to let him pass. He sits down on the couch.

She waits patiently. She doesn’t rush him. She lets him speak first.

He wrings his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Something you said is bothering me.”

“What was it?”

“About… living,” he admits quietly. “I… I think you might have been right.”

When he gets the courage to glance up at her, he finds a soft smile on her face. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Spencer hadn’t realized he was expecting judgment and disdain until it didn’t happen. His shoulders slump down in relief. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I would.”

---

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Spencer looks up from his paperwork, slightly out of it, to find Derek watching him. His coworker had, indeed, caught him thinking about her again. His psychologist. Well, former psychologist. After his second session back with her, she’d handed over a clearance form and a referral to a therapist outside the bureau to see long-term.

“And you better follow up with that,” she’d told him, the corner of her mouth turning up despite her serious tone of voice. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

He’d promised that he would, and had followed through. But despite the progress he was making with the new therapist, he was feeling a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see her anymore. He only saw her in passing, sometimes in the elevator or walking down the hallways of the building. They would exchange hellos, she would ask how he was doing, then give him a little wave as she left. Each time his heart would skip a beat, and he’d feel an urge to follow her to wherever she was going.

Yet he hadn’t quite realized why he seemed to be preoccupied with her until a dream he had a few weeks ago—a dream in which he found himself kissing her. Despite being alone in his bedroom, he’d woken up feeling embarrassed. He promised himself that he would put her out of his mind. Having a crush on his psychologist? It was ridiculous.

But then he saw her in the elevator a few days later and he couldn’t help but analyze her body language. It was open, and she twirled her hair around a finger while she looked at him to ask him how he was. A few other people entered the elevator on the next floor, but her attention remained on him. They were subtle signs, but signs that he recognized nonetheless—signs of attraction. And once he started seeing them, he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer tells Derek, picking back up the pen he hadn’t noticed he dropped.

“You can’t pull that on me, kid,” he replies. “It’s your psychologist. You can’t stop thinking about her, can you?”

Spencer sighs. “So what if I can’t?”

“So go ask her out already!” Derek says like it’s obvious.

“You don’t think that’s just a little inappropriate?”

“You’re not seeing her as a client anymore, are you?” he points out. “Go for it, kid. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Spencer takes the advice—as soon as Derek said it, he knew he was right. He would regret not taking a chance on her and the connection he felt. Sure, she’d helped him with therapy, but it went deeper than that. It feels like she knows him.

He leaves the bullpen ten minutes early that evening, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. On her doorstep, he feels just as nervous as he did on the day he admitted that she was right, but it’s a different kind of nervous. An excited nervous. He knocks on the door.

She’s surprised when she seems him. He watches as her pupils dilate, and it boosts his confidence. “Dr. Reid. Can I help you?”

“You can. I’d like to talk,” he says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I could do that,” she says. “I thought things were going well with the therapist I referred you to, though.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean I want an appointment.”

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Okay, then, what do you want?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I really like you, and I think we’re meant to be together,” he replies, voice softening a bit.

She pauses before answering. When she does, her voice is gentle. “Dr. Reid, sometimes a medical professional’s care can start to feel like affection over a period of time, but--”

“No one has ever listened to me like you do,” he interrupts.

“That’s my job,” she points out.

“I’ve seen therapists before, but none of them have been like you,” he counters. “You understand me.”

She sighs. “Well, I’m glad I was a good fit and was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean that I see you as anything more than a client.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do feel something more for me,” he says firmly, but then backtracks a little. “Well, I know you’re attracted to me at least.”

She blinks and shakes her head slightly, take aback. “Dr. Reid, this is not appropriate--”

“Please call me Spencer,” he says, then jumps into his explanation. “See, when we’re attracted to someone, our bodies display involuntary signals, and I’ve seen you do some of them when you’re around me. Whenever we run into each other here, your body will turn a little towards me and you’ll play with your hair. Your attention is almost entirely focused on me. And, when you see me, your pupils dilate. They did it when you opened the door just a few minutes ago. Oh, and I’m attracted to you, by the way,” he adds as he realizes how one-sided he’s been. “I imagine my pupils probably dilate when I see you, too.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. She looks flustered, and he wonders if maybe he’s pushed it too far or said too much, but he can’t turn back now. “So, please, let me take you out,” he says quietly. “Just… just give it a chance.”

She bites her lip and looks at the ground. There’s a crease between her eyebrows, which he’s come to learn means she’s thinking. She speaks seriously when she looks back up. “If I go out with you, I can’t treat you anymore. If you ever need another evaluation or session, you’d have to get it from someone else.”

“I know,” he says. “I get along well with the therapist you referred me to, though. And having to get clearance from a different psychologist at the bureau is something I’m willing to give up in favor of getting to know you better.”

She considers him. “You’re serious about this,” she states.

It’s not a question, but he answers it anyways. “I am.”

She tilts her head to the side, eyes unfocusing as she ponders the situation. Eventually, she says, “Let me think about it.”

It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, but he’ll take it.

---

It’s only six PM, but Spencer is already exhausted. He unlocks his apartment door, fully intending to collapse onto his bed, but instead receives a pleasant surprise in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him on the couch. He can’t help but smile.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Penelope told me it was a bit of a rough case,” she replies. “And I missed you.”

She holds out her arms and he takes the invitation, joining her on the couch and laying down between her legs, placing his head on her chest. “I missed you, too.”

Her next words are overly familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hey, we agreed to no therapy,” he says. “Something about I can’t be your client anymore?”

She huffs. “This isn’t therapy. This is being a good partner.”

Spencer smiles into the fabric of her shirt, snuggling in closer. “I know, I’m just teasing you. I don’t need to talk about the case,” he says, finally answering her original question. “I feel fine now that I’m here with you.”

She lets out a pleased hum and starts running her fingers through his hair. “I ordered take-out for dinner, by the way.”

“Where from?”

“You know where.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. She must have ordered take-out from the restaurant he took her to on their first date. He lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Aren’t you glad you said yes to me all those months ago?”

“Oh, I suppose,” she says with pretend annoyance, rolling her eyes.

Then she kisses him.

Spencer’s never been so happy to be alive.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

please note that i DO NOT ENDORSE asking out your therapist/former therapist. this is fanfiction. thank you.

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #i just cannot stop myself from writing about mental health issues and treatment can i

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x-reader-theater · 3 years

Note

We know that Spencer wants kids like he says so in the serie so I was think a Spencer x male reader where the reader work at the bau with him and Spencer got a crush on him and one day the reader's kid come and the team met them and Spencer like '' you have a kid? '' and I don't know but I know that he will be such a good dad and a lot of fluff and sweet Spencer

I really hope you like this one! I always get really mad at the writers whenever they mention that Spencer can't have kinds but like, he can, just not biological ones. Like, he can adopt or find a partner that has a kid and he'll still be a great dad. I poured a lot of that frustration into making this as cute as possible. @mystic-writes edited this, as well as everything else that I write I just like @ing her every time loll. Also, I'm running out of gifsssssssss

"Hey, Spence!" you exclaim, sitting at the desk across from his.

His cheeks flare up red and he whispers, "Hey, [Y/N]."

You smile at him. "Have a good weekend?"

He nods. "Yeah, I watched a couple documentaries, read some new books I just got-"

"Oh!" you exclaim, making Spencer jump in his seat. You rummage around in your backpack before pulling out a book, and handing it to him. "I got you this. I don't know if you already have it, or have read it, but, I thought you might like it," you say, holding the book out to him.

He grabs it and reads the title. “Timechart History of the World: 6000 Years of World History Unfolding.” It's a thick book, with more than 500 pages at least, and a smile lights up Spencer's face.

"Where did you find this?" he asks and you shrug.

"Got an ad for something similar online, but it didn't look too credible. So, I did some digging, and found this," you say, gesturing to the book in Spencer's hands.

He grins at you and says, "Thank you, so much! I-I'm sorry I don't have anything for you…"

You wave him off, saying, "Really, it's no big deal. It's a gift." He nods, but doesn't seem convinced until you say, "Happy Birthday, Spencer."

You were the only one who remembered.

–

"Hotch, I really need to talk to you," you say, gripping your son's hand tightly, but not enough to hurt. Looking from your son to you, he nods and motions for you to follow him into his office, where he closes the door and shuts the blinds. He sits down in his chair and you motion for Harry to sit on the couch, pulling out a children's book for him to read while you talk with Hotch.

"Who's this?" he asks and you smile as you sit down.

"My son, Harrison. Most people just call him Harry," you explain and Hotch nods, but doesn't speak. "I'm so sorry to have to ask this, but Harry's school has a day off and he's too young to stay at home alone, and his normal sitter works during the day and I don't have family out here and I don't trust another sitter and-"

"[L/N]. It's okay. I get it," Hotch says and you suck in a deep breath. "Strauss says we're not getting any cases after our last one went so wrong. As long as he doesn't get in the way or distract too much, it's okay."

You sigh and smile gratefully, yet tiredly, and say quietly, "Thank you so much for this. I owe you, big time."

Hotch shakes his head. "I know what it's like to be a single parent. I'm just lucky I have Jessica," he says and you nod. "If a case comes up, you can go home and take care of your son. We'll call you if we need anything." You nod and get up out of the chair, and turn towards Harry when Hotch says, "Oh, and [L/N]?" You turn around and face him. "Maybe Harry can meet Jack sometime? I would have asked sooner if I knew…"

You smile. "I think that would be a lot of fun. They're roughly the same age."

Hotch nods and you hold your hand out to Harry, who takes it, and you lead him to your desk in the bullpen. You set up a blanket and some toys and books underneath your desk, and Harry makes himself very happy by your feet as you crack open a few case files and start working on some extra work.

A couple of hours later, the bullpen is filled with your colleagues, chatting idly, pawning work off onto Spencer, which you take some of to lighten his workload, and people grabbing each other coffee. You haven't gotten up once, instead staying seated, unintentionally hiding your son underneath your desk.

But, that wouldn't last forever.

"Papa?" you hear Harry call from underneath you, quietly.

Spencer's head snaps up, as well as JJ's, and you pull your chair back to look at your son and say, "Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'm hungry," he says, and you nod, reaching into your bag and pulling out a little Iron Man lunch box.

You place it on your desk and hold your arms out, saying, "You have to eat at the desk, but you can sit in my lap."

He nods and crawls up into your lap, and you see now everyone's looking at you as Harry hides his face in your chest. "It's okay, sweetie. They're Papa's friends," you say quietly, and Harry turns around enough to open his lunch box, pull out a packet of goldfish, and turn back into your chest, opening it and eating. You smile and kiss his head.

"Who's this?" JJ asks and you smile when Harry presses his face even further into your chest.

"This is Harrison. But, you can call him Harry," you say, rubbing one of your hands up and down his back. "He's my son."

"Son?" Morgan says, frowning. "I didn't know you were married."

You shake your head. "I'm not. Never was. It was a one night stand. Didn't realize that the condom broke. She died shortly after she had him, and I was given custody. I was a twenty-something just starting with the FBI, who now had a four-week-old living with him," you say, and everyone looks at you, shocked. Even Harry is looking at you like you haven't told him this a million times before. "But, I wouldn't change it for the world. He's the best thing to ever happen to me."

Emily and JJ both "Aw!" and Derek smiles. Spencer's still looking at you, shocked.

"Did you know that male emperor penguins exhibit a feature unique among penguins. If the chick hatches before the female returns, the male, despite his fasting, is able to produce and secrete a curd-like substance from his esophagus to feed the chick, allowing for survival and growth for up to two weeks," Spencer explains. "Which makes them one of the best fathers in the animal kingdom."

You smile and hug Harry closer to you, saying, "My little penguin."

He laughs and moves his face away from your chest and says, "Papa really likes seahorses."

"Yes! Seahorses are also great father's. In fact.."

Spencer rambles about anything Harry asks about, and eventually, the boy gets up from your lap and settles in Spencer's, just listening to him talk about nothing and everything. You actually manage to get all your work done, as well as some of Spencer's to make sure he isn’t seen as slacking off, though you don't know how he could ever be seen that way.

Eventually, the end of the day comes, and you gather up all of your things from underneath and on top of your desk, putting them away in your bag, and you go around the desks to hold your arms out to Harry.

"Alright, sweetheart. Time to go home," you say, and in protest he just wraps his arms tighter around Spencer's neck. You sigh. "Honey, Spencer probably has things to do. We should let him go home."

Harry whimpers and Spencer actually wraps an arm around him. "I don't mind. Honestly. I can come home with you and then walk home. It's not a big deal."

You shake your head. "If you're coming home with us, you're not leaving without dinner." Spencer nods and you grab his satchel for him, slinging it around your shoulders as he carries Harry out, still talking about nothing.

You cook Spencer a good, home cooked meal, and when you drive him home that night, you kiss him.

Six months later, Harry calls him "Dad" and you realize that, before this moment, you've never seen Spencer cry tears of joy before.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x male reader #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #my work #my writing

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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

The Wisdom of Pulling Teeth

(A/N): This was requested by an anon. Enjoy reading!

Summary: Spencer's daughter gets her wisdom teeth removed. How funny will she be after that?

Warnings: Mentions of medication, dentist talks, bad jokes, taking medications and being high because of them

Wordcount: 1k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

As the child of an FBI agent there are not many irrational fears one has. Spencer always warns his daughter about the scum of people, the evil he himself has witnessed.

Between rapists, murderers, stalkers and other bad people is one kind (Y/N) also fears, if not even the most: Dentists.

Every appointment is linked to pain and loud noises in her head. Luckily for the teenager she has good hygiene and except for the annual check-ups she doesn’t need to go to one very often. This is until the latest appointment. Her dentist made the girl get her x-rays done and found out that her wisdom teeth are growing out the wrong way.

“We need to pull all four of them out in order for your other teeth to stay at the position they are now”, she told the teenager. Spencer sat with her in the room, listening to the diagnosis. He made an appointment to get all of them out at once, knowing there is nothing in the world that is able to get his daughter enduring the same pain twice.

Today is the day. The fridge is prepared with food easy to eat, like mashed potato, soup and baby food. Her room is already darkened for her to come home and just sleep the anesthetics off. Cool packs are in the freezer ready to use along with ice cream. It seems like nothing can go wrong.

But everytime Spencer thinks that there is at least one thing that doesn’t go as planned. It’s not that the team got a case and the time he wants to take off if work is in danger. It’s also not (Y/N) herself protesting to go. She knows that if she doesn’t let the dentist do her work that she will have problems and complications in the future with her bitings, resulting in seeing a dentist more often. That’s why (Y/N) complies to her father.

It’s that Spencer hadn’t thought about her anesthetics. To be more specific: How they are going to make his child loopy.

In this case he hasn’t expected to have her escorted out of the treatment room by two nurses, each of them having one arm around her shoulders. “Daddy-O! This is amaaaaazing! I feel soo good and it didn’t huwt wone bit!” She tells him in an excited manner. Her speech is impedinated by the gauge the teenager has in her mouth.

One of the nurses gives him her prescribed painkillers and explains how to redress the wounds and when to come back for a last check up. Spencer carefully stores the instructions in his mind, like he does with the medicine in his satchel. Then he takes his daughter into his arms and tries to navigate her back to the car.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” The father asks while putting her seatbelt on. Her mood suddenly changes. “I only know 25 letters of the alphabet”, (Y/N) whispers shocked. He looks at her confused. “How so, Darling?”

Once again her mood changes and she begins to cackle. “I don’t know y! Do you get it Dad! Y like the letter. Gosh, I’m so funny. Do you think John Mulaney would do a stand up with me? I have to tell the others the joke. Please don’t ruin my pointe!”

Quickly she puts Jack and Henry in a group chat, to tell them the joke, too. Meanwhile Spencer gets into the car and starts driving.

“Dad, Ellen DeGeneres has my teeth now.” She states, deadly serious. He glances at her. “Does she? Did you ask her for an autogramm for your Aunt Penelope?” This is the moment where (Y/N) dissolves into tears. “I forgot that she likes her. Dad, I’m a bad niece, please don’t tell her that I met her. She’ll be so disappointed in me.” He scrambles for an answer to calm her down. Having a teenager high on anesthetics is stressier than a toddler in their terrible twos.

“Hey, it’s ok. It’s our little secret, alright?” She looks at him, checking for any kind of evidence that he is lying. “You promise?” “I promise.” They link their pinkies at a red traffic light.

“Dad, I’m tired. Please wake me up when it’s all over. When I’m wiser and I’m older”, the teenager tells her father and then is out like a light. Spencer lets out a sigh of relief. At least now he doesn’t have to worry about her doing something dumb.

A little later they reach their apartment complex and he kills the engine in their parking lot. “Sweetheart, you have to wake up. I can’t carry you.” The father gently shakes her shoulder. “Let me be, Dad. Just call Uncle Derek, he is even able to lift a driving car with an elephant in.” (Y/N) pushes his hands off her, but still gets up.

Luckily she is steadier on her feet now, there is no way Spencer would have been able to drag her all the stairs up to the fourth story. Finally passing the door to their apartment he lets his satchel fall down at the foot of their coat racket. Then the doctor maneuvers his daughter into her room. She goes on and on about something in a language he isn’t even sure of its existence.

“Here you go, Sweetheart. Please take these, they’ll make sure you are in no pain when you wake up again”, her father tells her while handing her a couple of painkillers. She inspects them thoroughly. “Will they grow me a second head?” (Y/N) asks suspiciously. “Uhm, do you want them to?” “No. People would look at me weirdly. Our society is not ready for people with more than one head. They can’t even handle it when people have no gender!” “Then no. In fact they prevent you from growing a second head.”

Content with his answer she swallows them and lays down. “You can go now. I need to be left alone. This beauty needs her sleep.” Quietly Spencer leaves the room, wondering what the following days have in store for him.

One thing definitely is certain: A grumpy teenager. Because dealing with cheeks looking like the ones a hamster has isn’t funny.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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I really wanna know what happened during the painful bath that Nanda promised Jameson a while back. Baths in whump have the potential to be so soothing and excruciating at the same time, which kinda fits Jameson’s whole character don’t you think?

CW: Pet whump, dehumanizing language, intimate whumper, dubcon touch NSFW (not explicit), implied dubcon (fade to black), referenced blood and whipping, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, creepy comfort, drowning, talk of sui (to escape torture), implied death by drowning (unnamed oc)

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

NEW VIDEOS of the Box Boy Killer! Never Before Seen!

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee 14h ago

So I got a really good response to my short series on the mysterious Box Boy Serial Killer (you can find my previous write-ups here, here, and here).

Well, recently I discovered something entirely new that I think you'd enjoy getting a look at! Found among personal items belonging to Nathaniel "Nanda" Matthew Benson: a medium-sized external hard drive containing nearly 750GB of photo and video content.

The hard drive was labeled 'Personal'. Police stated there was a second hard drive labeled 'Professional', but what content was on there, if anything, has never been released.

Technically, neither has this. Someone from within the police department leaked a bunch of videos and photos at some point, and I was able to get ahold of them thanks to a friend of a friend (who shall go unnamed, don't want to tip off whatever FBI agent is watching his internet activity, haha... or is it her or their internet activity... FBI Agent will never know.)

In my writeup on Nanda Benson's life with his Boxie, I didn't have a ton of details on how they interacted with each other. Finding this trove of info definitely changed a few things on how I view their relationship.

Take a look and let me know if it makes you maybe reconsider a few details, too. FYI: This does have nudity and some spicy times! Nothing worse than you've seen on HBO or whatever, but like, fair warning.

[Embedded Video Player With Title: Bathtime With Boxie: NSFW and Yet Somehow Still Oddly Wholesome Kind Of]

The video begins with the tub already filled with water, hot enough to gently steam. It's a gigantic soaker tub, large enough for four people to easily sit without crowding, nestled alongside a window in a truly enormous, incredibly well-lit bathroom. Everything is in shades of white, which makes the person in the frame even more immediately the enter of attention.

A young man with short, shaggy brown hair and dark eyes sits in the tub. He looks up, wrinkling his nose and glancing away. Only then does a bright red mark, darkening already to a bruise become obvious on one side of his neck.

"Don't fucking tape this," He says. His voice is slightly rough-edged, as if he's been screaming, and he sounds exhausted. "That's weird. Not taping the fucking but taping the after bit."

Red welts are visible above the line of water, marking his shoulders and arms. The welts are a deep red that is nearly purple - they are surrounded by bright red irritated flesh.

"Oh, but I like you like this." The voice holding the camera is deep and amused. The camera wobbles slightly and then settles, and soon enough a second man enters the screen. It's clearly Nanda Benson himself, stark naked.

Where the Boxie is heavily bruised and beaten, Nanda himself would be spotless if he weren’t flecked with drying red spots that are clearly the pet's blood.

"Yeah, well." The pet shifts to the side as Nanda steps in, hissing softly in contentment at the sudden burst of heat when he enters the water. He settles down against a bench set in to the side of the tub, and opens his arms.

The pet moves immediately into them, without hesitating. His eyes flicker nervously back to the camera and then away again.

"Yeah, well-... yeah well what, pet?" Nanda laughs as he pulls the Boxie into his lap, toying one hand already damp from the tub over the ring at the front of his collar. "Cat got your tongue after that fun we had together?"

"Tongue's the only thing you didn't take," The pet responds, almost playfully flirtatious. "I guess you'd miss it too fucking much."

"If I took your voice, who would call me a fucking idiot before I fuck him into the ground, hm?"

The pet flushes, looking down at the water, at the slightest pink of his blood still running into it. "Sir-"

"Ssssshhhh. I like you insulting me. I like punishing you for it more." Nanda mouths at the unmarked side of the pet's neck, pulling him back-to-chest where he sits, so he's facing the camera directly again. The pet's back arches when Nanda's teeth dig in, making a soft, high-pitched whine as his head drops back onto the man's shoulder.

The camera picks up the quiet splash of water as the pet tries to move away and is pulled roughly right back, catches the refracted sight of Nanda's hands on the pet's thighs forcing them apart, each of his calves on the outside of Nanda's thighs.

"Please-... H-hurts-"

"You love it," Nanda whispers, and bites down again, right into the crook of the pet's neck where it meets his shoulder. The cry this time is wild with a mix of pain and something darker, the pet's hands moving helplessly up and back to clasp just behind Nanda's head. His back is nearly a bow, every muscle trembling with a need to escape and to hold perfectly still, both at once.

When Nanda pulls back this time, the camera picks up the blood smeared on his teeth before he runs his tongue over them. It finds the light glinting off the fresh blood welling from the new bite along the pet's shoulder.

"It's too much," The pet says, struggling to sit back up straight, turning to look at Nanda. For a moment, his shaggy damp hair and angle hides his expression from the camera's gaze.

The twist of his spine, though, shows the bloodied whiplashes making their way up his back nearly to the nape of his neck.

"It's too much," The pet repeats, in a whisper. "Please. Please, it's too fucking much, if you fuck me again I'll fucking die. Please."

"Now, pet," Nanda teases, flirts shamelessly, running his wet hands through the pet's hair. He grips on tight and forces his head back again. The profile of the pet's face shows the slight bump of a broken nose healed almost perfectly, but not quite. The gasp he makes when Nanda's free hand presses over the welts on his chest is loud enough for the camera to catch. "You know you don't get to say when it's too much."

"You'll f-fucking kill me," The pet protests, voice tight from the angle forcing his collar to dig painfully into his throat. "Please, I... everything hurts so much..."

"You love the pain." Nanda's eyes look up to meet the camera before a more sinister smile finds its way across his face. "I know what you can take better than you do, pet, and I think you can handle one more. Sssshhh, here we go. There..." Nanda exhales softly as the two of them shift in the tub, the pet making a soft pained sound, his hips rolling as he is worked slowly down into position.

Then Nanda chuckles and slides his entire arm over the welts marking the pet's torso, holding him tightly in place. "Now take a deep breath."

"Wh-what?" The pet's eyes widen, comprehension coming a half-second too late. "Wait, don't-"

Nanda's hand gripped into the pet's hair plunges him forwards, bent at the waist, forcing the Box Boy's head suddenly under the water. The pet struggles desperate trying to get his head back up to breathe. Nanda grunts in a rhythm as his hips snap up and down again. He groans, "So fucking tight, goddamn I love you, you fucking slut for me-"

[/END VIDEO]

The video cuts off there, but my friend tells me the rest of it is basically the kind of stuff you have to pay a monthly fee for everywhere else on the internet.

But there's another video, from way later, that I find a really interesting contrast and comparison. Same friend got me this one. It involves Robert, whose write-up you can see right here.

[EMBEDDED VIDEO: Titled Holy Shit, No Wonder He Killed Him]

The screen is black for a few seconds, with the sound of someone taking the cap off a camera before things come into blurry view and then slowly into focus.

The bathroom in this video is tiny. It's barely large enough for everything in it, and a person sitting on the toilet will damn near bash their knees into the side of the bathtub. The grout in the tile floor is dark with old stains, and the tile itself needs either serious scrubbing or an exorcism.

Sitting naked in the bathtub is a young man with long blond hair that hangs in filthy, dirty clumps down to his shoulders. His face is streaked with mud and worse, and he has a black eye that has nearly swelled his left eye shut entirely. His hands are bound with rope stained brown with dried blood, held up in front of him.

His one good eye, maybe blue, follows with a kind of resigned terror the person behind the camera.

He sits in water up to his waist, but by the way he is shivering, it's clear that the water is not even warm, let alone hot. Further bruises mark his ribcage and his legs. One leg juts out in front, and something about it seems like it might be broken.

The camera is handheld, panning slowly from the young man's torn and lacerated heels and feet through his bruised leg - one swollen - and then back up to his face.

"Tell me your name." The voice is Robert Weber's.

The young man's mouth twists in a snarl that fades as quickly as it came and he looks away, to the side of the tub marked with deep soap scum. When Robert's house is searched, there are scratches in the tub as though someone had clawed that deeply into the sides in an attempt to escape. "It's..." The young man inhales, winces at the pain. "It's twe-... Twenty-One. M-My name is... Twenty-One."

"Good. And-... what did we practice saying next?"

The man's jaw trembles visibly onscreen. Then he says, flat and numb, "My name is Twenty-One and I have... two weeks to l-live."

"Perfect. Now I promised you a good scrubbing if you played along downstairs-" The young man flinches, closing his good eye and curling up in the tub as best he can. "-and I will keep that promise." There's a pause, jostling as the camera is slotted into a tripod to continue filming. Then, Robert's voice is suddenly deafening. "Dog! Get the fuck in here!"

The door opens with the creak of hinges deeply in need of oiling, and then the Boxie moves into view. He's skinny, malnourished and underfed, and his hair is roughly cut short in uneven hunks. He has bald spots worn in by the muzzle that is buckled over his mouth, making his breathing an audible rasp. He glares with unhidden hatred.

"Give Twenty-One a bath," Robert says, and his hand moves into view as he pats the Boxie on the head. The Boxie flinches but then forces himself to hold still, closing his eyes as the pat turns into prolonged petting. His muzzle is unbuckled and then removed. Robert's fingers drift over his bald spots, play along the red marks pressed into his skin by the muzzle, move over a scar cut into one side of his mouth that wasn't there in the video with Nanda.

The Boxie is naked but for an old dog collar around his neck.

Robert hums, disappears entirely from view. The door opens and closes again. The sound of a lock clicks.

The Boxie looks at the young man in the bathtub, who doesn't look up. "Fuck this shit," The Boxie mumbles, but he moves - dragging one of his legs a little, and there are ropes tied around his ankles that ensure he can do little more than shuffle - and finally kneels next to the tub. "Are you going to be a shit?"

The young man looks at him with surprise. "You... I've never heard you talk before," He whispers, looking fearfully to the side towards the door.

"You've never seen me without the fucking muzzle before, either," The pet replies. His voice is far rougher than the first video, suggesting long-term damage to his vocal chords. "I asked you something. Are you going to fight me and be a shit about this or no?"

The young man hesitates, then shakes his head. "I couldn't fight if I wanted to anymore," He says, like a man confessing a sin. "It all hurts too much. You know? I had a girlfriend-"

"Stop it." The pet cuts him off and leans over, picking up a stiff washcloth and soaking it in the water until it's soft enough to use again, running it over the young man's shoulders. For all the edge of meanness in his voice, the pet's touch is clearly gentle. "You're going to fucking die here, better if you don't talk about stuff that gets you fucked up first. Forget her."

The young man leans over to give easier access to his back. The soft whimpers he makes show that there must be some grievous injuries back there that the camera can't see. "I-I know I will. Die, I mean. Do I really have-... is it really two weeks?"

"Yeah." The pet takes a bar of soap and runs it over his own hands, rubbing them together to work up a lather. The soap found in Robert Weber's house after his death is Irish Spring and Dove - it is believed he used different soap for different captives according to his own odd whims. "He's put little heart shapes on a calendar he marks off. He'll hurt you a little worse every fucking day and then make you beg for him to end it."

The young man slowly nods, looking at his bound wrists. There's a soft sniff, but he seems too tired for tears. "There's no chance of getting away, is there."

It's not really a question.

The pet answers anyway.

"You're the twenty-first, and none of the others have. What do you think?"

"I-I can't do this."

"You have to." The pet gets a red Solo cup sitting on the side of the tub, fills it with water, and pours it down the young man's back. He hisses and cries out softly in pain. "He doesn't exactly ask your goddamn preferences."

"Help me escape," The young man pleads. "Help me get out of here."

"I'm fucking hobbled," the pet snaps. "He'll be on us both before we even made it out of the hallway. You think I'm fucking stupid? I'm the only one who might not die if I stay good. Come on, lean forward so I can wash your hair."

The young man moves to obey, hands disappearing beneath the filthy bathwater, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. He and the pet share a long, silent moment. Then he leans over far enough to put his mouth nearly to the pet's ear and whispers something so low that the camera doesn't pick up the words.

The pet inhales sharply.

He looks at the door, and then back to the young man.

"Are you sure?" He asks, and the edge is totally gone from his voice, now.

The young man nods, slowly. "Please," he says, a little louder. "If I have to-... please. Not him. I-I know you'll get punished, but... please. God, please, just this one thing." His hands come back up to grip onto the pet's hand where it lays along the side of the tub.

The young man leans forwards, and his forehead gently rests against the pet's. They are silent for a long moment.

"Please, don't let him be the one to kill me," The young man says. "I know I'm g-going to die, but... let me take that a-... away from him. Please. God, I don't even know your name, but-... please."

The pet swallows, then nods, tipping his head back to press a kiss to the young man's forehead. "I don't have a name. What's your name? I'll remember it. Your real name."

The young man's throat bobs and he whispers into the pet's ear again.

He sits back up, leaning over until some of his long hair falls into the water. "I'm-... I'm ready."

The pet takes a deep, deep breath, moves up to kneeling with his thighs vertical, lays both hands on the back of the young man's head, and says, "I hope it's better, wherever you go."

Then he pushes the young man's head underneath the water.

[/END VIDEO]

According to my friend, there's more to that video as well, but obviously it's been cut to take out the end of the poor guy. Now, my friend swears up and down the pet is crying at the end of the video, that he can see tears, but I'm not sure.

That doesn't really line up with the pet killing people before this, you know?

But one thing it does prove is that the Boxie knows the name of one of the unidentified victims. If he could be found, we could give that man back his name and get his family the closure they deserve.

I know some of you argued with me last time that the Boxie is clearly a VICTIM and not a PERPETRATOR, and I definitely admit this second video maybe suggests you're on to something there.

But I still think we have a Boxie killer on our hands here - I just think maybe I was wrong about why he's killing them at all.

I guess we'll find out if he kills again.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

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