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sundrop-writes · 2 months

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Careful - Chapter Three

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Three: Turn It Off

Before it gets any better - we're headed for a cliff.

Summary:

Spencer finally gets to see his son for the first time, and there is absolutely no denying - that is his son.

Caught up in a whirlwind of love for the boy and navigating the first small steps in co-parenting with you, he accidentally trips into a minefield from the past when discussing Sebastian's conception, and you both realize with baited breath that you might not be over each other.

(Especially not when that lust still burns so close to the surface.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst, Fluff, and Smut.

Word Count: 13,400

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: basic warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing; mentions of the reader being the target of a serial killer; angst/emotional tension between Spencer and the reader; (technically) Spencer being unprofessional by staying on the reader’s case; Sebastian is described to be a combination of the reader and Spencer’s looks, so this does not describe or exclude the reader’s looks/race; the bulk of this chapter is fluff because Spencer is bonding with Sebastian for the first time; most of the warnings for this chapter are because of the smut scene (which is a flashback to Sebastian’s (unintentional) conception) - so warning for smut; (kind of) phone sex; mentions of the reader masturbating; (Spencer calls the reader and she’s touching herself and he realizes it, but there’s not any real dirty talk in this section); the reader calls Spencer ‘baby’; Spencer calls the reader ‘darling’; mention of Spencer feeling emotionally worn down from looking at casefiles; unprotected penis in vagina sex (though Spencer is unsure if the reader is taking oral birth control consistently or not); there is a lack of communication about alternative birth control methods aside from condoms (like plan B and oral birth control) - but both partners enthusiastically consent to having unprotected sex in that moment, knowing the potential risks; creampie kink (not quite breeding kink?); mentions of Spencer eating out the reader after cumming inside of her; there is a scene with a lot of sexual tension between Spencer and the reader in the main timeline. Other than that - Morgan teasing Spencer? (and then having a serious moment with him). And I think that’s it.

A/N: This is by far the longest chapter - I don't know the official length of the final chapter yet, but this might be the longest chapter in the series. It was a bitch to edit, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Especially because I know a lot of people have been anticipating Spencer meeting Sebastian for the first time, and this is the big moment. I'm not gonna lie, when I was writing the first bits of this fic, I rushed to write the moment where Spencer meets Sebastian - and it gave me chills to write it. So I really hope that you guys enjoy it, and you enjoy the sweet moments in this fic, as well as the more saucy ones lmao.

...

Spencer churned with nerves as he walked back up to the house, two gift bags clutched in his shaking hand.

He had walked around the mall for a long time - partial aimless wandering, partial sweaty anxiety causing his feet to move along rapidly. He felt like everything he looked at was not the right gift to apologize to you with after so long. He felt like it needed to be perfect.

After about an hour of wandering, Hotch called him and tore him a new one. Apparently JJ had pulled him aside and explained the delicate nature of his situation privately. Hotch knew how dangerous it was to get so personal and emotional when it came to things like this, and he wanted Spencer back at the police station and far away from you. He said that if you needed protective custody, then he would put Morgan or Prentiss in charge of it.

Spencer didn’t care if it was unprofessional. He begged to stay on the case, to stay with you and watch over you. Apparently you were the only viable lead - with the flowers that had been sent to you, you were the only potential next victim.

After a while of back and forth, Hotch folded.

He sent an unmarked car to watch over your house, and told Spencer to hurry up and get back there. He needed to try and convince you to agree to around the clock protection. At the very least, if Spencer was in the house when the UnSub tried to break in, he could catch him in the act.

The rest of the team tried to farm other leads. They went through the other victims’ lives to see if anybody connected to them had any connection to the firm that handled the preschool applications, if any of their neighbors remembered anybody suspicious lurking around their homes in the days before the murders.

Spencer spent another hour rushing around the shopping center before he found the perfect gifts for you and your son - his son. (He really, really hoped that he was right about that.)

He picked up a couple of gift bags - one with a brightly colored pattern of teddy bears eating birthday cake and the other with a more mature pattern of soft roses. He put the gifts inside and rushed to get back to the house before Hotch called him again.

And now that he was standing on the porch, facing down your door again, he almost couldn’t work up the ability to knock.

But he knew that he had to face the inevitable.

He reached out and gave three firm knocks once again.

This time, what he heard surprised him.

A loud, squealing giggle, and a round of thunderous footsteps across the floor, slightly muffled by the door. Clearly - the sound of a young child.

Spencer’s blood rushed through his body like a tidal wave and he found himself dizzy as he stared at the white panels of your front door, anticipation thumping through him. After a tedious moment that felt like four long years, the doorknob slowly turned, and the door creaked open.

Peeking out of the crack - a big, curious eye, and half a chubby cheek poked out at him.

Your son had answered the door by himself.

Spencer swallowed down nerves as he prepared himself to meet Sebastian for the first time.

Upon instinct, Spencer crouched down lowly on the balls of his feet, getting down onto the child’s level.

“Hey, buddy.” He said, using a light voice, trying to be as non-intimidating as possible. “Where’s your Mommy?”

Mommy.

It felt so strange - using that word to refer to you. But yes, you were his mother.

You were a mother.

That fact truly hit Spencer like a truck in that moment.

Unexpectedly, Sebastian then flung the door open fully. It seemed that he had fully assessed Spencer, and deemed him as someone friendly, rather than some kind of threat.

A large knot formed in Spencer’s stomach then, as he saw his son for the first time. Because in that moment, there was no denying - this was his son.

He saw his own big eyes staring back at him, reflecting the same epic curiosity that he had at that age. He had your complexion, most definitely your same skin tone. The boy had your sweet smile, your cute nose. Spencer ached as he realized that Sebastian was quite literally the perfect combination of the two of you. His own wild, untamable tendrils (hair that clearly hadn’t been cut for a while) with tones of your natural color in it - your sweetness, your laughter.

Spencer used all of his self control in that moment to keep himself from fainting on the spot.

“Who are you?” Sebastian asked, tilting his head slightly, inspecting Spencer with a distinct up-and-down glance. “Are you the police? Mommy’s talking on the phone. She said the police are coming to our house. But she didn’t like that. Her face made a big frown - like when that man at the grocery store asked if she’s ‘free’ on Friday. And I said: you can’t buy Mommy, she doesn’t have a price. You can’t buy people. You buy bananas. That’s why we came to the grocery store, pal!”

Spencer frowned.

This was a lot of information to receive in such a short span, and Spencer quickly tried to sort it all out in his mind.

Technically, he was ‘the police’, but he didn’t want to introduce himself to Sebastian that way if it would bring a negative connotation. Clearly, this was a very observant child - he had picked up on the fact that you didn’t want police protective custody around. (Spencer just hoped that you hadn’t mentioned why you might need that kind of protection around the very clever ears of your son - someone who had interpreted a man asking you on a date as a barter for ownership of your person, apparently.)

Not wanting to upset Sebastian, he chose to introduce himself in another way, rather than saying he was with law enforcement - which is what he would have done with any other small child.

“I’m a friend of your Mommy’s.” He said. “My name is Spencer. Can you-”

Before he could finish talking, your voice entered the conversation.

“Sebastian! Seb!” You called out urgently, looking for him now that you had realized he was gone from your field of view.

You came around the corner in a panic and found your son standing there with the front door wide open. Your eyes naturally flickered toward Spencer, and surprisingly, a look of relief flooded your face at seeing him.

As much as you disliked Spencer for your own reasons - at least someone who wasn’t a predator was with your son. You hadn’t meant to leave the door unlocked. It was just easy to forget things when you were chasing after such an energetic kid.

“Sebastian, Mommy told you not to open the door unless I’m here with you.”

You scolded him, rushing to scoop him up in your arms - unconsciously protecting him from the outside world as you propped him up onto your hip, hugging an arm around his back to hold him there.

Spencer’s insides fluttered at how natural you looked with him in your arms. It was a picture perfect sight: you with his son in your arms. It was something he had been dreaming of for years. And now, for so many reasons, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Spencer is my friend!” Sebastian proudly proclaimed, motioning toward his very new ‘friend’. “You said it’s okay to answer the door for friends.”

You clenched your jaw, clearly resisting the urge to make a foul comment about this in front of your son. You wanted to correct him and say that Spencer was not a ‘friend’ - that he was far from it. But you held that back, knowing that Sebastian was too young and innocent to be stung by your anger. (Especially anger from a fight that was older than he was.)

Before you could speak further or insist that Spencer had to leave, Sebastian spoke up again.

“What’s in that bag?” He asked, extending his little arm and pointing a pudgy little finger toward the gift bags that Spencer had in his hand - items that Spencer himself had nearly forgotten about, swept up in pure awe at meeting his son for the first time.

“Oh, it’s a gift for you.” Spencer smiled at him, holding one of the bags up toward the boy. “Because I missed your birthday.”

Sebastian took the bag excitedly, but didn’t get a chance to examine the items yet, still awkwardly trapped in his mother’s arms.

You glared at Spencer over Sebastian’s head. You thought it was a cheap attempt at buying his affection. Spencer avoided your eye. (If you were a lesser woman, you would have banned Sebastian from having the gift. But you weren’t going to take away his joy based on your own rotting emotions.)

“What do you say, bud?” You prompted, wanting him to thank Spencer for the gift - even if you thought it was ill-intended.

“I’m four now!” He excitedly announced, believing this was what you meant. “I just turned four. I had a big boy birthday. So I go to the toilet all by myself - as long as I don’t wee on the floor. And I had a princess at my birthday party, but apparently she doesn’t bring the letters to Santa Claus, the mail does that. Did you know that the U.S. Postal Service was founded in 1775, and Benjamin Franklin was the first postmaster-”

“Seb, that’s not what I meant.” You said quietly, gently cutting off his unrelated string of ranting.

Spencer was grinning widely from ear to ear - he found himself so utterly charmed by Sebastian’s bright, enthusiastic personality.

“Sebastian, you have to say ‘thank you’ to Spencer for the present.” You reminded him, getting his mind back on track.

“Thank you!” He parroted back.

“You’re very welcome.” Spencer replied, his cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling.

You then put him down, and he ran back into the house, excited to open his gift and see what was inside it.

A tense silence fell over you and Spencer. You continued to glare at him with fury tightening in your jaw. Any joy he previously felt over seeing Sebastian for the first time was completely zapped from him.

He now felt like a groveling idiot, desperate to get back into your good graces. He felt like the picture perfect life with a perfect family was right there, and he was missing out on it because he had messed up all those years ago.

“That was a nice try. With the gift.” You huffed out. “I don’t even wanna know what’s in that one.” You said, motioning to the other bag.

“Y/N-” He said your name, ripe with desperation, and you cut him off again.

“When did you know?” You asked.

The question utterly confused Spencer, and when you saw this flash through his features, you took pity on him for once, and decided to clarify.

“When did you know that he was yours?” You said this lowly, edging on a whisper, not wanting your son to hear it - even though he likely wouldn’t understand what the words meant if he did. (But he was an observant, smart kid. You couldn’t risk him hearing either way.)

“I did the math.” Spencer told you, matching your whisper. “I knew for certain when I saw him.”

You let out a rugged sigh. With your tense body language, your tight jaw - Spencer feared that even now, you might ask him to leave.

For him, that simply wasn’t an option.

“Look, you can’t keep me from my son-” Spencer said, speaking normally now - he knew that eventually, the two of you would have to tell Sebastian that he was his father.

He wanted a relationship with his child no matter what.

“Keep your voice down!” You hissed, looking over your shoulder as if the small child was some boogeyman who would sneak up on you specifically to eavesdrop on the conversation.

From the distant sounds of giggling and some playful voices - it sounded like he was far too busy playing with his toys to care about what was going on between you and Spencer.

“This changes nothing.” You added on bitterly. “You still have no right to be around me after what happened, and-”

“You’re seriously telling me that this changes nothing?” Spencer barked back, intensely offended by that assessment.

You refused to look Spencer in the eye, and he barreled forward, believing that he could convince his way in the door with his stubbornness alone.

“He is my son.” He spit back sharply, so much passion in the words that it gave you chills. “He is a part of me as much as he is a part of you. Even if - even if you hate me,” Spencer said, unsure if that was the right term, and feeling a rock in his stomach when you didn’t protest. “Even if you hate me now and always will, I still have a right to be in his life.”

Guilt flashed across your features. You had always regretted not contacting Spencer in order to let him meet Sebastian. And now all of those late night ‘what ifs’ were coming back to haunt you. With a vengeance.

“And I know you might not view it that way, but it’s been a long time. And I have changed.” He continued on, trying his best to convince you, knowing that these words were hollow.

Spencer didn’t even think about the potential consequences of his next words before he spoke them, but he went on anyway.

“And I would really, really like a second chance with you. I understand if you and I are over. If everything we had is completely… gone.”

Your eyes flickered toward him at this, a dreadful ghost lingering in the back of your pupils. This was the last thing you had expected to hear from him, and you had a difficult time processing it.

His tone was incredibly mournful when speaking these words. He still had so much love for you in his heart, and he could not imagine being around you and interacting with you to co-parent a child and not being with you. Not sharing your bed. Not having more children with you.

“But you and I at least need to be civil, for his sake. Tell me that he really would be better off without both parents in his life.”

Spencer resisted the urge to cite statistics about single parent households and the likelihood of forming antisocial personality disorders - mostly because he didn’t want to think of his son like that, and because you being a single parent household was the entire reason he was here.

He didn’t want to bring up the UnSub again, and the potential danger you might be in - because he didn’t want you to brush him off or get even more angry.

You looked intensely thoughtful, then, clearly mulling over his words in your mind.

He thought that something else might sway your opinion in his favor.

“Plus, if you don’t let me inside, that means I got you this gift for nothing.” He said, giving you his absolute best puppy eyes as he held up the bag in your direction.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but you took it from him anyway.

“Don’t think you can bribe your way back into my good graces, Spencer.” You said, accepting the bag, and then:

You stepped aside and let him in.

Spencer didn’t waste a moment, gratefully accepting this. He took off his messenger bag and set it beside the door as you closed it behind him. You made a point of locking it this time, putting the deadbolt on so that Sebastian wouldn’t be able to get the door open by himself.

“You used to be very easy to bribe back in the day, if I can remember.” Spencer told you, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you.

That grin, the light in his eyes. Him bringing up memories of ‘the old days’ - for a moment, it was all too much. It was too easy. It reminded you of simpler times - a time when you would have just leaned over and kissed him in order to shut him up.

“Enjoying and accepting gifts is a lot different than being bribed.” You muttered under your breath, leaving the gift bag on the table beside the door as you walked back into the living room where Sebastian was playing.

Spencer left it there for now - but he would have you open the gift before the day was over. That much he was determined of.

“Mommy, look!”

Sebastian ran toward you excitedly when he saw you walk back into the living room - he was waving something in his hand to show you. You quickly recognized it as a character from his favorite show - it was a rather large plush toy of Rubble from Paw Patrol. It still had a tag hanging off its ear, so it must have been what Spencer had brought him in that gift bag.

Your stomach tightened. You knew that it was likely something to do with profiling - the fact that when he had been here before, he had only been in your home for fifteen minutes, but he had likely been able to observe so much about your life (and about your son) just from the simple things you had sitting around. You hated it. You hated that he had so many skills and tools at his disposal that meant you could hardly keep any secrets from him.

“Oh wow, that’s so nice, baby.” You grinned widely, putting on your happiest voice for your son even though you didn’t like that Spencer had so easily bought his affection.

“And look, look at this!”

He nearly tripped over his own small feet, racing back over to the gift bag to fish out something else. He ran back over to you and handed it to you. It was a children’s picture book called ‘Dino ABC’ - it appeared to have a different dinosaur for each letter of the alphabet on each page. Educational and cute. Just what you would have expected from Spencer.

You felt a deep pain emanate out from the center of your chest - your heart literally aching as you fought your hardest to keep a big smile for your son.

“Seb, you still have to finish your snack.”

You told him, tossing the book aside to put it on the couch and walking back over to the coffee table in order to draw his attention to the abandoned plate with his food on it.

“Come on. You can play with your toys later.”

You had been part way through his snacktime when JJ had called you, trying to convince you to come into the police station for a briefing about ‘protection’. Ultimately, that conversation had distracted you when Spencer had knocked on the door.

He tucked Rubble under his arm and rushed to sit in your lap, shoveling cheese and crackers into his mouth off the frog shaped plate while you turned your attention toward Spencer - who had been watching the whole exchange while leaning against a wall, a tentative smile forming on his face.

“I have to hand it to you, you’re good.” You said, trying to keep your tone neutral, straying away from anger. “You hit on two of his biggest interests - Paw Patrol and dinosaurs. That profiling stuff is a lot more accurate than I thought,”

Spencer didn’t want to admit that he had just picked a book about dinosaurs because that was what he liked at that age, and the Paw Patrol thing had been all JJ’s doing. He had been far too busy caught up in anger at your initial stubbornness to try and ‘profile’ you.

“Well-” Spencer attempted to reply, but he was cut off by Sebastian’s loud, enthusiastic voice.

“What’s profiling?” He asked, nearly shouting, unintentionally spraying crumbs out of his mouth as he struggled to chew and speak at the same time.

“Buddy, what did we say about talking with your mouth full?” You huffed quietly, grabbing a napkin to wipe up some of the crumbs he had sprayed out.

You didn’t expect Spencer to indulge him with an honest answer.

“Well, you see…” Spencer thought for a moment, wanting to explain the concept to him in an honest, but child-friendly manner. “Profiling is when I look at the things around you, and how you act, and I can tell what you’re thinking.” He replied. “Like… if you have a secret.”

He moved toward the coffee table and once again crouched down to Sebastian’s level - and his cheeks curled into a smile at his son’s eager, curious eyes staring him down.

You watched the interaction quietly. You never would have admitted it, but it gave you butterflies to see how natural, how perfect Spencer already was with Sebastian.

Sebastian chewed a bit more before he spoke again.

“I have a secret.” Sebastian whispered - a dramatic stage whisper that kids his age always did.

“Hmm…”

Spencer put his thumb and forefinger against his chin, and cocked an eyebrow, looking around the room like a cartoonish detective, acting like he was trying to piece together exactly what this big secret was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sebastian’s entire body go stiff, as if he could better hide while not moving - and one small, cracker-crumbed fist clenching tight under the coffee table as the boy tried his hardest to contain his laughter told him everything that he needed to know.

“You’re trying to hide part of your snack from Mommy!” Spencer declared, laughter in his voice as he pointed an ‘accusing’ finger toward Sebastian.

The boy burst into laughter and surrendered his hand, dumping a single crumbled up cracker onto his plate as he curled over with epic laughter - apparently finding the whole thing to be a very amusing game.

“You got me!” He chuckled.

You had difficulty hiding your own smile at all of this, and you tried to encourage Sebastian back into an upright position as he wiggled around from laughing so furiously.

“Well maybe we need Spencer around when you try to hide your carrots at dinnertime.” You said, your tone flat, not at all reaching that same joy. “Now come on, you joker, finish up please.”

You caught Spencer’s eye then - and he had the dangerous realization that you weren’t entirely kidding.

“I’ll be around whenever you need me.” Spencer replied, seriousness seeping back into his tone.

You wanted to argue this - but of course, you held back with Sebastian sitting in your lap. Instead, it dissolved into a sharp huff out of your nose.

When it seemed that you had nothing more to say on the matter, Spencer turned back to Sebastian, who was licking the mushy, bright red remnants of some strawberries off his fingers.

“What’s your favorite dinosaur, bud?” Spencer asked.

He was eager to get to know his son better - and he was expecting a rather generic answer from a four year old, like T-Rex.

He certainly did not expect what came next.

“Plesiosaurus!” Sebastian cried out excitedly, accidentally spitting out some food (again), which you rushed to wipe off his shirt and face with a nearby napkin. “They lived in the Jurassic period, and could grow to eleven feet long!”

Spencer beamed with pride.

Even though Spencer hadn’t spent that much time around children, he knew that this seemed to be fairly advanced knowledge for a four year old.

You gave Spencer a very distinct look over Sebastian’s head. You could see that glint in his eye, and you knew that you were both thinking the same thing.

He had interented his father’s big, big brain.

It was something you had known for a long time now. And you knew that it wouldn’t take Spencer long to see it.

“Wow, buddy.” Spencer smiled widely, eager to praise the boy. “That’s so awesome. My favorite is the Brontosaurus.”

Sebastian smiled, and nodded.

“They’re herbivores. Which means they only eat plants.” He replied. “Not like Mommy. She eats steak. And it’s gross.”

You couldn’t help but to let out a laugh at this, and Spencer easily joined you.

Leave it to the random stream of thoughts of a four year old to actually make you forget about your anger towards Spencer - at least for a little while.

“Mommy, can I have more strawberries?” Sebastian asked, holding up his now empty plate.

Something a lot of people don’t realize about little kids - they eat a lot of fruit.

“I’ll see if we have more.” You told him, moving to scoot him off your lap.

“I’ll go-” Spencer moved to get up, and you gave him a sharp glare that cut off his words.

Luckily, Sebastian didn’t see this as he jumped off your lap and rushed toward Spencer, picking up his dinosaur book with still sticky fingers along the way.

“I got it.” You grumbled quietly, picking up the plate and moving toward the kitchen.

You wanted to make a comment about how you had been taking care of him by yourself for the past four years, so a single plate of strawberries was not that big of a deal. But you didn’t want to be so passive aggressive in front of Sebastian, especially because he wouldn’t understand why.

You cleaned and cut up the few strawberries that were left, and when you came back, Sebastian was sitting on Spencer’s lap. They had the book propped open in Spencer’s hands while Sebastian gawked at it and explained in detail about whatever they were looking at - likely far greater detail than the book already had written in its pages.

“Ferrisaurus.” He said, nearly out of breath with excitement. “He has a very sharp beak. He was discovered in 1971 by Kenny F. Larson. He belongs to the Leptoceratopsidae family, and-”

You put the plate down in front of them, and Sebastian frowned when he saw it, cutting off his own words.

“Is there any more?” He complained loudly. “I wanna share some with my friend Spencer.”

Spencer’s mouth flattened into a thin line, clearly trying his hardest to hide a beaming smile at being claimed as Sebastian’s ‘friend’ once again.

“No, sweetie, that’s all the strawberries we have in the house.” You informed him. “I’ll go to the store and get some more tomorrow. But you can’t keep eating all the fruit and then complain when it’s all gone.”

It was a common theme in your life - Sebastian could eat an entire carton of raspberries in one sitting, and then became upset when there was no more in the fridge.

Sebastian shrugged and reached up over the book to grab one off his plate. He shoved it into his mouth before reaching for another, looking up over his shoulder to then clumsily aim for Spencer’s mouth. You were expecting Spencer to dodge it and tell him ‘no thank you’ - a man who was a germaphobe, someone who you had seen use disinfecting wipes on forks at restaurants because he didn’t trust other people to clean the utensils well enough. But instead, he leaned down and captured the half-mushed fruit from your son, giving a small grin as some of the juices smeared across his lips.

Your stomach twisted into knots as you moved to sit on the couch.

You didn’t want to call it affection. You would deeply deny that it was fondness rising in you at seeing Spencer clearly soft and loving toward your son.

Toward his son.

Especially because it was a sight that you thought you would never witness in your lifetime.

“Thank you.” Spencer mumbled out as he chewed, and Sebastian chirped out a ‘you’re welcome!’ - even reaching to grab a napkin to help Spencer wipe his mouth before he then turned back to his book.

“You know, if he wants more fruit, I can run to the store. It’s really no trouble.” Spencer offered, clearly eager to give your son whatever he wanted - whatever he needed.

“He’s fine.” You sighed in return. “It’ll be fine until tomorrow. Do you have any idea how much fruit this kid eats in a day? How much fruit he’s eaten just today alone?” You remarked.

Spencer saw it as the rhetorical question it was, and waited for you to continue on.

“He ate an entire carton of raspberries before he left this morning. I had to change his shirt because he looked like a character from Texas Chainsaw.” You explained, feeling safe that Sebastian would not understand that reference.

“It makes sense.” Spencer replied. “The natural fructose found in most fruits make it an incredibly appealing taste to the underdeveloped palette of a child. It’s actually believed that before puberty, people have a higher concentration of taste buds on the apex of the tongue, which is the area associated with sweet and salty sensations, so children are more likely to crave sweet flavors. And most fruit has a mild but naturally satisfying fructose level, essentially making it less assertive than artificial candy that pubescent children would enjoy with a more developed tongue. Basically - children like it so much because fruit is nature’s candy.”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh as he finished this statement, and you knew that your eyes were glowing with delight as you stared at him.

Sebastian was staring up at him - clearly absorbing every single word that he spoke with eagerness. You wouldn’t be surprised if Sebastian was able to repeat back those facts word for word later on. He was startlingly like his father.

You almost hated it, but this reminded you so much of the Spencer you had fallen in love with. The man who excited you with his passion; the person who made your knees tremble because he was so chalked full of knowledge, but never pretentious about sharing it.

“Is that so?” You grinned in return.

Before Spencer could get too caught up at that affectionate sparkle in your eye, something barreled to the forefront of his mind.

“Wait - what did you mean by ‘before he left this morning’?” Spencer asked. “Where does Sebastian go during the day?”

He needed to know more about your life. There could be something small lurking in some corner that could lead him to the UnSub before the man had a chance to even consider attacking you.

“I go to see Abby!” Sebastian piped up, answering the question as he turned a page in his book. “And my friends: Paige, and Jimmy, and Emma.”

“Abby is his babysitter.” You explained. Spencer nodded at this. “He goes there four days a week. From nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. They have three other kids, Paige, Jimmy, and Emma. So he has friends there. He likes the social interaction. And I get my work done while he’s gone.”

“But you’re on a waitlist for a daycare in the area?” Spencer prodded. You grew confused at this, so he added on: “That’s how my team found you. Through the daycare applications.”

It felt like a violation of your privacy, but you didn’t point that out.

You felt like the conversation was straying into ‘grown-up’ territory. Things that you didn’t want to speak of in front of your son, because children are sponges and you don’t really know how much they absorb. So you decided that it was time for him to have some independent playtime while you and Spencer talked. He had finished his snack in the meantime, anyway.

You picked up a napkin and wiped his hands, and then you gently took the book from Spencer, who had been holding it open for Sebastian to look at it.

“Seb.” You spoke to him gently, leaning into his view. You brushed away one of his wild curls and he looked at you attentively - Spencer’s heart rate sped up uncontrollably, and he knew that he was looking at you much the same way. “Can you go play in your room for a while, buddy? I need to have some grown-up time with Spencer.”

“I want Spencer to come with me!” Sebastian argued gently. “I wanna show him my toys!”

“Yes, you can show him later.” You told him. “After we’re done talking, he’ll be right up, and you can show him all your dinosaurs, and-”

“And the stars!” Sebastian added on excitedly.

“Yes.” You nodded. “Whatever you want.”

Sebastian then let out a bright ‘okay!’ and Spencer helped him up, and there were more thunderous racing footsteps as Sebtastian went upstairs to go and play in his room.

“Grown-up time?” Spencer asked, quirking a brow at you.

You hated that the tiny bit of innuendo in his voice drudged up heat between your thighs.

You labeled it as desperation because you hadn’t been touched by another person in so long, not your genuine attraction toward him coming back again.

“Yes.” You said firmly. “You and I need to talk. About a lot of stuff. And he doesn’t need to hear all the gory little details.” You sighed. “Coffee?”

“That sounds great.” He nodded.

He followed you to the kitchen loyally and leaned against the counter while you went about the mechanical, ingrained movements to make a pot of coffee.

“So, why isn’t he in preschool?” Spencer asked.

He neglected to bring up the fact that the UnSub had likely targeted you through the preschool applications. He knew that you would become annoyed again if he brought up the fact that you were in danger - so he left that alone for now. The longer he stayed in the house, the better chance he had of convincing you to leave, to come into police custody for your own protection.

If the worst case scenario were to take place, his gun was in his bag. He would protect you if anyone tried to break in. He would protect you at all costs.

“They wouldn’t accept Sebastian into daycare because… they thought he was too advanced for their program.” You explained, answering his question. “They wanted me to have him IQ tested. And I refused, so they put him on the waitlist.”

You weren’t facing Spencer as you filled up the coffee machine with water, but he could hear it in your voice. Grit. Disdain.

Did you dislike the fact that your son was so advanced? Did you harbor annoyance because he had likely inherited that incredible intelligence from Spencer?

“Why didn’t you get him the IQ test?” Spencer probed, brimming with frustration. “Get him an assessment with a professional, at least?”

Sure, you disliked Spencer for your own reasons, but it was no good reason to have your son held back in life.

You shrugged. Obviously, you were holding back the truth.

“My mom thought it was a good idea.” You remarked. “But…”

You clicked the coffee pot into the coffee maker and turned it on, and then turned to face Spencer.

“I remembered all the stuff you said.” You said gently.

This confused Spencer, and he eagerly listened as you continued.

“About feeling ‘socially isolated’, and how you were upset that you didn’t have a ‘real childhood’ because you didn’t get to go to school with people in your own age group.” You explained.

Then it truly hit Spencer.

You weren’t avoiding having him tested to hold him back in life - you thought it was for his betterment.

Because you had truly retained something from your relationship with Spencer. From all those late night hours the two of you had spent talking, tangled up in the sheets together after-

Spencer forced himself not to think about it.

“I want him to have friends.” You continued on. “To have socialization. Even if he’s special - he can have education individually. Hell, having a tutor will probably be better for him if he’s so advanced, right? He probably needs individual attention.”

Spencer nodded at this.

“I wanted him to go to daycare - not because he needs to learn the ABCs and shit. He could recite the alphabet when he was eight months old.”

Spencer felt a wave of shock at this, and then intense pride.

“I wanted him to go there and make friends. So I guess him going to the babysitter and making friends turned out to be a better fit for him anyway.”

Spencer couldn’t describe the depth of the pride he was feeling. Not just at knowing how truly intelligent his son was, but at knowing that your instincts as a mother were so well tuned.

Not just because you knew what your son needed, but because you had listened to Spencer talking about regrets from his own childhood and you had tried to keep from making those same mistakes with his son. It was likely that you even saw how socially underdeveloped he was when you met him as a twenty one year old and that was a huge part of your reasoning.

In the few minutes he had spent with Sebastian, he already saw that brilliant intellect colliding with the nurturing you had shown him. His ability to make friends easily, his eagerness to share, his natural curiosity. He was leagues ahead of where Spencer had been at that age - shy, apprehensive, constantly clammed up around new people.

You had raised such a brilliant, beautiful boy.

“It seems like the right choice.” Spencer assured you. “I can already tell that the socialization is doing him well. He - he’s such a great kid.”

He couldn’t hold back his beaming smile this time, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, highly resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. He wanted so badly to pull you into a hug - to kiss you.

But he had to remind himself that he had lost those privileges so long ago.

He had to be thankful for the simple privilege of basking in your smile when you returned the action.

“I - I am actually kind of glad that you’re here.” You admitted meekly, a moment of shy honesty shining through.

Spencer resisted the urge to cheer loudly.

“I’ve been trying to teach him, but I barely know where to start.” You added on, exasperated laughter escaping your lips at the thought. “I can barely keep up with stuff that’s on his level. I read to him a lot, but I have trouble picking books that are appropriate for him? Anything that’s on his level academically has too much violence or racism or complicated themes for his age. At least, when it comes to fiction books. And I can’t really comprehend the scientific stuff. He picks out dinosaur books when we go to the library and reads them on his own, and half the stuff… he just tells me all the stuff he’s learned when he reads on his own and it amazes me.”

You chuckled, and Spencer easily returned it.

His son was truly an egghead after his own heart.

“I’ve been trying to teach him the periodic table, but I don’t even remember half of it myself. I haven’t needed it since high school chemistry.” You remarked with another dry laugh.

Spencer smiled brightly at you.

“You - you were right.” You hated to admit it. “He does need his dad. He needs you. He needs someone who can nurture that big brain of his.”

The detail oriented part of Spencer’s brain was eager to jump into planning - he wanted to ask you about creating a schedule, the logistics of how and when he would see his son, especially considering that the two of you lived in different cities, in different states. (Truthfully, he wanted to ask if you were willing to move closer so that he would be able to see Sebastian as often as possible.)

But he forced himself to set that aside for now, because something else was bothering him.

You reached up to the cupboard and grabbed two mugs, and poured up the coffee, and Spencer watched carefully as you went to the fridge and grabbed some creamer for yourself before you handed him his mug.

“The sugar is behind you.” You told him. “Spoons are in the drawer to your left.”

Naturally, you remembered how he liked his coffee. Black with regular sugar. It was something fond, that left an ache deep in his soul. He set to the gentle task of getting some sugar while he conjured up the courage to ask the question.

“Have you ever told him about me?” He asked. “I mean - have you told him about his father? Does he know who his dad is?”

He knew that obviously you hadn’t told Sebastian outright that Spencer was his father - not with a photo and a name. But he wondered if you had ever told him stories about who his father was - a doctor, a man who fought against bad guys. Did you only have room for malice against Spencer in your heart, or would have told Sebastian some of the good things about his dad? Had you told him how you and Spencer had met? Had you told him that the two of you were once in love?

He hated to think that you resented Spencer so much that you had lied. That you had made up some falsehood. Perhaps you had told Sebastian that his father was dead, or someone who never existed at all (because someone his age would believe that). Spencer’s insides flooded with anxiety at the thought that perhaps you had a boyfriend. Someone who was a fixture in Sebastian’s life already who the young boy called Dad.

Before Spencer could flare with too much jealousy at a completely made-up figure, you answered his question.

“I - ugh.” You stuttered out. “No.” You admitted hesitantly, capping the creamer and moving to put it back into the fridge.

You moved to sit down at the kitchen table and Spencer followed you with his own mug in hand. He found it quietly adorable that there was a rubber dinosaur placemat and a booster seat on one of the chairs - clearly the place where Sebastian sat to eat his meals. He pulled out the chair opposite of yours and carefully waited for you to continue talking.

“It was one of those things…” You stared down into your mug, a wave of embarrassment spiking in you.

Seeing how put together Spencer was now - how mature. It filled you with regret, and made you feel quite embarrassed about not contacting him before.

But the Spencer you had last seen was nothing like this. So previously, you had no intentions of seeking him out in order to introduce him to his son. But every time a major life event came up - toward the end of your pregnancy, the birth, filling out the birth certificate and leaving the section of his father’s name blank… The first time Sebastian sat upright on his own, his first words, seeing how truly intelligent he was, his first steps, potty training him.

Through all of it - you ached with regret. There were more than a dozen times (sometimes more than a dozen times a day) when you considered reaching out to Spencer and telling him the news. But you thought that he might lash out at you in anger for not telling him when you found out that you were pregnant. (And then you thought he would be even angrier for not telling him sooner).

You had considered that with his job, and with the other circumstances - he might be dead. That there might not even be someone on the other end if you did reach out.

You didn’t want to go looking for a father for your son, only to have to mourn over someone you once loved.

You didn’t want to open the door for more hurt to come your way.

“It was one of those things, that… the older he got… I never considered that he might ask.” You explained. “I just thought I could get away without telling him who his father was. Without talking about you at all. Because I was so hurt over what happened between us.”

Oddly enough, Spencer understood this. That night - things had been so messy. Spencer had always wanted a chance to apologize. He would have pushed harder - he would have chased after you better if he knew that there was a child hanging in the mix.

“You had no intention of ever finding me again to introduce me to my son?” Spencer asked.

He needed to hear you say it.

You shook your head, entirely solemn, even more guilty.

“It was selfish.” You admitted. “I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle the pain of seeing you again. I didn’t consider how it might affect him.”

“So… he has been asking about me?” Spencer probed. “He’s been asking about his father?”

You shrugged.

“He’s old enough to understand the concept now.” You said, sipping your coffee. “He sees stuff on TV. Cartoons where characters have a Mom and a Dad. And he reads science books about animals - so he knows that other ‘species’ need two parents to ‘reproduce’.” You were almost annoyed by the fact that your son was so smart and still so young. You couldn’t trick him with gentle lies anymore. “I don’t think I can convince him that I am the only asexual reproducing woman on the planet.”

Spencer let out a harsh chuckle at this. He knew how it was at that age - too smart for his own good.

“What have you told him?” He wondered aloud.

“I have been trying my hardest not to tell him anything.” You replied. “Whenever he asks about his own father, I just… dodge around it.” You told him honestly. “What do you think all the strawberries are for? I mean, I can’t lie to him, but I can distract him. He’s still at the age where his attention span is not that great if he gets excited about something.”

“Would you be willing to have that conversation with him?” Spencer asked meekly. “The three of us? Would you - would you be okay with him knowing me as his dad?”

He was terrified that you might reject him. That you still hated him enough after that horrible night that you wouldn’t want your son to see Spencer as his father, even if it was the truth. (A truth that you and Spencer knew intimately well.)

“Spencer.” You choked out his name, looking at him with tears dancing in your eyes.

You knew that you had been harsh upon first seeing him again, perhaps unrightfully lashing out due to your own vendetta. But you didn’t think that you had made such a nasty impression.

“Of course. Spence, I-” You choked on your own words for a second, taking in a sharp breath in an attempt to regain your composure.

Spencer tried not to get excited at you calling him ‘Spence’ again for the first time in so long. He couldn’t take the familiarity, the sweet nickname as meaning the same thing it used to. He couldn’t take it as a signal of affection.

“Even if you and I can’t get back to where we were…” You continued on.

(Which would be something you would gratefully regret now, those feelings for him locked up inside of you, banging on the door, just begging to get out.)

“My son is so lucky to have you as his father. And I am sorry that it was due to my own selfishness that he missed out on you in his life for so many years.”

“It’s not all your fault.” Spencer replied. “You don’t have to apologize.”

You nodded at this, and the two of you fell silent once again.

Of course, both of you wished that you could go back to that night and do things differently.

You wished that you would have told him about the pregnancy as soon as you took the test - so if he was going to scorn you, he could make an informed choice about doing so.

Spencer wished that he could have chased you - that he could have been in his son’s life from day one.

Which made him curious about something.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Spencer asked when it came to the forefront of his mind.

“Sure,” You sighed. “I think we have a few more minutes before you have to go.”

You chuckled, motioning toward the stairs - where Sebastian would surely be running down soon, waiting for Spencer to come and play with him, so Spencer could be shown all of his toys, introduced to each dinosaur by name and species.

“When did you find out that you were pregnant?” He asked. “Was it - was it before? Or after?”

He didn’t even have to fully spell it out in order for you to know exactly what he meant.

Had you known that you were pregnant when the two of you had broken up?

You could have easily lied to him. But just like every other moment on this day, stupidly - you felt like you owed him the truth.

“After.” You told him. “It - it was about two weeks after. When I took one of those at home tests. And I had already made up my mind that I never wanted to see you again. So just - then and there, I decided that I was gonna raise the kid alone.”

“You - you just unilaterally decided that you were going to raise my son alone?” Spencer snapped, some of that spite from early coming back like the coals from a fire being stoked.

“Yes. I did.” You said firmly.

You didn’t have to remind him of why.

Spencer sighed and rolled his eyes, and then plowed forward with another question.

“So - so do you know when-?” He began, and you cut him off.

‘Do you know when he was conceived?’

“No.” You quickly replied.

But it was a lie. You knew.

You felt like you couldn’t easily tell him the truth about this. If there was one thing you couldn’t afford to do right now, with Spencer Reid sitting at your kitchen table, staring at you with his big, inquisitive, glossy eyes, licking his lips, with his firm jaw set tight in contemplation - you couldn’t afford to go reminiscing with him about the night your son had been conceived.

You had spent a lot of time during your pregnancy thinking. Doing the math. Trying to remember.

And you knew exactly when.

The night was so vivid in your mind.

It was one of the last good memories you had with Spencer. It was one of the most perfect pictures you had of who he truly was before he came home from Georgia such a different person, and you had no clue why he had changed.

…

Spencer had come over to your place late one night.

He had a key, but usually he was afraid to wake you up by using it. But that night he had been swamped with paperwork, writing up consultations on cases less urgent for police precincts that the BAU couldn’t get out to attend to in person. Images of mangled bodies stuck in his mind and by the time he finished up, it was well past dinner - well past a decent hour to be seeing you. But his insides felt hollow with a unique kind of grief as he imagined all the people who wouldn’t be getting home to their families - the people in the photos.

He fingered over the key to your apartment on his keyring as he walked out the front doors of the office. He had taken the metro that day, and the last trains ran late into the night - until two or three am, to ensure that people drinking could get home safely. But he needed some fresh air, so he decided to walk. He took out his cellphone and decided to call you.

If he let himself into your apartment unexpectedly so late - he didn’t want to scare you.

“Spencer.”

Your voice had a breathy, airy quality to it. He wouldn’t quite call it tiredness, not like he had woken you from sleep.

“Y/N.” He called your name back softly. “Did I wake you?” He still wanted to ask, even though he wasn’t sure that was the case.

“No.” You replied. “I - I missed you, baby.”

The slightest quiver in your tone gave you away. That gentle, needy curl around the word baby - it practically brought him to his knees on the sidewalk.

All at once, his mood changed.

It was something beautiful that you often did for him.

Every single bit of brick-like grief was pushed out of him in favor of that flowery, dreamy lust.

“You missed me?” He parroted the words back, mischief seeping into his voice as he continued the walk toward your apartment on slightly weaker legs, the cool night air brushing up against his now heated cheeks. “You’ve been thinking about me a lot tonight, haven’t you, darling?”

You let out a fluttering moan. You knew that you had been caught, so you felt no sense in holding back now.

Spencer pulled his messenger bag to sit in front of his crotch, praying that he wouldn’t look indecent in public. It took so little effort from you to make his cock swell to attention - with his intense attraction toward you, and with you being so perfect, such a beacon of beauty and sex.

“You caught me.” You huffed out. “Been thinkin’ about you all night, baby. The bed feels so empty without you.”

You both knew that it was a subtle admission. The downright filthy way you said the word ‘empty’ - Spencer bit his lip to hold back a moan just hearing it. You knew that those clouded innuendos turned him on so much. The veil. The intention.

You were touching yourself, and Spencer had called with perfect timing to ‘catch you’ in the middle of the act.

If Spencer strained his ears enough, he could hear the wet slide of your fingers against your pussy on the other end of the line, and he knew that you could hear the increase in his breathing - the hard huff coming out of his nostrils because of it.

“Where are you?” You whined, clearly needy. “Need you, Spence.”

You hoped that he wasn’t too busy, caught up at work.

“On my way to you now.” He told you, his voice leaking desperate breaths.

He was already grinning widely at the thought of what would be waiting for him - how you would be leaking wetness, so warm and ready for him; how he would be able to simply slide his hard cock into you with no resistance and your gorgeous pussy would so eagerly swallow him up. He forced himself to focus.

“Wait for me, okay?” He added on, trying to have some firmness in his tone - but he knew that it sounded too much like pleading and you would be kind to comply.

Wait.

You let out a strained, harsh sound at this.

You knew that it was another subtle code.

He didn’t want you to make yourself orgasm until he got there. (You had already had one before he called, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as one by Spencer’s hand, or his tongue.)

He likely wanted you to stop touching yourself all together. He wanted to leave you on edge, to make you even more needy for him. Even if he would only take a few minutes to arrive, he wanted you hungry.

You had the urge to argue with this, but you held back.

You knew that it would be worth it.

Spencer always made it worth it.

“Okay.” You huffed back, an undertone of frustration in your voice that got Spencer even more excited. You needed him. And he planned on providing every single inch of what he knew you needed so badly. “I’ll wait.” You agreed. “But hurry? Please?”

Please.

The way you said it, asking so nicely - it nearly knocked the wind out of him. You would never truly have to ask him to touch you. Truthfully, he should have to ask for the privilege of providing you with pleasure. He would never say no to you.

But there was something beautiful about hearing that from your lustful voice.

“I’ll be there before you know it.” He promised you gently before hanging up the call.

Spencer would have broken out into a full run if - one, it wouldn’t have made him look entirely idiotic, and two, it wouldn’t have stolen all his energy. Energy that he needed in order properly fuck you. He didn’t need to arrive at your apartment sweaty and panting and then collapse onto the floor in a heap and miss out on his chance to make sweet love to you.

He got there as fast as his legs could carry him (at a reasonable pace), and he estimated that it took him less than four minutes - because your apartment really wasn’t that far from the office. Conveniently enough for him. He skipped the elevator ride and took the stairs two at a time in his eagerness (and long legs). And soon enough, he was putting the key into the lock, welcomed by gentle shadows, the smell he recognized as the air freshener you loved to use, and a single guiding light that must have been the tableside lamp in your bedroom.

“Spence?”

You called out from down the hall as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“It’s me.” He assured you.

He tossed his keys into a bowl that you kept on the counter, toeing off his shoes, ditching his bag off to the side, and shrugged off his jacket as he walked down the hall.

“That was fast.” You remarked with a giggle, making him smile.

“A lady should never have to wait.” He replied, coming to stand at your open bedroom door, already working open his tie.

“Then you better hurry up.” You told him, your voice melting into a purr as you stared at him with honey warm lust in your eyes.

You were completely naked, laying in the middle of the bed, propped up on a few comfortable pillows. The comforter was down by your ankles; perhaps you had crawled into bed with the intention to sleep (some of your sleep clothes strewn across the floor, as though you had stripped them off and tossed them aside) - but then found yourself feeling that deadly ache between your thighs and kicked away the covers to relief yourself.

Spencer had called you with perfect timing.

Perhaps your soul had sung out to him like a siren - luring him here to perform his duty to you, to act as the servant meant to bring you pleasure. He could think of no better duty meant for his existence than to serve you. Ideally, it was something he wanted to spend the rest of his days doing. He would buy you a house, give you kids if you wanted them, support you in whatever ways you needed. He felt like he lived to make your life better - to make you smile, to make you laugh, to make you moan with pleasure.

If he didn’t have that, then he was lost.

In the low lighting, the star shaped necklace that he had given you for your birthday sparkled between your breasts, and Spencer found that you were most gorgeous wearing only that - a kiss of his claim on you, a perfect symbol of the beauty of your relationship among your goddess-like curves.

He felt entirely overdressed and he rushed to play catch up; fingers fumbling over buttons, his movements becoming downright frantic as he stripped out of his clothes. He almost knocked his glasses off his face while ripping his shirt off his head, and he had to place them on your bedside table for safekeeping. And then he nearly tripped out of his pantlegs on his way to the bed, which had you giggling, and he flashed you a smile.

But finally, he was freed, as naked as you were, and he crawled between your open, welcoming thighs. It felt like coming home. Your hands reached up to settle onto his ass - gently smoothing from the skin there, up his back, spreading warmth across his body as you groped him smoothly with soft, open hands.

He planted one hand on the pillow beside your head and used the other to gently lift your chin toward his. He captured your lips in a smooth, knowing, passionate kiss - you didn’t hesitate to moan into his mouth, and Spencer echoed it right back. He had missed you so much during the day. Even though he had seen you less than forty-eight hours before this, he felt decades of yearning in his heart.

He really should ask you to move in with him soon.

Even if he had to be away for days on cases, he should get to come home to you.

The two of you should start building a proper life together.

But of course, any thoughts about the clippings of property listings that Spencer had hidden away in a desk drawer fled from his mind when you rubbed your knee across his thigh, sending shivers through him - reminding him exactly what he was here for.

Typically, he would be the kind of man to go down on you, thoroughly, before he fucked you. He loved the feeling of your legs tightening around his head - he loved the taste of you on his tongue.

But when he felt the bare head of his cock bump up against your entrance, smearing your wetness over him - his self control broke down. He had missed you so much. He realized that he needed you just as badly as you needed him. He moaned even harder against your mouth, and he pulled away from the kiss with a huff, moving his hand to your hip.

Then, he asked a very important question.

“Do you have a condom?”

It broached the front of his mind, then, that he hadn’t brought one with him.

He knew that you typically kept a box of condoms in your bedside table. But the last time he had reached for one, the box had been empty. And he had resorted to using ‘the emergency condom’ that he kept in his bag. He didn’t have one in his bag now and he wasn’t sure if you had gotten a new box of condoms for the nightstand.

While he contemplated all of this, he kissed along the side of your breast, and then gently tongued at your necklace, still loving how it looked against your bare skin.

“You don’t need one.” You breathed out in reply.

You combed your hand through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made his hips unconsciously buck forward. It was something that made it far more difficult for him to concentrate. Especially when he felt more of that warm wetness smear across him, his cock just barely dipping into your heat.

He didn’t entirely care to decipher the meaning behind your words. He simply trusted you.

(Later, when he was looking back on it, he would have guessed that you meant you were taking your oral birth control consistently. Or that you meant to pick up a Plan B pill in the morning. But looking back on it now - it was the only time within those last months of your relationship that the two of you didn’t use a condom. You were urging him on, and maybe, at the time - a baby truly was what you had in mind.)

“Please, Spencer.” You begged quietly. “I need you. Just you.”

He wasn’t one to deny you anyway. And he certainly wasn’t going to deny himself of this.

He reached down and used a hand around the base of his cock to help line himself up - and then he gently guided the length of his cock into you.

This was always his favorite part.

The gasp - the lilting moan you let out when his cock first slid into you, the way your thighs flexed around his hips - it was all so perfect.

But it was even more perfect without the barrier of a condom in the way. Spencer always thought that it was a myth, men talking about how condoms actually reduced the feeling. It was such a thin piece of latex, how could it truly affect the overall sexual experience that much? Sex with you was so amazing, he couldn’t possibly imagine it getting any better.

But this - this was so much better.

He could feel your wetness sliding against every inch of his cock, he could feel your heat drowning him, he could feel every little clench you made - every little movement. He felt like he was truly drowning inside of you. Like he was being smothered inside of your perfect body.

His head collapsed against your breast, and he sucked in a sharp breath, struggling through it all, as though he was trying to swim through thick, warm honey. His head was hazier than it had ever been - if someone asked him to recite a most basic fact at this moment, he wouldn’t be able to.

“Spence,”

You whined, arching your hips into him, forcing your pelvis into him just slightly more - he felt your pubic hairs grazing against the base of his cock, the sensitive head of his cock angling at a new place inside of you. He let out a pathetic moan, struggling not to cum too early.

“Move, please.” Your voice was breathy, and desperate, and he had to remind himself of his purpose - bringing you pleasure.

“Yes.” He sighed, trying to regain his composure. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just-”

Whatever else you were going to say was promptly cut off when Spencer put both hands on your hips and bent his knees slightly, gaining the traction needed to properly fuck you.

He didn’t initiate a brutal or rough pace, but he pistoned his hips well enough to take the air out of you. His movements rang a moan out of your lungs as pleasure hummed through your body, finally getting what you had been craving all night. You loved the feeling of his long cock finally plunging in and out of you, especially without the barrier of a condom. It was enough to create the delightfully filthy sound of skin smacking through the air, well timed with the chorus of moans that began to echo out from your lips. Something that was complemented by Spencer’s own grunting and whining - something he tried to partially hide by biting his lip.

It was perfect. It was so easy, came so naturally between the two of you. It was a perfect rhythm between your bodies that came from knowing each other so well, feeling so at ease with each other. It was a perfect dance that made your entire body relax - the beautiful tingle of knowing that he was touching you.

“Thank you.” You moaned, reaching around to plant your hands on Spencer’s ass again. “Fuck, thank you.”

You bent your knees and spread your thighs more, angling your body perfectly for him to fuck into you even deeper. At the same time, you used your hold on him to pull him closer - to shove his cock even deeper into you. Something that both of you grunted harshly at. It wasn’t just out of the visceral need to have him inside of you; it was the pure yearning to feel close to him, to have him as physically close as possible.

With your wetness gathering around the base of his cock and dripping down over his balls - with your hot, thrumming cunt squeezing over him, he was getting dangerously close.

“Y/N.” He warbled out your name, almost as a warning.

“It’s okay.” You breathed back. “Cum for me. Come on, please.”

Spencer couldn’t resist - not when you said ‘please’.

The sound that came from his chest could only be described as a cry, and you forcibly held him close by digging your nails into the flesh of his ass. Any fleeting thought he might have had about pulling out left his brain in a millisecond. Especially when he felt your tightness fluttering around him, his hips unconsciously fucking deep into you, his body loving the feeling of being held tightly there while your cunt milked him for all he was worth.

He certainly didn’t miss the sweet moans you let out - the bright eyed awe you started up at him with as you felt his cum fill you up for the first time.

Spencer collapsed on top of you - even as tired as he was, he was careful not to hurt you by putting too much of his body weight onto you. (Even though you professed that you liked feeling his weight on top of you because he didn’t weigh all that much).

“Wow.” Spencer breathed into your neck - finding himself speechless after such a fantastic moment.

“That - that was amazing.” You remarked, breathless.

After a few moments, his cock began to go flaccid and slipped out of you, and he still felt your pussy practically beating with heat. He was reminded of something.

“You haven’t had an orgasm.” He mumbled quietly.

“It’s okay, I-”

‘I made myself cum earlier.’

Your words were cut off as Spencer descended down between your thighs. He felt his cock twitch with interest at the sight of his thick, white cum leaking out of your used cunt, mixing with your clear wetness.

So perfect.

He didn’t hesitate before putting his hands on your thighs, holding your legs apart while he shoved his tongue deep inside of you - partially with the purpose of cleaning up his own mess and partially with the newfound curiosity to taste what the two of you were like together.

You gripped onto his hair and moaned out, not a single complaint to be found on your lips.

It was the most perfect night that either of you could have imagined. All topped off by falling asleep in each other’s arms after a hot shower together.

Three days later, Spencer was called away on a case in Atlanta, Georgia that changed his life forever.

…

‘Do you know when he was conceived?’

“No.”

Spencer could see the lie reflected in your body language - how closed off you became, how quickly you rushed to cut off his words. Along with the intense heat reflected in your eyes. You were thinking about that night.

He thought he knew exactly which night you were thinking about - if his memory served him well enough. Which it usually did.

He couldn’t hold himself back from calling you on it.

He locked his eyes on yours across the table, the memory of that night possessing him - the ghost of your warm skin pressing against his own only further driving the words from his lips.

“Don’t lie to me.” He said, his voice a deadly, low rumble. “Look at me now, and tell me in all honesty that you don’t remember that night. Tell me that you don’t remember the way I felt inside of you. Tell me you don’t remember how good it was.”

Maybe it was pure spite on Spencer’s end. Desperately wanting to know that after all the resentment, the arguing, the years he had lost with his son, with you, that you still felt something for him underneath the anger and the annoyance.

Even if that underlying thing was lust. It was a strange victory, but he mentally cheered when he saw you clench your thighs together past the table - when your jaw tightened up. Your fingers twitched, and he knew you well enough to see the subtle signs of your lust from a mile away.

Old habits die hard.

Spurred on by this, and your steely silence, he kept going.

“Tell me that you don’t remember how perfect we were together - how good it felt when it was just us, nothing but skin on skin for the first time.”

You exhaled sharply.

“Spencer, we are not doing this right now.” You declared, your voice quivering slightly in your throat.

This didn’t deter him.

It was your use of the words ‘right now’ - even if unconsciously, you thought that there might be a ‘later’.

(In your mind, having sex with your ex, the father of your child, just to get off, sounded like the worst idea ever. But he looked so good and you knew that he was good in bed and if you had to be cooped up in the house with him for much longer, you would be making that stupid decision against your own will.)

“Tell me you don’t remember how good it felt when I came inside you that night.”

Spencer’s words were becoming more graphic now, looking to get more of a reaction out of you.

It worked in an instant - you swallowed thickly, your whole body tingling with the imagery his voice carried. The underlying lustful rumble in his tone making your insides quake. Your leg twitched with that unconscious desire to have some friction between your thighs. It was working so well, and he hated how much he loved it.

“I mean - what was your intention that night? Did you want me to fuck a baby into you? Is that why you were so desperate for me to fuck you raw? Is that why you kept pushing my cock deeper inside of you? Were you just that desperate to get knocked up?”

His words were making you utterly dizzy with heat. If it wasn’t for the common sense blinking loudly at the front of your brain, you would have jumped across the table and tackled him just to hump him for some sort of friction on your aching cunt.

Of course, he could read this plainly all over your face.

“Spencer-” You breathed out.

Just then, Spencer’s phone rang, cutting through the dangerously palpable tension in the air.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and when he saw Morgan’s contact name on the screen, he thought for certain that the man was calling to discuss some development in the case.

“I have to take this.” Spencer sighed.

“That’s fine.” You nodded. You were glad to have some relief from the dangerous tension - you needed a few minutes to collect yourself.

Spencer got up from the table and naturally moved toward the back door - a sliding glass door that he was disappointed to find unlocked. He would have to remind himself to have a talk with you about having better security protocols in your home, even during daylight hours.

Spencer closed the door behind himself, creating a small barrier of privacy as he answered the call.

“Hello.”

“Hey, pretty boy,” Morgan chuckled.

Spencer rolled his eyes, immediately knowing that this wasn’t a work call - this wasn’t anything serious in nature for Morgan to be greeting him that way.

“What do you want?” Spencer replied, his patience already in short supply.

“Oh, come on, man.” Morgan kept up that airy, light tone. “You think you can sneak around with your secret little family and not have it be the hottest gossip we’ve had in years? I wanna hear more about this kid of yours. Me and Prentiss got a bet, goin’ - so, was it an accident or not? Did you really know what you were doin’ when you stuck your little genius thang in her back then? Or no?”

Reid was going to kill JJ. (Well, not really. He was likely just going to glare at her firmly and ignore her for a day - or, just until she apologized.)

He knew that it had likely been an accident - the information about his private life getting leaked to the entire team. But, if JJ could keep important information about killings away from the media, why couldn’t she keep this out of the team’s hands? Why couldn’t she have made up some excuse about where Reid was?

“No, no.” Spencer ground out harshly, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I am not telling you if my son’s conception was an accident or not just to satisfy some stupid bet.”

“Ooh, a son.” Morgan seemed stuck on this piece of information. “Rossi, you owe me a drink. It is a boy.”

Reid heard Rossi and Prentiss arguing in the background, and he let out another frustrated sigh.

“Don’t you have work you should be doing?” Spencer asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Hotch has us spinning our wheels here.” Morgan replied. “Goin’ through more of these daycare forms while Garcia runs more background checks - but, so far, we’ve come up with squat. Your Baby Mama is the only real lead we’ve got so far.”

Reid sighed.

“So, was it a one night stand? An epic night of passion?” He chuckled, still using a teasing tone.

Spencer didn’t answer.

“At least tell me this - is she cute? What was it about this woman that got Doctor Reid to chase after his Darwin instincts for once?” Morgan pressed on.

“She’s beautiful.” Spencer replied without even thinking, his eyes looking at you through the glass door. “She… she’s perfect in every conceivable way.”

Sebastian had come back down stairs, clearly looking for Spencer. And now you had him in your lap, still sitting on your kitchen chair, playing with a couple of plastic dinosaurs that he had brought down from his bedroom on the tabletop.

There was a distinct, humble beauty in the fact that you didn’t know you were currently under Spencer’s attention. You looked at Sebastian with such intense love in your eyes - a way you had once looked at Spencer, before that love had been replaced by scorn and disdain. Before he had messed it all up.

“Woah.” Morgan wisped in reply. “That sounds like a whole lot more than just one night of baby makin’.”

Maybe he was still fishing for information to ‘win’ the bet, maybe not. Spencer couldn’t quite tell from his tone alone. But he did sound a bit more serious, and that wedged Spencer open a bit more in order to feel comfortable continuing.

“It was.” Spencer sighed. “She - she was the love of my life.” He added on, feeling safe to tell Morgan this. “But I messed it all up.”

Morgan instantly dropped his joking and teasing when he heard the choked off tears in Spencer’s voice.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Long story.” Spencer sighed. “But - it ends with me being excluded from my son’s life. For a good reason.”

“I don’t see any good reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to see your kid.” Morgan replied. “Reid, I’ve seen you with kids, man. If anybody deserves to be a father, it’s you.”

“I was different back then. Around the time she got pregnant.” He explained. “It was just after Hankel.”

There was a tense silence as Morgan sat with the truth - as he absorbed it. Clearly, he was unsure of what to say, and Spencer found himself naturally continuing on.

“He’s so smart.” He added on, looking at the way Sebastian ran his fingers along the neck of the brontosaurus - maybe he had brought that one down for Spencer, remembering that he had said it was his favorite. “He’s such a good kid.”

He almost choked on these words, more tears welling up that he forcefully pushed down.

He turned away from the glass door then, just in case you looked up to see his tearful face. He wiped his eyes with a stiff hand, and he was surprised by what Morgan said next.

“So be good to him.” He said. “Be there for him now. Step up and be the dad that we all know you can be.”

Before he could reply, Morgan continued.

“I don’t know if I believe in fate, but Penelope always says that everything happens for a reason.” He said. “And she would tell you to use this as an opportunity to be reunited with your girl, and become a real family. Even if it is because of some scumbag killing people that brought us here.”

Spencer smiled at this.

“That is very Garcia.”

“And you know she’s always right.”

...

Continue reading here: Chapter Four - Last Hope

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 4 months

Text

Yandere Ghost Smut

afab reader ; nsfw

“This house is totally perfect! You’ll love it,” is what your realtor told you when they finally found a house within your budget. You loved the aesthetics of historical homes, so when they discovered an older house that not only was in your price range, but had just minor damages, they called you immediately.

You moved in within the month. It didn’t take long to settle into your new home. There was a room with shelves meant for books, and you spent most of your free time there, enjoying the books from your collection that could rival a library. Sometimes, you would feel a sudden chill in the air when reading, and grow pensive. It would feel like someone was watching you. But besides that, nothing was out of the ordinary. You just assumed you were too stressed out and growing paranoid as a result. Everything was fine.

Well, it was. Until you started waking up with strange markings on your body. You woke up one day in a cold sweat, waltzing into the bathroom to wash your face off, only to find what looked like hickeys on your neck and upper chest area. Weird. Did you have bugs in the bed? Was it an allergic reaction to the new detergent you bought for the sheets? You had no idea.

You were never able to solve the issue because the markings disappeared within a few hours, and didn’t come back again. Once more, you shrugged it off and assumed nothing was amiss.

Yet eventually, things got even stranger. Your panties started disappearing one-by-one, and you were sure you hadn’t misplaced them. Specifically, your already worn undergarments would disappear from the dirty laundry bin before you could wash them. What the fuck?

“I don’t know, Mary,” you call your best friend one afternoon, “I feel like this place is haunted. And what’s even weirder is I keep getting these wet dreams…like every night. I’m not even sexually frustrated so I don’t know why I wake up wet or with markings on myself.”

“Maybe you got a ghost fucking ya?” She jokes around and you both get a laugh out of that. But for some reason, the deepest part of your being can’t dismiss that thought.

You begin to grow paranoid and start searching for any signs in your house that someone else is living with you. You decide to enter the dusty attic, and find rather antique furniture and a box containing a photo of a man and a woman. He was handsome, albeit a little creepy looking, but what struck you as odd was woman next to him. She looked eerily like you. You brought the photos downstairs to do some research on your computer, but alas, found no information on the man or the woman. The only thing you found out was that there was a fire that had damaged the property all too many years ago. You felt the creepy sensation of being watched again, and called it quits for the night, opting to get some much needed rest.

That night, you saw him.

————————————————————

It’s midnight when he appears in your room, watching your beautiful self slumber. You were so perfect, all those years ago when you left him, and even now. He loves the way the sheets drape your body, but slowly peels them off to reveal that you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your skin as your eyebrows furrow cutely in your sleep.

His angel must be having a nightmare, but he can take care of that. Gently, he trails his cold fingers over your curves. He admires your beauty, so happy to see you once more. He can’t wait another minute.

While you’re still on your side, he unclasps your bra, relishing the way your tits fall free without the support. They look so beautiful and perfect, he can’t even begin to describe how enchanted you make him feel.

You roll onto your back. He slides your underwear to the side, revealing your pretty cunt to his ghostly eyes. With a delicate touch, he rubs your clit in small circles, playing with you.

You gasp at the touch and he smirks. Your shuffling does little to deter him from his objective.

He’s on the bed with you, intently staring at your lower half. He admires your folds and moves them open and closed with his fingers, revealing a leaking hole that was your wetness. With a gulp, he slides your underwear off you, wadding it into a ball, burying his face into it as he takes a whiff of your scent. He’d be tasting the real thing soon enough. Once satisfied, he pockets your undies for safe keeping. He tilts his head down to your lower body, shifting into a more comfortable position. With a breath of anticipation, he slithers his cold tongue over your vagina, moaning slightly at the sensation.

He’s been doing this every night he could manifest, and it never got tiring.

This time, and he doesn’t know why, you wake up, staring down at the mysterious man in terror as he laps you up like a man thirsting in the desert. You mean to run but you can’t move. You feel something cold and wet tying your body to the bed. You try to close your legs from your violator, but his icu hands grip firmly on your thighs, keeping them wide open for him to shove his face between.

Under the moonlight, the two of you make eye contact but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to send you a wicked smile. “Good morning, love,” he says gently from beneath you. “I missed you so, so much. You know that?”

You’re in a state of shock, words screaming in your head but not quite reaching your vocal chords. The only sound you can make is a whimper as he shoves his tongue further into you, his nose rubbing you causing further pleasurable friction. He sucks, licks, and rolls your clit with his tongue.

Suddenly, he slides a cold finger into your hole and you gasp, arching your back only to be stuck back down again. “Don’t move, pretty thing,” he scolds you.

“F-fuck,” you finally manage to whisper, heart racing, “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been watching you for a very, very long time.” He’s stopped licking you, instead moving to pump another finger into your pretty cunt, thrusting in and out at a moderate pace. His eyes show so much love, desperation, and lust in them that you have no idea what to do or where to go. Then it clicks. The man from the photo. That’s who he was. How could that be possible? Was he an actual ghost?

“I’ve been so lonely without you, princess. When you left me to burn, do you know how heartbroken I was? But now you’re back, and we can finally be together again. I’m not letting you leave me another time.”

He now has three fingers inside of you, picking up the pace. The lewd sound of slick fingers sliding in and out of your cunt drives him wild. His face is back between your thighs again, lapping you up and suckling on you until you’re visibly shaking.

“Aw, sweet girl. Gonna cum?”

You don’t want to, but you feel something hot and heavy coming.

“Shit. Cum in my mouth, sweetheart. Wanna taste everything you got.” He latches back onto you.

Your stomach drops and you let go, mind very distressed but body obviously in heaven. Your pussy spazzes out on him and he moans as he licks up the mess you leave behind. With a wipe of his mouth he grins, eying you like a rare prize he had just one at the fair.

He grabs onto you, embracing you in a hug you can’t run away from. Seriously, why can’t you move? He notices your struggles and laughs, snuggling into your chest.

“Ah ah ah, no running away, love. I’ve waited so long for you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He flips you to where you’re face down, ass up. Your vagina is dripping, juices sliding down your thigh. He licks his lips before biting his lower one, admiring the roundness of your ass and your now puffy and pink pussy.

“Oh, love. You got no idea what you do to me…”

You feel something cold and hard tap the entrance of your walls, and you freeze. Oh god, was he going to fuck you? His hands are on the sides of your ass, but you feel another set of cold hands grabbing your arms, and even another pulling at your tits. You whimper at the overstimulation.

“Enjoy the hands. They’re all me.”

Before you can reply, he’s sliding his dick through your entrance. Your pussy quivers at the sensation and he laughs. “Did you just come from that, love?”

Once you take all of him, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “I want to hear you moan, sweetheart. Go on, make some noise for me.”

As he’s taking you from behind, a hand shoves its fingers into your mouth, and you gag on it. The sets of hands on your breasts are now fondling them, pinching and squeezing. You’ve never felt so much at once before, and you eventually yield to the pleasure, moaning as he thrusts into you.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all. You’re fucking mine,” He snarls, and you whine at how hard he’s pounding into you, ferocity now evident in his demeanor.

You slurp and suck on the fingers, only for it to pop out of your mouth and slide into your ass instead. You cry out at the sensation. A hand is sliding circles around your clit as he fucks you, sending waves of pleasure over your body you’ve never known before.

“Too much!” You cry, sobbing with pleasure.

He gives you a kiss on the neck. “Almost done, love. Just keep taking it, okay? You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re fucking perfect.” His thrusts became sporadic, and you know he’s close.

In the end, you come once more, and you feel he does too. When he pulls out, you collapse on the bed, blacking out. Morning eventually comes, and you feel someone is holding you from behind. A set of hands grope your body as you wake up.

“Morning, love. Ready for round two?”

#male yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere male #soft yandere #yandere drabble #yandere smut #yandere x you #yandere x darling #smut

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anothermansjeans · 1 month

Text

you know how to ball, i know aristotle

s.r x f!reader

summary: spencer's love feels so high school

warnings: none!

wc: 689 (she's short!)

a/n: inspired by so high school!! i have 50 different fics planned after listening to ttpd.......be prepared

It felt childish in a way. The way Spencer feels his cheeks flush and a chill run down his body whenever she’s near him. The constant butterflies. The shyness he feels when she's around. The high he gets from being near her. It feels like he’s a teenager in love.

Right now, the feeling remains as he watches Y/N and the rest of the team that fills the bullpen play a makeshift game of basketball with a trash bin and crumpled up paper. Whenever she makes a basket, she snaps her head over to him to see if he was looking– of course he was– and his chest fills with pride. Once her turn was over though, his head went right back down to his current read, something about Greek philosophers.

“Pretty Boy!”

His head immediately went back up at the sound of Morgan calling out to him. “Hmm?”

“We need reinforcements. Your girl is kicking our asses over here.”

A red wave flooded his neck, making its way up to his face, and he moved his chair back the tiniest bit, giving a small nod as he tried to hide his shy smile. He felt the way one would if they were asked to play kiss, marry, kill with their crush’s name thrown in there. Honestly, he’d be content if she did all three to him.

From there on, the game went terribly. While Y/N was making shot after shot, Emily was barely making it around the rim, Derek made it every other time, and Spencer was so far off it was pointless in asking him to join (but he knew the ball wasn't weighted properly, and he’d die on that hill). It didn't take long for those who were losing to become uninterested in the game, so everything eventually went back to business.

That was until Spencer felt a pair of hands gently knead into his shoulders.

Normally, he would tense up immediately. He wouldn't want to be touched– he’d be questioning why someone was touching him. But he knew it was Y/N. He’s become accustomed to her delicate touch; the smell of her lotion; the light reflecting off of the promise ring he bought her for their last anniversary. She would massage his shoulders until he was completely relaxed against her, allowing her to lean forward more and wrap her arms around his neck, placing her chin on his shoulder.

“I had a lot of fun earlier. You did well.”

He let out a giddy laugh as he craned his neck in order to look at her. The same giddy feeling a teenager gets when playing spin the bottle and truth or dare spread through his body whenever he’s this close to her, it truly never fails.

“I’m glad. I absolutely embarrassed myself with my lack of skill, but I’m glad at least someone enjoyed it.”

“Hey,” she shifted slightly so that she was directly looking at him all while keeping her chin perched on him. “You didn't embarrass yourself. We all have things we’re good at. Like, look at this.” She lazily gestured to the books scattered across his desk, “I couldn't even begin to describe what you're reading. You’re brilliant, Spence.”

“It’s called The Philosophy of Aristotle. It’s a selection of Aristotle’s works and–” he stopped himself, watching the way Y/N was completely mesmerized by what he had to say.

“Keep going. I've done my reports and I’m sure you've finished yours. We have plenty of time.” She kissed his cheek as a way to get him to start speaking again, and he felt on top of the world.

It was childish, really. The constant buzz he felt when speaking to her. The crinkles he can feel by his eyes from smiling so hard. The childlike wonder at how someone could be so perfect for him. No one’s ever had him like her. He felt as though this is what he would've felt if he had a normal childhood, one where he had a high school sweetheart. And despite it feeling so high school, he loves it. He loves her.

#idk how i feel about this but i tried!!#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

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thepersonnamedsam · 2 months

Text

the boyfriend - the genz!driver

pairing: 24!grid x the genz!driver, gzd x the boyfriend

summary: the grid finds out about the secret boyfriend of the genz!driver

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not proof read

note: i got so many requests about the grid finding out about a boyfriend, i decided not to use anyone famous, as i do think our beloved driver would want to have a private relationship.

maybe the boyfriend will make more appearances? that’s up to you, so let me know :)

masterlist / taglist

Maintaining a relationship outside of F1 was hard, but it was much harder for the only woman on the grid, who’s relationship status was all the media could think about.

But, the young y/n made it work. He wasn’t famous, by any means. He was just some young man from her hometown, whom she knew most of her life, but never thought about dating. But here they were, giggling over some memories and sharing drinks.

His blue eyes were staring deeply into hers and she felt chills rising over her whole body. He made her feel normal. Yes, that’s the word she would describe this whole relationship, normal. She loved him truly and was so glad to have him all to herself.

He knew about her job, of course, how couldn’t he? But he wasn’t jealous, nor was he angry about all the travelling and the media, he just wanted to see her succeed.

He was her safe space.

She swore to never tell anyone outside of family about him. She wanted him all to herself. The media, the world, can’t know about her little happy bubble. This was all for herself. Some would call y/n selfish, but she was just enjoying the time outside the spotlight.

What she didn’t think was the boys catching on to her love sickness. Lando in general. She thought that boy was as oblivious as HeyHey the chicken. But he caught onto the demeanour change of the young woman.

„What’s been going on with you?“, he asked her before the Australian race. The young driver looked up to the papaya coloured boy. „What do you mean?“ - „I mean, you have been smiling at your phone, who you smiling at? You don’t have any friends outside F1, sorry. And you haven’t been mean to any of us this weekend, not even Pierre.“

y/n shrugged her shoulders and just looked at her best friend. „It’s not that important“, she said. „Do I have to call Seb?“ - „No, don’t call Seb, I‘ll tell you, if you don’t tell anyone else!“

She didn’t want Seb involved in any of this. Not because she didn’t want to see Seb again, but he would overreact like hell.

So, when the race started on Sunday and her boyfriend got up in the early mornings to send her a sweet good luck message, she was racing for a podium. With Max out of the race, chances weren’t even half bad.

She knew the two Ferraris in front of her wouldn’t budge and her car wasn’t fast enough to even reach them. But it would be enough to reach the third spot on that podium.

With Lando right behind her, she felt this was a perfect first podium. Sharing it with the two Ferrari boys and Lando right behind her. All that was missing was him.

He was sitting in front of the TV cheering for his girlfriend and waking up the whole household when she crossed that finish line as third. Oh how he wished to be there with her to celebrate that first podium. But he was back home.

y/n was screaming. Her coms had been deactivated, so no one would have serious damage. She was so happy. The first podium ever for her.

She parked her car on the significant spot and jumped out of it, standing on top of her halo. Hands thrown up into the air. It was a feeling she’d never forget. When she got down, Carlos and Charles were waiting for her. She squealed and jumped into their arms.

She made history.

And when she stood on that podium, looking straight into the camera, she blew him a kiss, knowing he’d watch her.

Later that evening, the grid went partying. They found this exclusive club, thanks to Danny, and just let it all out. Even Max was there, he couldn’t let the opportunity go to celebrate the young driver.

„You have to call him now!“, shouted Lando. „Lando!“, she shouted back. „Who do you have to call? We’re all here?“, Danny asked y/n. „No one“, she tried to cover up Landos mistake.

„Who’s ,him‘?“, asked Fernando. „I heard the milk boy clearly, who is he?“

„I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t want spill your boyfriend“, Lando apologised. The young driver just groaned, how can one be so stupid?

„Boyfriend?!“ „You have a boyfriend?“ „Wtf, y/n has a boyfriend?“ Was heard throughout the club.

The young woman sighed, „Yes, I have a boyfriend, is that so surprising?“

„It’s not that, y/n, promise, it’s just so weird seeing you all grown up“, Lewis said to her, „Who is he, what’s his name, what does he do, hm? We want to know all about him and why you haven’t told us about him.“

„Okay, so…“

And she told them everything, how he was a childhood friend, how they met in school. How they met over winter break she spent at home in her local food shop and how they instantly clicked again. How she asked him out on a date and the rest of it was history.

„I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell us?“, Danny sounded hurt and y/n‘s heart broke into a little million pieces. „I just wanted him on my own, I knew if I told you guys, you’d wanted to meet him, which means taking him to a race, which then means he’d be seen by the media and the whole world. I like having a normal relationship with him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, you are my family too after all.“

„It’s okay, little one“, Nando patted her on the back to console the young driver, „Next time, just tell us, we won’t judge.“

„I actually hope, there won’t be a next time…“

„Oh, y/n, I hope for you that there will be a next time. Enjoy the butterflies that come with love. He’s the first one and will always remain the special one, but believe me, there will be others waiting there for you“, Daniel said with a slight laugh.

„You can’t say anything sentimental without your signature sentence, can you?“, y/n laughed. Daniel just shrugged.

„Call him!“, Lando said, once again. „Okay, okay, I will“, y/n finally gave in.

His phone rang with your face on the screen. He happily picked up, expecting his beautiful girlfriend on the other side in her hotel room. What he didn’t expect was his girlfriend trying to fit 19 men on her display.

„Hi baby“, she said happily. He could make out, that she was tipsy if not already drunk. „Hi my love, congratulations on your podium, you did so well, sweetheart.“ - „Thank you, I’m so happy! But, there are a lot of people who want to meet you, actually. Meet the grid!“

Her boyfriend watched the men on the other side of the screen fighting to reach for her phone. „Boys, one at a time, he’ll be overwhelmed“, she giggled.

Lewis was the first one to grab her phone and started his parent-ly rant about not hurting the girl or he‘ll show up with Roscoe. Her boyfriend nodded and promised the older driver to never hurt her.

Daniel was the second one and demanded he tells him a joke. „Uhm, okay, why do cows wear bells?“, he asked Danny. „I don’t know, you tell me.“ - „Because their horns don’t work?“ Daniel snorted and gave her boyfriend a thumps up. „I like him“, he then whispered to y/n.

„How much do you like her?“, Charles asked the poor boy. „I like her like the earth loves the sun, how without it no life would ever grow again.“ Charles looked at the young man and was deeply impressed. „Okay, alright, I guess that’s enough?“

And when Oscar got the phone, all he did was say ,hi‘ and pass it to Zhou. The latter wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. As he didn’t know the young driver very well. But he did as everyone did and threatened the boyfriend.

Valterri, Esteban and Nico just made a ,dad stare‘ as they would call it. And Carlos said some sweet words about her.

It went on and on until Lando got the phone last. He ran away with it and tried to speak with him privately.

y/n laughed, but wasn’t sure what he was gonna tell her boyfriend.

„Don’t worry, Lando won’t do anything stupid, well, maybe he will, but he won’t cause any harm. You know him“, Oscar reassured her. „I know“, she sighed, „But I’d still like to know what they’re talking about.“

„You know, one time she had to get her wisdom teeth removed and it was so funny seeing her on anaesthesia, oh my god, you should’ve seen her!“

„Oh and there was one time, she crashed because of an engine failure, and she was so sad, but she looked so cute, I swear, like a little baby!“

„Man, are you sure you’re just best friends? You’ve been talking about her like you love her“, her boyfriend said timidly.

„Of course I love her, but she’s my muppet, I couldn’t ever love her like you do, I see it in your eyes, the eyes chico, they never lie“, he giggled.

„I uhm, how did you know? I haven’t told her yet, so please don’t do it for me“, he begged. „I won’t, but no promises, I’m real bad at keeping secrets, to be honest“, Lando tried to promise.

After a while, he handed the phone back to y/n. „Here you go, be lovesick with your boyfriend“, he said in a sing-sung voice.

„Thank you, Lando“, she smiled and gave him a kiss on his cheek, „Thank you to all of you for being so accepting and understanding.“

„We wouldn’t do it any other way, y/n“, Pierre said. „But if he hurts you, we will collectively show up to his house and we can’t promise anything“, Charles threatened.

„Oh guys, I love you all so much, but please don’t hurt my boyfriend.“

„No promises“, Nando whispered darkly. „What was that, Nando? Did you say anything?“, y/n asked him. „No, cariño, nothing at all, we love you too.“

Later, late at night in Australia, y/n‘s boyfriend called her again.

„You know, they all threatened me and I actually got scared. Uhm, Fernando, was it? He is so scary. I thought he was a big old softy, they was you talk about him and his Taylor Swift obsession, but man, was he scary.“

y/n giggled and said, „He is a big softy, he just doesn’t show it that much. What did Carlos say to you? I didn’t understand what he was saying.“ Her boyfriend smiled lovingly at y/n. „Nothing important, just how you bring light into their life’s and how happy they are for us.“ - „Awww Carlitos, I have to thank him the next time.“

„You know, I do think Lando is in love with you, if I didn’t know how much you like me, I would feel threatened“, he laughed lightly.

„I don’t just like you, I love you.“

„You do?“, his heart was racing, just like she was every other weekend. „I love you too.“

„But I swear to god, if they threaten you ever again, I will purposely crash into them at the next race.“

°°°

taglist:

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queenimmadolla · 3 months

Text

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Summary: Tired of seeing Eddie with other women, you reflect on how much longer you can take it.

Warnings: no mentions of y/n, fem!reader, heavy on the angst, hurt with attempts to comfort, both reader and Eddie are bad at feelings, self-deprecation, Eddie is toxic and doesn’t know why, infidelity (but not technically), no happy ending.

The house is quiet as the front door creaks open, you’re quick to slip inside—chill of the October air nipping at your back. The lights are all off and your arms curl around your exposed midsection. It was colder outside but still chilly in your home, your parents out of town on a romantic anniversary road trip.

You sigh, tossing your keys on the table to run around searching for in the morning, and make your way to your room with a quick detour at the thermostat to turn on the heat. It’s a blind fumble to reach the antique lamp, once you enter your bedroom, but you refuse to use the overhead light. It would cast your room in non-aesthetic lighting, and you’re already annoyed, pissed off and depressed enough.

An irritated breath is huffed from your lips, top lip curling as you recall the very reason for your negative attitude, hands yanking your top right over your head. It’s only when you’re in your pajamas, faced with your own reflection as you prepare to remove the makeup that had been so empowering to put on but you can now feel on your face like an unpleasant mask, that you allow the hot tears of anger and hurt to fall. You almost want to laugh at yourself, mouth curling into a bitter smile as you swipe the ponds cream all over your face. As you massage it in, making sure to focus on your eyes, the smile wavers, corners tugging down as moisture still leaks from your clenched eyelids.

You don’t have to be mean to yourself, you shouldn't. Not when the guy you’re in love with already does such a good job of it.

You purse your lips, trying to hold back sobs as you recall the images of him all over a girl you didn’t know at a party he’d convinced you to go to. You couldn’t even describe her, couldn’t remember what she looked like—all you saw was your Eddie, the guy who drove you to and picked you up from work, took you on cute dates involving picnic baskets, fields, lakes, empty lots to stargaze in, nearly empty movie auditoriums so the two of you could canoodle, your tongues tasting each other as the two lovers on screen professed their undying love.

He even bought you stuffed animals, would pretend to give them life and personalities to go with it, all to amuse you. Did arts and fucking crafts with you.

But anytime you so much as brought up the status of your relationship, he’d wave it off, claiming labels were for Petri dishes, not people.

You were his girl and that’s all that mattered.

It’s what you’d repeated in your head the first time you’d seen him playing with Bianca Anderson’s fingers while the two of them were tucked away in the corner of the hideout, after one of Corroded Coffin’s sets. And again when you’d stumbled out of Rick’s house party to see him laid out on the grass, his head in the lap of a former cheerleader from high school he used to admire, her head bowed to connect their lips and his hands in her hair.

By the time he was tugging at Tina’s hair, playfully shouldering her while they stood in front of the bonfire at another gathering, you’d stopped repeating it in your head. Not even when you watched her lead him to her car.

You lost count of how many times Eddie had made other girls his, too.

And like some pathetic worm with no backbone, you let him. Okay—it’s not like you could physically stop them, though tonight your drink had ended up all over him, maybe that put a little stutter in his plans. But there wouldn’t be a too if you just fucking stopped.

Just . . .stopped.

Stopped taking his calls, stopped answering your door for him, your window, let your co-worker take over the counter the moment he stepped in, stopped looking for his car, stopped thinking about him and that stupid fucking dimple, stopped thinking about how special you felt when he had your naked body pressed against his under the warmth of blankets, his rough fingertips tracing over your sweaty shoulder. How he’d always get so tender, pull you even closer and whisper how much you meant to him while pressing slow kisses to your face. How he never wanted to lose you, wouldn’t know what to do, couldn’t live. It was the sweetest agony.

Most of all, you wish he would stop being there in the morning, all soft breaths and fluttering lashes as he tried to be as close to you as he could, even in a deep slumber. It’s how you know he means it. He means everything he tells you. There is truth to those sweet nothings, declarations, proclamations. You know it.

And that’s why it all hurt so bad, because you know he cares about you as much as he says he does and he still always fucking hurts you, always breaks your heart, but because you know he cares, you’d just let him back in like some fucking clown.

He gets to break you over and over again and you let him because he always puts the pieces back together.

You know what people say about you—everyone knows the two of you are involved and they’d see him out and about with others. Your fumbling answers about what the two of you aren’t just make it clear to them that you’re a doormat and you can’t even deny it. Just avoid their pitiful looks thrown your way.

After washing your face, you take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror; eyes rimmed red, lashes clustering together, face etched in misery. When you can’t stand the person on the other side of the mirror any longer, you flip the light switch and leave the bathroom, pick your favorite tape to listen to, set the volume low and slip into bed.

You’d teetered with the idea of smoking a little, but that would just stave off the heartbreak. Might as well feel it in the moment while you still have the sense of mind before—

Knock, knock, knock.

A humorless chuckle escapes you, muffled into your pillow as your eyes slip shut. Sometimes by the front door, just about always by the window. You think it’s another one of his little relationship doorstops; can’t be serious with you if he uses your window to sneak into your house, it’s much too intimate to walk through your front door.

Of course, he can’t let you have a moment of peace, not even when you’re down. No, he has to fix you now. That’s how the toxic cycle goes. So, dutifully, you play your part, though this time, things have changed.

You toss the blankets off and pad over to your window but you don’t open it right away. Instead, you stare at him. Take him in.

Eddie is in different attire, shirt and jeans swapped out for one of his old club shirts and some sweats. His hair isn’t as voluminous, it’s wet. He’d had to shower to rid himself of your wine cooler. There’s no trace of the Eddie you saw at the party, this one has eyes filled with sorrow and depth, almost like he’s known nothing else. You know better.

Please, he mouths through the glass. You stare a beat longer before the latch is unlocked and he’s hastily pulling it open, clambering in ungracefully.

As you watch him gain his footing, part of you wants to taunt yourself about how you’ve let this man, so below your league and wonderful, ruin your life. He’s hot, sure, but you're hotter. That’s just the truth. You denied it a lot at the beginning of your shitty cherished relationship, felt so insecure to have a man like him paying you attention when he can have everyone. But he was no man. And he still had everyone along with you. Those pitting glances weren’t just because of what you let him put you through, it was because they knew you could do better.

For some reason, the idiot who got his shoe caught on the window sill is the one your heart wants.

God, you hate him.

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your bed, climbing back into your warm blankets. Your back is to him, yet you can still feel his hesitance, see the look on his face, how his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His stare is intense but it doesn’t unnerve you. Not this time. You feel the bed dip as he climbs in behind you.

There’s still some distance between the two of you, you can tell he’s uncertain. Then, he scuttles forward until he’s pressed to your back, arm slipping around your middle to drag you impossibly closer.

He’s surrounding you, the scent of Eddie’s all-in-one shampoo and body wash filling your nostrils, underlying smell of the joint he’d smoked to calm his nerves before coming over, and the cheap body spray he’d soaked himself in to try and hide it.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “Swear I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at the poster of Roxette pinned to your wall. His arm tightens around you and you can feel his heart hammering against your back.

“I-I couldn’t do that to you,” he continues and you huff, that bitter smile from earlier returning. Eddie goes stiff behind you, but he has nothing to worry about. You won’t kick him out, won't toss him to the curb like you should. You both know you won’t. He knows you should, knows he hurts you and he honest to god doesn’t know why. Couldn’t tell anyone to save his own life.

He just—he just fucks shit up. It’s not self-sabotage because Eddie knows he risks losing you and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t ever want to exist in a world where you don’t want him, don’t want to be with him.

But he still does it anyway. Still goes and kisses girls knowing you’re watching, does worse when you’re not.

The worst part—other than hurting you—is that he doesn’t even want them. Not really. Other than in that moment, Eddie couldn’t give a single shit about them beyond being a Good Samaritan. It’s you he wants all the time.

You’re the only constant thing he needs in his life, wants around him all the time, craves, lusts after, loves, cherishes. For the rest of his life. But Eddie hurts you, and he doesn’t know why.

That’s why he can’t be your boyfriend. Evidently, he’d be a shit one. Not that he’s doing a spectacular job being your…whatever it is he was, whatever the two of you were.

Yes, he always fucks up, but he keeps part of you safe from him by not being your boyfriend. One day, you’ll leave him.

He knows it. It scares the shit out of him and he prays to deities he doesn’t really believe in that it won’t happen, that he’ll get this shit together and make right by you, but he knows you’ll leave him. You genuinely deserve better.

“I wish I didn’t know you,” Eddie tenses once more at your voice, at your statement. It’s said with nonchalance, like you were commenting on the weather. He relaxes, heart clenching in pain as he somehow holds you even tighter.

“I know.”

“I hate that I love you. Wish I would just stop.” You shimmy around until you’re facing him, Eddie’s hold on you loosens to allow it, and when you’re settled, he pulls you close again, your nose nudging along the neckline of his shirt.

“I know.” He whispers out again, vision blurring with unshed tears. He loves you, too. Neither of you ever say it directly, just make references to it.

“I will, though. Maybe not tonight, but I won’t always love you.” It’s said with certainty. You’ll take this treatment for now, but you know you won’t forever. Despite the pathetic place you’d found yourself in tonight, again, you’re making strides. Gone was the loser who would just watch him betray you after spending the entire day making you feel like the two of you were the only ones on earth who mattered. Tonight, you’d stepped in. You were growing more self aware. Soon, you would stop answering the door. Stop answering his calls. Stop loving him.

And you’d look back and cringe, maybe laugh with your friends about how stupid and naive you’d been. You’d move on, too. Meet someone who treats you as good as Eddie does when he isn’t sucking another girl’s face. They won’t kiss or fuck anyone else, they’ll only ever know you from the moment that spark ignites. You might worry from time to time, effects from Eddie, but they’ll gently coax it out of you, build your trust up and one day you won’t worry. All you’ll know is their love.

Yeah, you’d stop loving him.

Eddie makes an indistinguishable sound, you know he’s fighting sniffles. Can hear the emotion in his voice, “I know.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest before your cheek settles there, listening to the fast paced beating coming from within it and you wonder if it’ll happen tomorrow. If you’ll wake up, see Eddie sleeping in your bed, and have your first thought be how much you want him out of it and away from you without a trace of fondness for him. You’ll just wake up and not love him anymore.

You slip a leg between his to tangle your limbs, breathing in his scent as deeply as you can when your eyelids flutter shut.

And while you spend your last moments of consciousness hoping tonight’s the last night you’ll let him hold you, Eddie spends the rest of it wide awake, and hoping. Hoping if he doesn’t fall asleep, he won’t wake up to you telling him you don’t love him. Hoping he’ll miraculously become a better person for you overnight. Hoping he won’t lose you.

Hoping you’ll always be his girl.

divider ℗ cafekitsune ♡

#Eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction

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jihyoruri · 5 months

Text

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 LOVEFOOL ahn yujin x idol!reader

🪽★ ͘ ⴰ in which yujin realizes that the girl that the girl that’s caught her attention is the same annoying younger sister of her ex member that told her she needs dance lessons

warnings: yn is apart of new jeans and is sakura’s younger sister, fluff, yn is described as a brat, swearing

all yujin can think right now is how stupid she is.

of course the yn that she’s fallen for is the little shit head that told her that she needed “dance lessons” a couple years back.

yujin was definitely in shock when her and wonyoung knocked on the door to the lesserafim dorms and instead of being met with one of the members at the door, yn opened it, the girl that she’s been talking to for the last couple months.

also sakura’s little sister.

“hey unnie, what are you doing here?” yn asked with a smile on her face, opening the door wider so wonyoung and yujin could come in.

“I should be asking you that,” yujin says standing in front of the girl awkwardly earning a confused look from yn as wonyoung walks deeper into the house, leaving them at the front.

“you mean chilling at my older sister’s place?” yn says tilting her head, yujin would’ve thought that was adorable but due to the circumstances that was the last thing on her mind and it was now her turn to look confused.

“you never told me kazuha was your older sister,” she replies dumbly which causes yn to let out a big laugh.

“my last name is miyawaki not nakamura you dummy.” yn says in a playful tone looking up at yujin and pushing her shoulder softly.

wait?

“oh…”

“yeah oh,” yn mocks before grabbing yujin’s hand and placing the older girls arm over her shoulder, “now let’s go, she’s actually been wondering who ive been talking to, I can’t wait to see the look on her face," yn says mischievously and again yujin would’ve found it adorable if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

"oh, also my members are here as well."

yn who yujin now remembers as sakura’s brat of a little sister is the same yn that’s practically her girlfriend, how did she not see the similarities? yn is still very much a brat the only difference is that yujin now finds it cute rather than repulsive.

and the last names, gosh was she really blinded by love to not realize that yn had the same exact last name as her former member?

yujin wonders if yn still sees her as a bad dance, yn is an amazing dancer one of the best yujin has ever seen, was yn just suppressing her thoughts now that she liked yujin?

yujin doesn't know why it bothered her but it did, if yn really did still think she was a bad dancer it would completely ruin her self confidence, who knew when you liked someone how much power their opinion could have over you.

"hey, you okay?" yujin looks down to see yn looking up at up her still lucked under her arm, "are you nervous? come on its just sakura who you should be worried about is minji-gosh I can already see the glares." yn rambles.

"I'm okay," yujin smiles at yn hesitantly, thoughts still clouding her mind as they reach the living room where everyone is.

the talking that filled the room stoped when they entered the room, sakura's eye widening when she takes notice of yujin's arm over yns shoulder.

"yujin, you're the girl?" is the first thing that comes out of sakura's mouth, yujin can feel the new jeans leaders gaze on her but that's the least of her worries right now.

"yeah..." she responds nervously, yujin really wished now wasn't the time that all of this was being unwrapped not with all the thoughts that are circulating her mind right now.

"why is it so quiet?" yn asks with sass in her voice like always causing everyone to start back up their conversations while sakura gets up from her seat on the couch and walks over to the couple.

"is this for real?" she whispers, "you guys genuinely like each other?" both girls nod, yn with a little bit of more attitude because is that even a question?

sakura turns to yujin, "you know she's quite the handful right? can you handle her?"

"she can handle me just fine thank you very much." yn butts in leaning into yujin's side as yujin nods.

sakura stares at them for a little longer before letting out a sigh, "as long as you guys are happy I guess,"

"we're gonna have to set some ground rules, but that's for another time, we're gonna play just dance come on."

dance? why did that sound like the worst to yujin right now.

yn squeals and removes herself from under yujin's arm and jumps onto sakura's back as the older girl walked away, "I'm gonna crush everyone."

yujin trails behind them, this should've been an enjoyable moment but not with all these insecurities circling her mind.

she walked into the room and gave everyone a greeting and smile as they set up the game before taking seat beside minji who leans over to her, "we're gonna have to set some ground rules."

yujin lets out a sigh "yeah, I figured."

yujin kept to herself as everyone had fun playing the game and just as yn said she destroyed everyone, it was at the point that everyone was trying to forbid her from playing for the next couple of rounds but it was all fun and games, yujin wished she was in the right state of mind to enjoy this moment with everyone else.

"hey," yujin is snapped out of thoughts by the voice she loves the most, she looks up to see yn sitting beside her while everyone is still discussing kicking yn out "wanna verse me?"

that did not sound enjoyable at all.

"no, it's okay," yujin says quietly.

"are you okay?" yn asks worried, and that's a tone that you'll barely hear from the younger girl, "your vibe is completely off right now."

"I'm fine."

yn shot yujin a look that screamed "get real" before standing up and grabbing yujin's hands and pulling her into the hallway nobody even noticing to deep into their deep discussion.

"okay, tell me what's going on." yn said crossing her arms over her chest, "and don't give me any bullshit"

yujin lets out a sigh and mumbles so quietly that yn couldn't hear her.

"what?"

"If I'm gonna be honest I completely didn't put together that you and sakura unnie are sisters so seeing you here today really brought it to light but then I remembered what you said to me a couple of years ago about how I needed dance lessons and it didn't bother me much back then you were just really annoying but then now with how much I like you and I wonder if you really think im a bad dancer yujin says rushingly while yn looks at her in shock.

"yujin," she whispers her face softening as she grabs both of the taller girls hands, "of course I think you're a good dancer."

yujin just stares at yn as she continues, "you really remembered what thirteen year old me said to you? thirteen year old me thought you were the cutest girl ever but decide to tease the hell out of you because she couldn't handle having a crush."

yujin feels a smile make its way to her face at that, "you had a crush on me for that long?" she teases quietly as yn rolls her eyes, "yes, and im sorry for making you think that you weren't a good dancer, you're amazing"

"yn apologizing, this is a once in a blue moon experience." yujin smiles pulling yn closer to her who just laughs and rolls her eyes once more, "yeah, yeah don't get used to it," she responds before softly placing her lips softly on yujin's who kisses her back right away chasing yns lips when she pulls away from the older girl laughing.

"lets go back before minji untie realizes were gone and loses her head." yn says interlocking her hand with yujin who nods understandingly.

"evern though she's younger than me she's really scaring." yujin says as yn drags her.

"lets not focus on her and lets focus on how im gonna crush you in just dance, that you'll want dance lessons."

that should've made yujin offended but all she could do is smile and look at the younger girl fondly.

she really was a lovefool.

#yujin x reader #ahn yujin x reader #ive x reader #Lesserafim #new jeans #ive fluff #girl group imagines #girl group fluff #yujin fluff

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leahsgirl · 4 months

Text

star girl | lucy bronze x reader

based off the request ‘maybe one with Lucy, that the r scores in the euros final like the winning goal’. let’s imagine it’s the 23’ world cup final again and leah + beth never tore their acl’s xx

—

It’s safe to say tensions were high in the locker room as you and your fellow England teammates prepared for one of the biggest matches of your careers. Sarina had opted for the same line-up that secured your team the european championship a year prior, just a few changes here and there.

Yourself was on the bench as a substitute, however, it didn’t make the experience any less nerve-wracking. Double knotting the laces on your boot, you walked over to a familiar brunette.

“it’s totally normal to feel sick to my stomach right?” She chuckles, as if she isn’t about to go out to a crowd of 75,000+ people. “The life of a footballer love.”

“How have you played three world cups? I feel like a heart attack is going to hit me any minute.” Sitting next to her, she squeezes your hand and kisses your temple. “Calmer?” The older girl asks. “Calmer.” You confirm, leaning your head on her shoulder for a brief minute.

You would describe your relationship with Lucy very much black cat x golden retriever; while you was often energetic and switching through emotions like tv channels, lucy was the opposite. While she liked to have fun and be sarcastic and all, she was actually a very chill person who would just go with the flow.

Lucy and you had been dating for just over a year and a half with only close friends and family knowing. You’d be lying if you had your doubts if the both of you would even last - with Lucy playing in Barcelona and you for your childhood club Manchester United, but you stuck it out and recently just bought your first place together.

It was 7:45pm over in Sydney Australia, both opposing teams beginning to line up next to each other in the tunnel. You and the other substitutes were to come out after the starting players. You prayed to God you could come away with a win tonight - you knew how hard each and everyone of you worked and to win the world cup would just be the cherry on top to an undefeated championship run youse had going.

Walking out, it all suddenly got very real. The cheers from the crowd made you smile as you took your seat.

The referee blew her whistle; it was go time. You watched the game intensely, weighing up the stats of your team and the opposing team. Spain was playing good and the nerves in your stomach were intensifying with each passing second.

“Oh shit look!” Ella pointed over at James who was now running down a practically free pitch. “Come on, come on.” You muttered under your breath as you see Spain’s goalkeeper take her stance. James went to hit the ball, it travelling at a good speed. Unlucky for you and your team, it just narrowly missed the goal and instead hit the crossbar - the goalkeeper catching it as it fell back down, opting to roll it to one of her Spanish teammates.

Ten minutes had passed and your team was yet to make another chance, Spain players literally tackling left and right. It all came crashing down however when Carmona scored twenty-nine minutes in, managing to slot the ball into the corner of the net. As the opposing team celebrated you couldn’t help but feel bad for your girlfriend who you know would be blaming herself for the goal after she gave away the ball taking on three players at once.

The game carried on with a profound feeling of desperation. While Beth, both Laurens and even Keira had a shot at goal, none of the attempts made it into the net. You was happy to hear the half-time whistle blow, running down the steps and back through the tunnel.

“It’s not your fault, don’t even think it.” Knowing exactly the thoughts going on in your girlfriend’s head, you rubbed her back supportively. “I got too bloody cocky, I should’ve just passed it back.” Lucy ran her slim fingers through her tied back hair.

“Hey hey, we still have another forty five minutes to show them what we’ve got. And I don’t know about you, but I think Bronze over here shouldn’t stop aiming for gold.” Her lips tugged at a grin over your partially lame joke. “You’re right, as always. Don’t know what I’d do without my woman.” She quickly pecked your lips.

“Okay lovebirds, keep it in your pants - we have a game to win.” Keira piped up, giving both you and lucy a little smack on the back of the head.

It’s safe to say after the pep talks the squad received in the locker room, England was on top form. It also helped that Spain had let go of the reigns a little, clearly thinking they were safe with the one nil advantage.

The 68th minute. That’s when the crowd started to get a whole lot louder and players were charging down one side of the pitch. Hemp had control of the ball, slowing just before the box and passing it to Beth. The blonde hit the ball with her left foot sending it straight into the back of the goal. Cheers roared through the stadium as you celebrated with the other girls on the bench. The scoreline now 1-1, you was still in this.

Your time had come to make a debut in the game, walking onto the outskirts of the pitch, Sarina going through the plan with you. James was the girl who was making way for your appearance, giving you a double high-five and pat on the back.

Running onto the pitch, adrenaline rushed through you as you made eye contact with a certain someone and sent her a wink. You hadn’t even managed to get three passes before you were caught with studs pressing into your ankle, sending you down onto the ground “What the fuck was that for?” It’s not like you was massive threat to the Spanish team at that moment considering you was about to pass the ball back up your end.

Luckily you were awarded a free kick, having alex take it. The match was getting more tense the longer you played, both teams creating good chances. Spain was even awarded a penalty which thank god Mary saved.

91 minutes. The game had entered extra time. Scores still level.

You watched as Keira dribbled with the ball, passing to Leah who kicked it up the pitch. Weighing up where the ball was in the sky and where you was near the goal you saw your chance; jumping up in the air you threw your body back, your left foot getting a hit on the ball which sent it flying into the net. Getting up off the grass, you look at one of the assistant referee’s to make sure it wasn’t offside.

His flag staying down, you dropped to your knees in disbelief. The girls ran over to you cheering and shouting your name while practically assaulting you with hugs.

The final whistle was blown about thirty seconds later with your whole squad now coming into the pitch. Familiar hands wrapped around your torso and lifted you into the air, carrying you bridal style. “You’re fucking incredible you know that?” The brunette spun you around grinning like a little child.

Once put down you cupped her face in your hands, overcome with emotion and smashed your lips onto hers. Although the defender was taken back, she gave into the moment and kissed you back with just the same intensity. It wasn’t the way either of you was planning to make the relationship public but hey, you just won the biggest tournament of your lives and wanted to celebrate with your special lady.

it wasn't long before you was ambushed by your team shouting compliments left right and centre. the crowd was also off on one, the volume making your ears ring.

walking back through the tunnel and into the locker room you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when a voice whispered into your ear "follow me."

obliging by the command and plodding behind the brunette, she dragged you into what appeared to be a storage room, miscellaneous sports equipment scattered around.

pushing you up against the cold wall which made you audibly gasp she planted a searing kiss onto your lips, hands having a firm hold of your waist. you reacted almost immediately, placing you hand on the back of her neck and bringing the two of you even closer.

"god i love you." the older woman breathed out as she moved from your lips to your neck, biting and sucking the skin to the point you was squirming in effort to not make any noise.

"i should score goals more often if this is how i get rewarded." forcing her to look at you, you reconnected your lips wasting no time in biting her bottom lip and snaking your tongue inside.

just as she slid her hand under your shirt there was a bang on the door. "lucia bronze and y/n y/l/n! if youse two are not out of there in ten seconds i will kick this door down myself!" tooney shouted.

you placed one last peck on lucy's cheek "i think we've been caught."

the right-back rolled her eyes. "we're continuing this later." she smirked, hitting your butt before unlocking and opening the door for you.

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lucybronze Won the world cup and the girlfriend jackpot. On top of the world right now.

youruser 🤍

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#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #barcelona femeni #lionesses #england lionesses #england #request #world cup #women’s football #woso #woso community #woso x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Text

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for��her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #konig x reader #könig mw2 #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends #just friends fic

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nyx-is-missing · 5 months

Note

Clarisse and Reader (daughter of Poseidon) meeting in the middle of the night to swim in the lake and being caught by Chiron in a make-out session and being punished for it

Young love

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader (Poseidon's kid)

Summary: when Clarisse and reader cant get alone time in land and daylight, they search for the comfort of water and nights, until they are found

Warnings: poorly written make out session, fluff, lovebirds, kissing, chiron was there

(Yall already know)

"Clarisse are you sure nobody will notice we left?"

I said, while we both took of our clothes somewhere in the sand, the night was beautiful and me and Clarisse wanted some deserved time alone, wich we couldnt have in daylight

With the summer everyone was in camp and nowhere was calm and alone enough for us to have...a little time for us.

So there it goes our idea, to go out in the middle of the night to swim at the beach.

"Who would notice? Everyone is sleeping right now, dont let your head stop you from having some fun... c'mon"

She took me by the hand, walking me to the water, and we only stopped when the water was almost on our necks.

"Hey clari, do you hear this?"

"Hear what?"

She looks at me, and then looks around, as if waiting to see if somebody was there.

"The waves, arent they the most beautiful melody?"

I close my eyes, feeling the hot water currents softly in my body, and hearing the sound of the waves who never ceased to wet the sand.

"No"

She kissed the base of my neck

"Your voice is"

"Clarisse la rue being lovestruck? Thats new"

I looked at her, smilling big, to wich she just answered "i dont have much time with you, let me be ridiculous"

Her kissed went up, from the base, to the middle, to my jaw, and then my lips.

Her arms were around my hips, pulling me closer to her, my arms automatically hugged her neck.

I couldnt describe a better feeling, being in the water, on the arms of the girl i liked, kissing her, being unafraid of living, of loving.

Everything was too much, and yet too less.

I wanted more, more love, more of her, more kisses, just more more more.

Her tongue was hot against mine, and i felt everything with such intensity, i could swear my legs became jello, if my body wasnt inside the water, i would be shaking.

Its siliy, we kissed a thousand times and it still feels like the first one, i still get nervous when she looks at me that way only she can do.

I deepened the kiss, and felt her hands lowering a few inches, please let all the fish be sleeping, they like gossip a little bit too much

There was wind, and still i felt hot, even more when her mouth got back to the base of my neck, bitting it gently.

My eyes closed with enjoyment, but they oppened it up so quickly as i heard a familiar sound, a too familiar sound.

"Um.. clari we should sto-"

"Oh please, i barely have any time with you anymore, just one more kiss... or two.. or three.."

She said going directly back to kissing my mouth

The chill in my spine did not went away, actually, it had gone bigger when i heard him clearing his throat and saying:

"Young demigods... dont you think its too late to be swimming?"

Me and Clarisse separate really fast, faces going white with the shock of being caught by him

"CHIRON! I...we... how are you? The family doing great?"

He just stared at us with a fatherly look

"Both of you, get dressed and go back to your own cabins.....and three days of clean duty"

"Yes chiron, we are sorry"

We say togheter

"And next time you two decide to sneak out, at least do at daylight, so we can notice if something happens to either of you...or at least in a place harder to catch because... seriously.. i've been alive centuries, did you really think i wouldnt check the beach?"

#lesbian #fanfic #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue

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kerrslvr · 5 months

Text

reward // mary earps

summary; in which, after she wins SPOTY, you give mary a reward like no other.

warnings; dom!mary, sub!reader, cocky mary, cunninlingus, fingering, mary loves to manipulate reader into saying i love you, strap-ons, grind pads, reverse cowgirl, spanking, daddy kink (blink and you'll miss it), nipple stimulation, fluff at the end. probably missed some warnings and probably made typos, sorry. also… take this as a christmas present. merry christmas u filthy lesbians x

pairing(s): romantic mary earps x scott!reader, platonic jill scott x sister!reader (r is about 24/25 in this… mary & jill are their current ages at the time of writing - 30 & 36 respectively)

based on this request x

"this is live on the BBC and you're wearing a dress with a slit that deep?"

the frown in jill's voice was clear as you stepped out of the taxi and into the chill of the manchester air, the immediate swarm of camera flashes turned your way.

"can tell you're getting old," you replied as you adjusted the skirt of your dress, "you're starting to sound like mum."

your oldest sister was not amused by her likening to your mother. shelly couldn't make it to the spoty ceremony, and seeing as most of jill's friends were going anyway, she'd invited you. originally, you'd been invited by the company you work for, but being a sports journalist in-training, they'd found someone more qualified than you to do the job; and jill didn't like that.

"just make sure your dress doesn't malfunction and cause headlines tomorrow," she said, waiting patiently for you to catch up as you scurried along beside her, "otherwise mam'll have a breakdown."

you shrugged your shoulders at your sisters worry, you weren't wearing the dress for her, or the cameras. there was only one person you were wearing it for, and you could see her in your peripheral vision, stepping out of her vehicle, dressed to the nines in what can only be described as a revenge dress on you.

she spotted you instantly, your pretty hair and your not-so-innocent eyes and the way they twinkled as they met hers across the carpet. your dresses almost matched, the gaping neckline, the peeks of skin through the lacy mesh, the long black skirt.

you had to fight your jaw so it didn't drop to the floor, and it seemed like everyone else around you also had to fight their urges. people screamed mary's name and you struggled to keep your composure as you and jill eagerly waltzed over to see her.

"i'm so proud of you," jill sqeaked eagerly as she wrapped her arms around mary's shoulders. the look she gave you when your sister wasn't looking almost let your knees give way. "and you look lovely."

"very similar to your sister, come to think of it, jill," mary pointed at your dress and scanned you up and down, "minus the obscenely high split."

you cursed mary with a knowing look before jill turned to compare. if she found out you and mary were frequent flyers in each others beds she would probably wring you out herself, let alone your mother.

"i was just about to compliment you, earps," you shrugged off her devilish eyes and knowing smirk, "but i think i'll just keep my mouth closed."

the two of them did press for a little while, and you watched from the sidelines, admiring mary's demeanor. you couldn't remember how long ago everything started between you and mary, although the euro's final was the first night you spent entangled between her sheets. you didn't even know you were into girls - let alone mary - when you first started sleeping together, and at first, that's all it was, until it wasn't.

she started picking you up from the station, inviting you to games, date night after date night, after date night. one morning things changed and you both realised there were painfully strong feelings of love underlying, but she was thirty and you were twenty five, and she was your sisters best friend, and you were a sports journalist. you both knew how bad it looked.

but, the feelings of love outweighed the feelings of lust, and that was the worst part.

"don't you fancy asking me some questions then, love?"

mary's voice lulled you from your daydream, and she met you in a less crowded corner of the carpet. you could see jill mingling with leah and jen, the three of them chatting politely while they waited for mary to finish up with her interviews - at least, thats what she told them.

"surely you've had enough of questions, mary."

she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and let her hand rest on your shoulder. the heat from her skin on yours sent burning flashbacks rushing through your brain.

"maybe i have," she leaned down and tilted up your chin with her fingers. even without her heels on she towered over you, but with her heels on she was even taller, nearing six foot, and it made you squirm. "but i've not had a single question from the person i want to speak to."

you couldn't help but let a smile come to your face, and mary admired your fluttering eyelids, "and who might that be, earps?"

mary's thumb traced your lip, and you couldn't help but pucker your lips. "i think you know exactly who it is, princess," she laughed, and for a moment, she thought about kissing you, but she wanted to have her fun tonight, "you can unpucker those lips and ask me your first question."

you sighed and looked at her with soft eyes - of course she was in one of those moods tonight. mary got off on you when she put you in these situations, it drove her absolutely insane. "don't you want to kiss me in public?"

mary rolled her eyes and leaned in, her lips pressing against yours softly as the breeze of manchester air blew across the two of your bodies. a storm was coming, and the chill sent goosebumps across your skin, mary's too, but she was much better at composing herself.

you wanted to deepen the kiss, to outstretch your arms and pull her closer, to guide her hand up into the slit of your dress, but you knew better than to draw attention to your escapades.

mary was first to pull away, and the pink hue of your lipgloss had tainted her light brown. it was a sight to behold.

"better?"

"hm," you shrugged, "what do you plan on doing if you win the award tonight?"

"finally a question i can answer without lying," mary hummed, "if i win tonight i'm going to be taking my girlfriend back to my hotel room, and doing many, many inappropriate things with her."

you shivered at her words, and had to fight the urges running rife inside your bloodstream.

"oh, really?" you questioned, a raised eyebrow. jill noticed you two were standing together in a quiet corner, "and what do you plan on doing if you don't win?"

"oh, well, lets see," mary faked a thought, and you spotted jill walking towards you both with an excited grin, "oh, yes, i'll be taking my girlfriend back to my hotel room and doing many, many appropriate things with her."

you couldn't help but blush, and you opened your mouth to reply but jill stood in your way. "ceremony's gonna start soon, we really should think about going in, Y/N," she gave you a questioning look, silently asking if you were okay, and you nodded. "they want you for a few more pictures, mary, we'll see you in there."

jill was quiet as the two of you walked behind leah and esme, and you were petrified she would bring up the question and ask you what's going on between you and her best friend, and you didn't have an answer.

"she's your type," she said after a while, nudging you with her shoulder, "mary, i mean, not the girl you were telling me about in the car earlier. mary's the best, hilarious, good with her hands -"

"okay, jilly, thanks," you hit her on the shoulder, "i don't need you to play matchmaker, especially not with mary earps, now c'mon, my heels are killing me."

mary couldn't quite believe she'd won the award, and as the night lingered on, her body consistently kept gravitating towards yours. you didn't mind, it seemed everybody in the room kept themselves occupied, if they weren't pulling mary away for five minutes, they were mingling with each other.

jill noticed you and mary spending more time with one another than what she thought acceptable as two people who don't know one another all that well, and she knew she ought to bring it up, but when you began to say your goodbyes approximately ten minutes after mary did at almost midnight, her intuition kicked in.

"leaving already?" she asked, coming up to you before you could show up in front of her, "you and leah are almost always the last two on the dancefloor singing shania twain, or... do you have something better to do?"

you knew that look, the look she was giving you. it was the look she always gave you when she was disappointed you didn't tell her things, like when you failed your driving test and told her you'd passed just so she'd let you drive her new car, or when she'd swung open your bedroom door when you were nineteen to find you in bed with your first boyfriend, much to her disgust.

"if you're galivanting off to sleep with mary, i don't mind," she said, brushing the hair out of your face, "i've watched the way she's looked at you all evening, i noticed the brush of her hand on your thigh and the way you look up at her. i don't mind, y/n, really, i don't."

you knew mary would be on her way to the hotel by now, if not, already there, waiting for your arrival. as much as you wanted to spill your two and a half years worth of secrets to jill, you couldn't bring yourself to do it in this moment.

"then why do you sound so disappointed?"

"i'm not disappointed, i just wish you'd tell me," she ruffled your hair and kissed your cheek, "i'll see you at the buffet for breakfast, and please, for the love of god, stick a do not disturb sign on mary's door."

you slipped into a taxi, and within fifteen minutes you were knocking at mary's hotel room door, and the time it took her to answer the door felt like forever. she swung it open, only so you could see her from the neck up, but you could tell by the angle in which she was standing that she was hiding something.

"took you long enough, love."

"i could say the same for you," you replied, watching mary as her eyes trailed right down to your exposed leg, the slit higher than she remembered, "what're you doing in there?"

she smirked, simply allowing the door to swing open, and when it did your knees almost buckled again. your eyes weren't really sure where to look, it seemed the lace top of her dress was detachable from the long black skirt, and there she stood before you in a lacy bodysuit which made your mind reel.

this was far from the mary you knew, usually with her hair in a messy pony, more often than not, a face with faint green stains of grass, and the familiar smell of either the pitch or the training room, her dominance unrelenting.

although she was in a lacy black bodysuit, the latter statement about her dominance still stayed the same.

"are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to come in and let me get my reward?"

you stuttered, struggling to get the words to travel from your brain to your mouth. it was too late for you to answer, though. mary had lost her patience, and she pulled you in and - for lack of a better word - you slammed into the nearest wall.

mary kicked the door and her lips devoured you as if she hadn't kissed you for months, her hands struggling to find a place to rest. your hands settled on resting around her shoulders, your heels giving you just enough of a height boost to be able to stand in that position comfortably, your lips moving together in perfect harmony.

mary's hands found a place to rest on your hips, but she wasted no time in parting the split in your dress and letting her hand explore. a blush crept its way onto your cheeks when she clocked that you weren't wearing underwear.

"oh, sweetheart, really?" she pulled her lips away from yours and gave you that look, the one that accompanied the 'you're not smart, so don't act like it' talk, and you gave her your best innocent eyes, "no underwear, sweetheart, why's that?"

"because you told me not to," your voice was shaking as you spoke, "last week, you told me i couldn't, y-you told me if i did that you wouldn't be very happy."

mary pushed the split in the dress apart and the fresh air touched your cold pussy, sending goosebumps across your skin. it was even worse for you when she knelt down, the heat from her breath juxtaposing the goosebumps and sending your skin into overdrive.

"have i ever told you how pretty of a pussy you have, darling?"

"once or twice," you pushed the hair from her face so it didn't tickle your skin and push the goosebumps further, "but you can tell me again if you - oh."

mary couldn't help herself, her eager tongue needed to taste you. she licked along your slit as you spoke, and reduced your words to a slur of moans. she parted your legs further and scooted closer to your body until you were practically sitting on top of her face, her tongue slipping further and further into your folds.

"i should be the one d-doing this to you, surely," you hummed, hoisting your dress across your hips and allowing her much easier access to your pussy, "you have just won the best award in your career to date."

mary pulled away and you could see her chin glistening with your wetness, causing her makeup to go patchy. her fingers traced the space that her tongue had just been, circling your hole teasingly in only the way she could.

"yes, i have, and you can keep stroking my ego by telling me that again as you take off your dress," she raised an eyebrow, halting the movements of her finger until you did as she asked, "but, your pussy is my reward and i expect to get as much of a reward as possible this evening, do i make myself clear?"

"y-yes," you nodded, allowing your dress to slip straight down your frame until it pooled at your ankles, showing your naked frame to the woman kneeling before you, "i understand."

mary's finger slipped inside of you, albeit ridiculously slow and with nowhere near enough friction to make you cum, but it felt great nonetheless.

"you're such a good little girl for me, aren't you, y/n?" she asked, stretching you out with another finger and curling her fingers in an excruciatingly slow come hither motion, "leaving the afterparty like i asked you to, following me back to my hotel room so i could look at this pretty pussy and hear those innocent little moans all night," she kissed your clit softly and it sent a fluttery feeling scattering through your stomach, "anyone would think you love me, darling."

you opened your mouth to speak, and right as a word began do leave it, mary added a third finger. the stretch was painful, but delicious at the same time and you bunched a hand in her hair, fighting all your urges to cum all over her fingers. she smirked, "cat got your tongue, sweetie?"

"oh, fuck," you hissed, "fuck mary your fingers feel unbelievable."

"that's not what i was looking for you to say, angel, but i'll take it."

she smirked again, this time her lips pursing around your clit and causing a long, breathy moan to tumble from your mouth. the feeling bubbling away in your stomach grew with each flick of her tongue, each curl of her fingers, and it left you a wriggling mess.

you knew what she was waiting for you to say, her body was practically fizzing with the anticipation of hearing you tell her you loved her. it was her new favourite sound of yours to get off to, and she had plenty; but something about your voice was so soft, so subtle.

neither of you ever anticipated it would turn into this, loving each other, you weren't even sure how to love somebody. you both thought that hiding the relationship would be much harder, but it was significantly easier than you realised, less pressure, less worry. and mary didn't ever want you to stop saying it.

"you know you're not allowed to cum until you say it, darling, so you might as well get it over with."

"i love you, mary," every single time you said it, the words slipped out of your mouth easier than any other words ever did, and you hated how much it affected you both. "i love you, now, please - f-fuck - make me cum."

the smirk on mary's lips was unfathomable, and her fingers stretched you out deliciously as she continued to fuck you with them, desperate to stretch you out so she could slide her cock inside you. she stood up, her free hand wrapping itself around your neck instinctively, temporarily halting the bloodflow to your lungs as she squeezed in rhythm to her thrusting fingers.

"you really wanna cum that badly, huh?" she asked, lips scraping your ear with every word, "said you loved me twice in one sentence."

you were unsure whether mary was in a mood nice enough to let you cum now, and while you craved it desperately, you were there for her pleasure this evening, not the other way around.

"god, m-mary, please just let me cum, p-please," you choked, "i-i know you're gonna want my pussy nice 'nd wet, so p-please let me cum."

the noise mary made was akin to a growl, and she sped up the movement of her fingers, moving the angle so her thumb was rubbing your clit frantically. your legs threatened to buckle and you locked your hands around mary's neck, a moan tumbling from your mouth as a trail of her spit lingered on your bottom lip.

"god, not so fuckin' innocent now, are you? can't believe i found myself such a naughty little girl," her teeth nipped at your earlobe and she noticed the bead of sweat trickling down your forehead. "are you going to stand there moaning or are you going to cum for me, little one?"

the use of your favourite petname sent your head spiralling, and with that, your legs shook and your entire core tensed as your orgasm peaked. mary's name fell from your lips and she couldn't help but groan as your wetness flooded her fingers, trickling down her knuckles and the palm of her hand, and the sound of your release was music to her ears.

as mary pulled her fingers out of you, she gave you time to breathe, despite the look of disapproval on your face now that you weren't full. you watched her tongue slide across the skin of her palm and it made you feel dizzy.

"look at those little puppy eyes, my love," she held her fingers out in front of your mouth and let you suck them clean, "how could i ever say no to that face?"

your eyelids fluttered as you tasted yourself on mary's fingers, and when you licked them clean they pulled out of your mouth with a pop. she slipped her arms out of her bodysuit and you watched with eager, desperate eyes as it fell down her hips and to the floor. your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the sight of mary naked, it never felt real.

"what do you want, sweetheart?"

"hmm?"

"i know that look, it's the look you give me when you want to ask a question," she gave you the smirk again, "so, ask me the question."

"i, uh," you straightened yourself up, "i thought as your reward you could let me ride you."

mary leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, "oh, my darling girl, you can't ever be without my dick inside you, can you?"

you shook your head sheepishly, and mary said nothing as she walked to the bed around the corner of the room. there, on the corner of the bed, lay mary's favourite toys. a strap and its harness, lube and her grind pad, which was a lifesaver when she fucked you. it meant she could feel every sensation, and cum when you did.

"why don't you get my pussy nice 'n wet, darling, hm?" she tucked a curl of hair behind your ear, "and then we'll think about letting you ride my cock, okay?"

nodding, you sunk to your knees and steadied yourself between her legs. she was already preparing the strap harness, fiddling with the grind pad and waiting in anticipation for you to taste her.

she shivered when your tongue made contact with her clit, allowing herself to soak up the feeling by pausing her movements and letting a hand rest on your head.

you did exactly as you were told, getting her pussy nice and wet by smearing your spit all across her clit. she pulled you off, your enjoyment of eating her out short lived, but mary knew if she let you carry on a minute longer she would cave to her instincts and let you eat her.

"if i don't fuck you within the next five minutes, i think i'm going to die," mary hummed, "so please, my love, wait patiently for my cock."

as you sat and waited, you reached down to take off your stiletto's, but mary stopped you.

"don't you dare," she stood up, tightening the loops on her harness and leaning down, "you know how much i love fucking you in heels."

she sat back down on the bed, pulling you down - not completely, just so you were leaning over her frame with your hands on her thighs - and pulling you in for a kiss. it was hot, searing, and your hand instinctively pumped at the lube until you got enough to stroke the strap up and down, soaking it in the liquid so your descent would be easier.

mary groaned as if she could feel the friction through the strap-on, and it made you whimper.

"do you want me to face front or back?" you asked, pulling away for air. the answer was clear when mary's hand came down hard on your arse, the sting brutal but desperately needed. she rubbed the spot she slapped before repeating the action sequence multiple times.

"as much as i love looking at your pretty face, and that insane rack," mary chuckled, "you know i'm an arse girl, love."

you hummed, shifting your body and allowing her to get into position on her back. a whimper left your mouth when you saw her pumping the cock with her hand. she patted her upper thighs, a silent signal for you to lower yourself down, and as you got into a comfortable position, you threw your head over your shoulder and gripped the base of her cock with one hand.

the noises you made as you sunk yourself down on her cock were like music to mary's ears. the grind pad gave her the perfect friction, and as she grunted while you rocked to get comfortable, it felt as if the whole notion of you riding her dick were real.

"c'mon love," she pinched your hip, "don't have all night to waste rockin' back and forth on my cock, you know what i wanna see you doing."

"mhm," you slowly began to pull your hips up from the base of her cock, "yes daddy."

your reply earned you a slap to the bum as you sunk back down, and a sharp moan left your lips. "say it again, love, just once."

"y-yes, daddy."

slap.

"one more time," she stroked the reddening cheek with the palm of her hand, "for daddy's sake."

"yes, daddy."

slap.

mary let out a deep grunt, throwing her head back as you began to bounce up and down to a solidified rhythm, your knees already beginning to ache but this was your reward for mary, and she was not going to take over unless you collapsed from an orgasm; but with her grind pad in use, it was only a matter of time until mary's orgasm crept up on her anyway.

with every bounce of your hips, the pad stroked at mary's clit with a perfect amount of pressure, and a perfect angle, that everytime you pulled up she would whimper, or draw a sigh of relief that her orgasm hadn't hit her yet.

"fuckin' hell, love," she slapped the other cheek this time, "you really do have the most perfect arse, don't you?"

she couldn't help herself, her fingernails digging into the skin of your hips as she began to raise her own off of the bed, fucking up into you and watching your arse ripple with each thrust of her hips. your moans grew louder, unable to control your noise as you gripped onto mary's ankles.

she bent her legs at the knee to help take the weight off of your legs, allowing you to rest on her thighs a bit more. the change in angle of mary's legs changed the deepness of her cock, and it was so deep inside you now it almost made you feel sick.

she reached her hand around your waist so her fingertips brushed your stomach, "can you feel my cock in your stomach, baby? hm?" she waited for you to nod, and her fingers lowered to your clit, "want you to make yourself cum all over my cock, darlin', can you do that for me?"

"not gonna last much longer, mary?" you questioned with the little sarcasm you had left in you. a loud smack echoed the bedroom, and you immediately regretted your question.

"say something stupid like that again and you won't cum at all tonight," she pinched your stinging bum, "understood?"

"yes, mary."

she sat herself up now, so your back was pressed flush against her stomach, and instinctively you wrapped your arms around her neck. the angle of her legs changed again, spread out ever so slightly on the bed so she could hold her balance within her core.

with this angle, mary's fingers were able to pinch at your nipples, and you were so caught up in the feeling of rocking back and forth, and the sound of mary's moaning that you completely forgot you were supposed to be rubbing your clit.

"don't see much going on with your fingers, love," she teased, "please don't make me pull out of this tight little cunt now, and just do as i say, hm?"

you nodded, your index and middle fingers immediately circling the bud of nerves that had you whimpering immediately. mary's lips traced your neck, and without even giving you time to complain, her teeth sunk into the skin and softly nibbled. mary's tongue soothed the burn of her teeth on your neck right as she dragged her fingers under your nipples, making you yearn for an orgasm.

you could tell she was close, her core was beginning to become lose and her legs were beginning to twitch, and your orgasm was on the cusp.

"m-mary-"

"-wait," she breathed, her lips trailing back up to your ear, "wait for me, love, 'nd we'll cum together."

"i-i don't know if i can hold -"

"-you can, and you will," she pinched your nipples, "i'm close, but the longer you talk, the longer this will take."

you nodded, biting down on your lip to fight the urges of begging. a few more rocks of your hips and mary would be toppling over the edge.

"oh, fuck, Y/N," she hissed, "ready to cum all over my cock?"

you nodded aggressively, a feeble 'yes' tumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to cum. mary stilled when her orgasm arrived, allowing your hips to do the friction work against her clit, your name falling from her mouth in a desperate groan.

her noises triggered your orgasm, and as much as you tried to ride your way through it, your hips stilled and your fingers on your clit carried you the rest of the way through. you didn't even clock that mary had moved her hands to your hips so she could steady you, and her lips kissed soft lines along your shoulders.

"i'm never going to get over that sound," she said, her hands moving from your hips to around your waist, hugging your body close to her, "i can't believe you're mine."

you managed to wriggle from her grip and lay down against the pillows, with mary following suite. her body cocooned you from the cold air, and her hands resumed their position across your waist.

"i can't believe you're mine," you repeated her words, and turned your neck to the side so you could kiss her nose, "but, i, uh, i think jill knows about us."

the look on mary's face didn't change. in fact, she was relieved she didn't have to hide you anymore. she wanted to show you off, and she was thankful it was almost out in the open now.

"i don't care," she hummed, "maybe it's a good idea for us to get it out in the open now, we've been doing it long enough."

"i like that idea," you spun your whole body around in her embrace at this point, and the smile on your face told her all she needed to know. "i'm so proud of you, maz, nobody deserved to win tonight more than you, i love you."

a heartwarming smile came to mary's face, and you relished in the way you still made her cheeks blush.

"i love you too, darling," she kissed your nose and nuzzled her head into your neck.

"now please, lets get under the covers because i'm freezing my tits off."

#mary earps #mary earps smut #mary earps x reader #mary earps fluff #mary earps fic #mary earps fanfic #woso fanfic #woso fic #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso blurbs #woso x reader #woso #engwnt

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herrscherofinsanity · 6 months

Text

Dating Advice with Jimin!

Summary: Being new to the dating world, Minjeong turns to her fellow members for advice.

Fluff? Crack?

Yu Jimin x 5th member!reader

Word count: 1.4k

_____________________

“Okay, watch this! I’ve totally got it this time!” Jimin exclaimed cheerfully, a goofy grin spread across her face.

You gave Jimin an encouraging smile, beside you, Aeri made sure to have her phone camera ready to record what would probably be the leader’s hundredth failed attempt.

Jimin, once again, threw a pretzel in the air and made a move to catch it with her mouth. You all sat there quietly, curious to see if she would really get it this time.

“Aw, damn…” Jimin groaned. The pretzel had landed on her right cheek and then proceeded to fall off onto the floor… joining the other pretzels that had been victims of the leader’s silly antics.

“Wow, Jimin, you truly suck”, Aeri deadpanned, making Ning let out the loudest laugh, it even pulled a giggle out of you, which you tried to cover up with a cough when the leader turned to glare at you.

“You’re laughing at me too, y/n?” Jimin pouted, “I thought at least you would be on my side”.

“I mean-”

“Unnie, y/n might be in love with you, but that doesn’t mean she’s blind”, Ning said with a laugh.

Aeri threw her head back, letting out what Jimin could only describe as an evil cackle, “Oh Ning, I’ve taught you well”.

“y/n…” Jimin whined, your girlfriend sent you a pleading look. You chuckled, walking over to where your girlfriend was sitting. Once you were close enough, you leaned in, placing a kiss right where the last pretzel had landed.

“Feeling better?” you whispered.

Jimin hummed, a pleased look on her face.

Right before Aeri could come up with a way to tease the two of you, the front door to the dorm had burst open, a flushed Minjeong making her way onto the living room.

“You good?” Ning asked.

“No” Minjeong scanned the room before elaborating. She took notice of how you and Jimin were chilling on the floor, Ning sat right across the two of you, and Aeri looked over all of you up on the couch. “Good thing the couple is here, I need advice”.

“We live here…? Where else would we be?” Jimin stated, you softly hit her leg at the slight jab, turning towards Minjeong and encouraging her to continue.

“What is it that you need, Minjeongie?” you expressed in the sweetest tone you could muster, Jimin turned towards you with suspicion written on her features.

“Okay” Minjeong paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “How do I get a girl to talk to me without making it look like I’m trying too hard?”.

Before either Jimin or you could come up with something, Aeri snorted. “What makes you think those two can help you with that?”.

“Who came onto who? I forgot.” Ning asked.

“Jimin asked me out”, you shrugged, “she’s probably the better suited person to answer that question”.

Your girlfriend nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “That’s easy. Just hit her with some type of non-lethal object and pretend it was an accident, she’ll think you’re cute.”

As the silence stretched, everyone's gaze gravitated toward Jimin, confusion deepening with each passing moment.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this” Minjeong began, “but Aeri unnie was right, you really suck, Jimin unnie”. Aeri and Ning laughed at Minjeong’s comment, the young leader rolled her eyes, but you remained quiet, mulling over Jimin’s words.

“You girls are laughing, but it worked for me” Jimin shrugged, a smirk present on her face as she wrapped her arms around you for further emphasis, making it your turn to roll your eyes.

The leader’s statement made all of the members turn their heads towards you. You felt your face heating up, not liking where this was going.

“Is that how the two of you met?” Aeri asked incredulously.

“It all happened back when we were trainees” you began, trying to remain cool “I was minding my own business when suddenly a shoe collided with my head…”.

“There’s no way…” Ning said.

_____________________

The rhythmic hum of the practice room's fluorescent lights cast a soft glow on the worn-out floor. You, a trainee lost in the pursuit of perfection, were diligently practicing your dance routine, unaware that your life was about to take a whimsical turn.

Jimin, the spirited yet mischievous trainee known for her infectious laughter, watched from the doorway. She'd noticed you, your dedication evident in every move, and an impromptu idea sparked in her mind.

Determined to break the monotony of the routine, Jimin glanced around the room, searching for a way to capture your attention. Her eyes landed on her own pair of well-worn practice shoes, and a mischievous grin spread across her face.

Without a second thought, she plucked one of her shoes from her bag and, with the precision of a seasoned pitcher, hurled it towards the room's interior, aiming directly at you. The shoe sailed through the air with surprising accuracy, catching you off guard as it collided with your head.

For a brief moment, the practice room fell silent, the shoe's unexpected impact echoing in the space. You turned, a mix of surprise and confusion on your face, searching for the source of the unexpected interruption.

There, at the doorway, stood Jimin, attempting to look innocent despite the playful spark in her eyes. "Oops," she said, feigning innocence. "My bad."

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, a mixture of Jimin's infectious chuckles and the bewildered reactions of the other trainees who had witnessed the unconventional spectacle.

Despite the initial shock, you couldn't help but chuckle at the audacity of the shoe-throwing incident. Jimin's goofy grin and unapologetic demeanor broke through the seriousness of the practice session, injecting a burst of spontaneity into the whole thing.

Jimin approached you, her laughter contagious. "I thought I'd try something different to get your attention."

"Well, you certainly succeeded," you replied, a bemused smile playing on your lips.

Little did you know, in that whimsical moment, a connection had been forged—one that would grow beyond the confines of a practice room and blossom into a unique love story. The playful shoe-throwing incident became the catalyst for a romance that defied convention, and as Jimin flashed her trademark grin, you couldn't help but feel that the universe had conspired to bring the two of you together in the most unexpected way.

_____________________

The room fell into a hush as you shared the unexpected origin story of your relationship with Jimin. The members exchanged wide-eyed glances, their disbelief evident.

"I was busy trying to nail the new choreo, lost in my own world," you continued, a nostalgic smile tugging at your lips. "Out of nowhere, a shoe—Jimin's shoe—comes flying at me. It hit me right on the head."

Ning let out a burst of laughter. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jimin, however, wore an unapologetic grin, seemingly proud of her unconventional approach. "Hey, it got her attention, didn't it?"

Aeri leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in amusement. "And then what happened? Did she throw a pretzel at you to seal the deal?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Not exactly. But it did catch me off guard, and when I turned around, there she was, trying to act all innocent."

"Wait, so you hit on her because you threw a shoe at her?" Minjeong asked, a mixture of bewilderment and amusement on her face.

Jimin nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Sometimes, you've got to make an impression."

"That's... surprisingly effective?" Aeri mused, looking at Jimin as if she'd just unlocked the secret to dating.

Ning leaned back, still processing the revelation. "So, all this time, we've been making fun of Jimin unnie's cheesy attempts, and it turns out, it worked for her."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Jimin unnie might be onto something," Minjeong admitted, a hint of resignation in her tone.

The room erupted into laughter, and Jimin basked in the unexpected approval of her unorthodox approach to romance. You, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a fond warmth at the memory of that peculiar encounter, the shoe-throwing incident that had sparked the beginning of your love story.

As the laughter subsided, Minjeong wiped away tears of amusement. "Alright, Jimin unnie, I'll give it a shot. A non-lethal object, you said?"

Jimin grinned, eager to share her unconventional wisdom. "Exactly. Just make sure it's something harmless, and when she least expects it. It's all about making an unforgettable first impression."

Encouraged by Jimin's advice, Minjeong contemplated her approach, the room buzzing with renewed energy. Little did she know, a single, seemingly innocent question about dating advice had set in motion a chain of laughter, revelations, and a peculiar romance that had stood the test of time—all thanks to a shoe thrown in the name of love.

____________________

A/N: Hi, hello! Med school might be the death of me one of these days but meanwhile, I'm still here. I've been so busy lately, but I still wanted to give you guys something. I had written the major part of this a while ago, but I didn't have enough time to properly finish it until now. I hope you guys enjoy it, and we'll see each other again when I have enough time.

Also, Jessica Jung and Taeyeon finally had comebacks, life's so so good right now.

#aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa x fem reader #karina imagines #aespa #karina scenarios #yu jimin #yu jimin scenarios #yu jimin x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin imagines #karina aespa #aespa fluff #aespa fanfic #aespa karina

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sundrop-writes · 4 months

Text

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

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

Summary:

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

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

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

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

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

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

...

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

-Friedrich Nietzsche

...

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

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

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

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

Ten more minutes.

“I just want to talk.”

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

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

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reid-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“Clear!”

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

“Clear!”

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch had been right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply.

You didn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“What is it?” Emily asked.

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

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

It was hopeless.

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“Tell me you like it!”

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

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

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

“Come on, tell me you like it!”

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

That would be your excuse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was losing the game.

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

“Fuck you.” He moaned out.

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

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

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

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

…

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

Reid needed some air.

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

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

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

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

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

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.”

She looked deeply troubled.

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

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

Reid cracked a small smile at this.

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

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

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

She looked solemn at his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had driven you to take up the habit.

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

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

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

You wished they weren’t.

You directed the conversation elsewhere.

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

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

He had you now. He had won.

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

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

The silence was gutting.

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

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

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

It felt like a lie.

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

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

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

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

He moved back to the door silently.

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

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

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

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

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

It came free after only a few tugs.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she turned back to the clerk.

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

The clerk shook his head.

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

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

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted.

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

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

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly.

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

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

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

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone.

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

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!”

“We need more camera angles! We need-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

The murders.

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were stuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How does that help us?” Someone asked.

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

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

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

Reid took a breath, and then continued on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

But this case - it was getting to you.

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes at this.

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s helpful.” You sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was your mother.

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

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

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

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

“Oh please, call me-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud.

You hummed back in confusion.

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

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper.

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly.

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

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

Bile splashed up in your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

“Good morning, y’all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.” You easily agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you mind showing me, please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her.

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

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

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

…

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

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

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

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

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

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

You spoke his language - violence.

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

You were perfect. His perfect girl.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a heavy silence at this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed.

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied.

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized.

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.”

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened.

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster.

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend.

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone.

And they were from your hometown.

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but…

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you.

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?”

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.”

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves.

“Y/N.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety.

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh.

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question.

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top.

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed.

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest.

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him.

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return.

You hated it.

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you.

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid.

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done.

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?”

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently.

“I’m human. So what?”

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home.

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now.

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-”

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home.

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?”

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair.

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.”

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.”

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog.

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this.

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile.

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired.

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn.

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile.

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you.

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope.

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut.

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name.

The way he had written it.

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.” You quickly replied.

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you.

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now?

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow.

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much.

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor.

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes.

Lover,

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon.

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell.

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me.

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

-Daniel

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page.

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant.

It was from that night. He had kept it.

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work.

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open.

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in.

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it.

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.”

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?”

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit.

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door.

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile.

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?”

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist.

“Can I see?”

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down.

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.”

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes.

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.”

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it.

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth.

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again.

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue.

You truly considered just coming out with it.

But then-

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence.

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.”

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can.

…

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

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention.

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs.

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

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused.

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked.

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door.

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation.

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.”

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together.

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.”

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?”

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off.

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said.

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands.

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.”

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained.

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you.

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.”

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.”

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind.

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process.

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?”

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?”

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked.

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.”

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared.

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked.

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open.

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside.

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away.

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer.

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ.

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up.

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?”

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on.

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-”

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting.

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.”

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her.

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you.

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.”

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked.

“Oh. Ugh.”

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask.

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number.

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her.

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.”

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked.

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.”

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked.

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.”

“What?” Derek prompted her.

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained.

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed.

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked.

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?”

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table.

Battered. Bruised. Broken.

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once.

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-”

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you.

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?”

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked.

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…”

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud.

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained.

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.”

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.”

It all fit together now.

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you.

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius.

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-”

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit.

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.”

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action.

…

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

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident.

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control.

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

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you.

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process.

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill.

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.”

“Reid-!”

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over.

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting.

“Y/N,”

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest.

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you.

But you still couldn’t escape him.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Your hand shook as you held the knife.

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet.

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

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

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would.

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then.

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

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point.

Spencer just didn’t understand.

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!”

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears.

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back.

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

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

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

You couldn’t give up.

You had come too far to let Daniel win now.

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.”

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone.

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it.

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.”

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing?

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it.

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.”

You didn’t look up at him.

You knew that you couldn’t.

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away.

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.”

You let out another sob at this.

You had been so alone.

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?”

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true.

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.”

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears.

It wasn’t pity.

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago.

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you.

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in.

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders.

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night.

…

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

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

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You should have killed Daniel.

Ten more minutes.

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

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives.

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing.

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body?

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

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

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

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you.

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.”

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid.

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?”

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting.

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips.

It caused you to flare with anger.

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him.

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him.

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.”

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time.

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!”

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it.

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice.

But you couldn’t stop.

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it.

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you.

Pity.

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long.

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.”

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.”

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?”

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.”

Hotch nodded at this.

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.”

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly.

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.”

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own.

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed.

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

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A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

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