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sundrop-writes · 28 days

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Careful - Chapter Five

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

Chapter Five: Brick By Boring Brick

Her prince finally came to save her, and the rest you can figure out.

Summary:

The world is closing in around you. You're supposed to sit in your home and wait for a killer to come to you, and your son seems to prefer a man that you were convinced never should have been in his life in the first place.

What happened? Where did you go wrong?

The only way to find out is to reflect on the past - and to perhaps, forgive something you once thought was unforgivable.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 9,700

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder, stalking; the reader character is being victimized by a serial killer; angst - lots of emotional angst; the reader character and Spencer argue and hash things out; this chapter shows the flashback of how their relationship ended; mentions of drugs/drug use/drug addiction - there is mentions of Spencer’s drug addiction after the incident with Tobias Hankel; mentions of the reader having an eating disorder (in the past, before meeting Spencer); mentions of how pregnancy can affect eating disorders; mentions of the reader having an absent father; mentions of Spencer’s trauma/PTSD after the Hankel incident; mentions of lack of hygiene/lack of cleaning his apartment due to trauma and depression; Spencer uses his profiling skills to insult the reader; I believe that is it for this chapter.

A/N: This is it! This is the big chapter where we all find out what happened for them to break-up! I hope everyone enjoys it. (I am not gonna lie, I am really starting to mentally stall with this series, and I am really eager to work on something else lmao. So let's hope I can stick it out and get it done.)

...

Spencer considered lying to you.

He knew that you were going to have a hard time taking the news - there was no safehouse, no protective custody. Just him. Everything he had been offering before, nagging you about - it wasn’t truly being offered to you now. You would take it harder because now, in a sense, you and your son were being used as bait to lure the killer out and catch him in the act.

He considered lying to you. But he knew that it would ruin all the progress that the two of you had made.

So he made what he hoped was the right choice. He laid it all out for you as plainly as he could. They needed to catch him into the act, or he might choose a different victim. More innocent women might get hurt, their children being orphaned in the process. There would be unmarked cars stationed nearby, ready to help when Spencer called them in.

He would be there to protect you.

You still had a glisten of tears in your eyes, and he thought that you were going to panic. He was surprised when you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him again - but he embraced you tightly, feeling a certain selfish joy at having you back in his arms.

“As long as you’re here to protect me.” You sniffled quietly, burying your face in his chest once again.

“I’m not going to leave you.” He promised. “I don’t care what happens - I won’t let you out of my sight until we catch him.”

You didn’t bring up the fact that this likely meant sleeping in the same bed with Spencer. You weren’t sure if that was something you were looking forward to or dreading.

…

Spencer encouraged you to go about your usual routine - especially because he didn’t want Sebastian to be afraid or paranoid, even if such a smart boy could sense that you were upset and didn’t understand why.

Sebastian was easily distracted from the underlying tension when he realized that Spencer would be around to tuck him into bed.

He became so ripe with excitement that you thought it might be difficult for him to sleep. Even though his bed time wasn’t officially until later, he skipped his evening TV time to rush up the stairs so that Spencer would come with him. He insisted that Spencer help him pick out his pajamas, and then he wanted to show Spencer his toothbrush that played Moonlight Sonata (a toothbrush that was designed to play exactly two minutes of a song so that kids knew how long to brush their teeth).

You followed them upstairs and any efforts you made to help - showing Spencer which drawer the pjs were in and pointing to the drawer with the toothpaste in it - you were brushed off by Sebastian, who insisted that they didn’t need your help. He only wanted help from his new best friend.

Observing the whole thing truly made you wonder what the past four years of your life would have been like with Spencer there.

It caused a kind of lovesick nostalgia to flood you. Something that overtook you as you watched Spencer kneel down by the sink to get on Sebastian’s level, quietly complimenting him on his brushing technique and reminding him not to miss any spots - ready with a cloth to wipe your son’s face when he was all done.

You could only imagine how sweet he would have been with the newborn, tightly swaddled Seb; how he would have taken care of you so well after you gave birth, how perfect he would have looked with a baby in his arms. All of it left you stewing in regret, and you tried incredibly hard to hide a frown from Sebastian for the dozenth time that day.

Soon, Sebastian was rushing to jump into bed, and shouting an all too familiar request.

“Mommy, the stars!” He cheered brightly, pointing toward the lightswitch.

Spencer’s expression grew confused at this, and you felt a tingle of delight surge over the fear and anxiety for the first time in hours.

You turned off the lights, and then you walked over to a bookshelf on the far side of the room - on top of which, you had set up a star projector for Sebastian. It was something you had gotten for him as a night light when he was still very little. Even if it was an unconscious whim at the time - you couldn’t deprive Spencer’s son of the stars.

You switched it on and an array of bright stars were projected onto the ceiling, causing Spencer’s neck to crane upward in awe. Sebastian giggled in delight and flung himself backward in bed to look at it.

“He usually sleeps with this on as a night light, but he’s probably gonna want a story before he goes to sleep.” You said, motioning toward the book shelf. “You can turn the side lamp on.” You pointed to that as well. “Are you guys gonna be okay while I go get my pjs on?”

You knew that Spencer wasn’t likely to let you out of his sight - and that was exactly the look that came in his eyes; hesitant dread, clear to you even through the semi-darkness with the bright swirling lights moving across the ceiling reflected onto his face.

“Don’t lock your door.” He told you quietly. “And make sure to holler if you need anything.”

He chose his words carefully, not wanting to alarm Sebastian.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him. “I’m right down the hall.”

Then you turned to Sebastian - who was laying on his back, still admiring the stars, already looking sleepy. He’d had quite an exciting, usual day - so that wasn’t entirely surprising to you.

“I’ll come back and kiss you goodnight in a minute, okay?” You told him. “Spencer is gonna read you your goodnight story. Sounds good?”

“Yeah!” Sebastian easily agreed. “I love you, Mommy!”

That grin, those big eyes looking up at you - it really reminded you why all the pain was worth it. That you would do anything to protect him.

“I love you, too, Seb.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead, and then you moved to walk out of the room.

He added something on that caught you off guard, though, causing you to freeze in the doorway.

“Mommy?” He called out, and you turned back to look at him. “Can Spencer stay forever?”

You felt as though a fist had been jammed into your throat.

All of your bones were concrete stiff, and you couldn’t bear a single glance in Spencer’s direction - you felt his eyes on you, but you couldn’t face him.

“We - we’ll talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” You replied, having to clear your throat roughly in order to get the words out.

“Okay.” Sebastian huffed quietly, rolling into a yawn.

When you left the room, Spencer felt an intense temptation to follow you simply to pursue that subject - but he had an obligation toward his son now. Something he hadn’t had the privilege of partaking in before.

A simple bedtime story.

Spencer settled in with Sebastian and you rushed down the hallway toward your room. You closed the door behind you (not locking it) - the second that you were alone, the tears rushed out before you could stop them.

Of course your son had missed his father’s presence in his life. Even if he didn’t know that Spencer was his father - their personalities were so well-matched, and Spencer was so good with him.

How could you have been so stupid? Who were you to deny a child of his father?

You walked over to your bed and sat on the edge, and then you took your jewelry box out of your bedside table drawer - you kept it right next to the lock box that contained your gun. You opened the jewelry box and took out the star necklace that Spencer had given you, staring at the pendant in the middle of your palm with deep contemplation.

You had broken up with him for a good reason. Many good reasons. And you had known your reasons back then - and they had been life-altering. Back then - it felt like choosing between a secure life for your baby and choosing the chaos of chasing the life of your love. Back then - Spencer was so unstable. He hadn’t been fit to raise a child.

The Spencer who had swept you off your feet and treated you like a princess - the man who had given you the necklace; he was not the same person you had faced down, vicious and bitter on the night that you had broken up with him.

But that man who gave you the necklace - it felt like the same man who held you in the kitchen and promised that nothing would happen to you. It felt like the same man who looked at your son like he had hung each and every star in the sky.

You put the necklace back on with shaking hands, struggling to clasp it for a moment. You hoped that it would be an omen. The man who had given you this necklace was back, to stay - he could raise a family with you. He could be your stability. He could be what you and Seb needed.

Then, you tried to shut off your mind as you went about getting ready for bed yourself. Even though you were pretty certain that you weren’t going to sleep with all this hanging over your head, it was still nice to be in comfortable clothing; to have a routine. You did your nightly skincare (but you didn’t bother to brush your teeth, knowing that you were likely going to want some coffee soon), put on your pajamas, and uncaring if Spencer noticed - shed your bra, needing to relieve some tension from somewhere.

You left the room wearing a pair of loose, thin pajama pants and a large tee shirt with Garfield on the front of it; along with your slippers and an unzipped hoodie. You had the necklace freely untucked from the neckline of your shirt, knowing that Spencer would spot the silver chain and know what it was anyway.

He was a profiler, so he could read you like a book anyway. You hated that.

When you walked back to Sebastian’s room, you found it oddly quiet.

You were surprised that you didn’t hear the sounds of Spencer’s soothing voice reading a story, Sebastian’s laughter - his small voice egging Spencer on to read more even though it was time to go to sleep.

You stood out of view, just beyond the doorway for a moment before you decided to peer inside.

The sight inside made your chest twist with a very unique kind of pain.

Spencer was laying half on the small single bed, one of his feet on the floor to keep himself from falling off completely, his head awkwardly propped up against the headboard. Sebastian was about half a foot off the wall, cuddled up closely to Spencer, his head laid in the middle of Spencer’s chest. The Rubble plushy that Spencer had gotten him was curled up under his chin, Spencer’s arm gently petting his curly hair while he peacefully slept on top of his father for the first time in his short life.

The way Spencer looked at him was what truly broke your heart.

You knew that was the gaze of a man who had missed so much - whose own heart was breaking from all the time he had missed. Someone who was enjoying this moment more than anything in his life because he had missed out on so much of Sebastian before this.

After a few moments of you standing in the doorway silently, tears gathering in your eyes, Spencer felt your presence there. He was finally able to tear his gaze away from Sebastian’s gentle, sleeping face to look up at you.

“He said he wanted to hear ‘a new story’.” Spencer told you. “I started reciting The Old Man and The Sea from memory, and he only got about five pages in before he fell asleep.”

It didn’t surprise you that Spencer knew the novel by heart. It didn’t surprise you that his theatrical, meditative speaking voice had so easily soothed Sebastian to sleep.

You nodded, and deeply against your will - a thick tear rolled down your face.

Unable to face it any longer, you left once again - feeling like a prisoner in your own home, running from corner to corner in a poor attempt to avoid the inevitable. You rushed to the kitchen and clicked on the coffee machine before you began attending to the larger dishes from dinner - pots you had left to soak in the sink that you now wanted to scrub at in an effort to distract yourself.

Spencer felt a sense of urgency rise up in him when he saw you start crying (seemingly out of nowhere). He hated watching you run away from him for the dozenth time that day.

Any calm he had felt from watching his son fall asleep was chased out of him. But of course, he didn’t want to wake the peacefully sleeping boy, so he had to very slowly, very carefully wiggle out from underneath the sleeping boy. He adjusted Sebastian’s head onto the pillow, making sure to cover him up and tuck him in with his toy before he left the room - leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind him, with the star lights still circling the ceiling.

And then he practically raced downstairs to see you.

What had he done to upset you?

You wanted him to be a part of his son’s life, right? You wanted him to be a good father, right?

What the hell had he done to upset you now?

When he came into the kitchen, you were standing at the sink with your back to him, furiously scrubbing at one of the pots from dinner.

“What the hell happened?” He sighed, tired and frustrated. “What the hell could I have possibly done now?”

“You didn’t do anything.” You replied, your voice short, angry, and still choked off by tears.

In truth, it was your most honest view of the situation.

This made Spencer spike with an even deeper frustration.

He thought that the two of you had been making progress. But now, you were cutting him off again. You were trying to placate him with lies when he so badly wanted the truth. He wanted to air it all out. The two of you needed it out - out it in the open instead of festering away like a damn secret.

“No, no.” He pressed, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, swarming with bitterness. “Come on, I must have done something.”

You remained silent, letting out a single sniffle as you continued to scrub - the only sound going through the kitchen being the sloshing of water through the sink and the bubbling of the coffee maker.

“Trust me, I know how it is.” Spencer sighed. “I don’t open up enough, I don’t trust you… it’s always my fault.”

In the months after the break-up, he had done a lot of thinking. He had gone over it in his head again and again - he had picked apart his own flaws in his mind, wondering how he could have been better for you.

“That’s just it.” You replied, your throat closing up due to your own tears. “You’re perfect.” You sniffled again. “You didn’t do anything.”

This left Spencer silent and confused - wondering for a moment if you were being sarcastic.

You put down the sponge and grabbed a dry dish cloth off to the side, drying your hands as you turned back to Spencer.

When he caught your eyes, he knew then that it wasn’t sarcasm. You were swimming in sadness, turmoil, but most of what he could see was guilt. You didn’t blame him for any of this.

“Y/N-”

“All day, you’ve been perfect.” You huffed out, cutting him off. “I’ll be honest, at first, I thought it was an act. I thought you were just playing at it, trying to show me that you could be a good father to get in my good graces. To maybe get me back.”

Spencer was hurt by this. But with the way you had started off the sentence, that didn’t seem to be your opinion now. He remained silent, letting you continue to get the full stream of your thoughts out.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep it up. I thought something would happen. I thought you’d slip… but then, I realized: you can’t fake it. You’re not faking it. The way you are… you’ve changed. You really have changed.” You sighed.

He was glad to hear that, but he knew that there was something else. Now, he was determined to find out why you were upset.

“Look-”

“Did I hallucinate the whole thing?” You spoke suddenly. “I just feel so crazy… Did I really break up with you for no fucking reason?”

This stung Spencer.

He knew that there had been a myriad of good reasons at the time. But something he had gone over in his mind, stewing with regret over and over again - he had never wanted it to be a break-up. He had wished over and over again that the two of you could have worked on things instead of just ending them so suddenly.

“You did have your reasons back then.” Spencer admitted quietly. “I know that you did.” Then, after a moment, he felt the need to add on: “I… I know they were good reasons. I don’t blame you for wanting to end the relationship.”

He chose his words carefully in that sense.

He fully understood ending the relationship. That was your choice. But the one thing that still plagued him-

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?” He asked, entirely exasperated.

It was as though he had flipped the knife around, plunging it into you this time.

You remained stunned and silent, not prepared to be confronted by the question, and Spencer, utterly hurt, continued on.

“You stole four years of his life from me! Four years!” He shouted, his words whipping at you in a way that made you flinch. “And you were never planning on telling me! You were gonna let me miss everything! His first day of school, his college graduation, his wedding! You never wanted me in his life! You-!”

“Because you weren’t good enough for him!” You shouted back, utterly defensive.

You hated that you couldn’t take it back - you hated the pain that flooded across Spencer’s features.

“Not back then.” You added on, knowing that it was barely a worthy addendum. “The man I left standing in that apartment wasn’t someone I wanted to raise a child with-”

“How is that any excuse?” Spencer spit back bitterly.

You glared at him.

You had your reasons then. It felt like you were on trial, now, though. And you had to scramble to put together a defense - to explain it to him when he had been the accused in the crime at the time.

“You really can’t understand why I didn’t tell you that I was pregnant?” You gaped, still defensive.

“No, I really don’t get it.” He agreed, shaking his head. “You had to know that I would have done anything to become a father. No matter what, I would have stepped up, I-”

“Oh, don’t give me that!”

You were raising your voice now, years old anger bubbling up in your veins, awoken by his self righteous attitude - his foggy nostalgia when viewing his past self.

“It was bad, Spencer. It was a bad time. And you can’t tell me with all honesty that you would have turned it around like that,” You snapped your fingers to help demonstrate the point. “Just because you found out that when you came inside me, it stuck.”

“I would have tried.” Spencer pressed.

“But you wouldn’t have tried for me?” You replied desperately.

That stung you deep, tearing open some of the wounds you still had from that night.

It was something you had suspected, but you had never heard him confirm it for certain.

When you had been back there, begging him to change - he had turned on you. You alone weren’t good enough for him.

Spencer’s face fluctuated rapidly between shock and discomfort, and with no words from him, you continued.

“A baby would have been enough for you, but when I was sobbing, begging you to get better - that wasn’t good enough?” You continued, fresh tears clutching at your throat, beginning to simulate the sight he had been met with on the night you had broken up.

It was a terrible mirror. You standing in front of him, your face a picture of pure pain with glassy tears dancing in your eyes - begging him for answers, begging him to show that he loved you. That he would step up and improve out of love for you.

Because that’s what it was.

It hit him so suddenly then.

He saw that night - that deadly, world ending fight - in a whole new light now.

…

Just before the break-up, you and Spencer hadn’t officially moved in together, but you did have a key to his apartment. Moving in together was supposed to be the next logical step in your relationship, and he was heavily considering asking you to move in with him.

Well, he had been thinking about it - before his entire world was turned upside-down by a man named Tobias Hankel. When he came home scarred and emotionally chaotic, thinking about taking ‘next steps’ in life wasn’t really something he was doing.

Instead, he was in survival mode. And for the first time in his life, he was trying to do as little thinking as possible. Whenever he spent too much time in his own head, he had nightmares - he found himself back in that tiny room, strapped down to that chair, cold and unable to escape, with death looming over his head.

He hated that he relied on the drugs to drown it all out.

Among the mess that he often found between his ears - he often forgot that you had a key to his place.

When he came home that night, he was expecting to take a particularly heavy hit that would hopefully put him right into a long, dreamless sleep. He definitely did not expect you to be there. It wasn’t something that the two of you had discussed beforehand. If you had asked to come over, he likely would have said no. He squinted against the lights as he opened the door to his apartment and a particular wave of nausea hit him as the smell of food cooking hit his nose.

Perhaps it was that ironic kind of nausea that only comes after starving for so long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Of course, his body seemed to run perfectly fine on nothing but coffee and that precious thing that felt so heavy in his pocket. As far as he knew, he didn’t need to eat.

“Spencer?” You called out his name when you heard the door creaking on its hinges, and Spencer sighed deep in his chest when he realized that the interaction was inevitable.

So much for a peaceful night.

You had been so much of a nag lately. The way you had been acting, he would even border on calling it bitchy.

When he wanted you there for meaningless sex to get his mind off things or even if he just wanted to cuddle, when he needed you to hold him - you always wanted to talk. You were constantly on him, asking him what was wrong, and how you could help. You wouldn’t just shut up and leave well enough alone; no matter how many times he told you to lay off and insisted that he was fine. (He knew that it was a lie, but he didn’t force you to talk about your problems. He wished you could see that he just wanted to be left alone. That he could get through this on his own.)

The last time he had seen you, he had torn out of your apartment at the speed of sound when he had taken off his sweater in anticipation of some hopefully mind numbing orgasms - and instead, you had asked about the marks on his arm.

And he had been dreading seeing you again ever since.

“Hey.” He called back dully, slinking in the door and closing it behind him.

He tossed his keys onto a nearby table - one that was already messy with books and newspapers. He took off his messenger bag and tossed it down carelessly too, still not turning to look at you as he peeled off his outer jacket. He left a sweater on underneath to keep his arms covered; he didn’t need any more questioning from you right now.

“I made you dinner.” You pointed out, your voice tentatively hopeful. “It’s that cheese tortellini that you said you liked. And I stopped by that little shop downtown and got some of those chocolate cupcakes.”

When Spencer finally turned around, you were holding a bright pink box with the lid open, displaying two very plump, beautifully decorated chocolate cupcakes - a small, tired smile on your lips while you waited for him to say something about the kindness of the gesture.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him at the sight and all he felt was annoyance.

(What made things worse was that you had clearly taken the time to dress up. You were wearing one of your nicer dresses, a matching cardigan thrown over your shoulders. A light, but well done dusting of makeup across your beautiful features. If Spencer wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the clack of heels beyond the counter where he couldn’t see your lower half. You looked gorgeous, and it made him feel all the more like garbage where he stood.)

“You didn’t have to.” He huffed out, still trying to be civil, even though all he wanted at the moment was to be left alone in his own home, rather than having you there, bothering him.

“It’s okay, I wanted to.” You giggled, closing the box and setting it aside. “You’re absolutely worth it.”

That was it. That was the comment that truly cut through him.

Because he wasn’t worth it - he was a scumbag. He was a piece of trash who pitied a man who had killed seven people, and he should have died in that shitty little shack in the cemetery instead of standing here with you while you took the time to buy him cupcakes and make him dinner. He shouldn’t get to be spoiled by you after everything he had done.

Every ounce of that anger that he was feeling toward himself boiled over like a terrible overcooked pot and came spitting out like hot oil, ready to burn you.

“Can you just shut up?” He snapped. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this.”

He felt regret churn in his stomach when your face curled with hurt, and he was surprised when you didn’t immediately leave.

“It’s okay.” You said quietly.

The fact that you rolled over so easily, so apologetic - that annoyed him more.

He watched on with shock as you reached a hand toward your purse, which was sequestered off on one edge of the counter - a space you had clearly cleaned off before you had started cooking.

(Spencer could only imagine how much you looked down upon him, considering him a lazy pig with how messy and generally unhygienic his apartment was because - even though he hated it - he couldn’t bring himself to clean with his generally mental disarray as of late.)

You put a hand into the open zipper of your bag and soon came out with something you easily knew was there, didn’t even have to dig around for, and Spencer watched on curiously as your hand came back with a thick fistful of colorful pamphlets.

“I also got these for you.” You said, extending the arm out to him.

He had a terrible knot in his gut.

He stepped forward on shaking legs and when he grabbed them from you - surely enough, it was exactly what he had feared.

Spencer’s eyes grew tense with anger as he scanned over it all.

A bunch of crap about sober living with generic stock images of people smiling - well paid models who had never known a single day of pain in their stupid, well groomed lives. People who could never even imagine what Spencer had been through.

“We can talk about it when you’re ready.” You told him, anxiety keeping your breath tight in your chest as you spoke. “I know it’s hard, so-”

What the hell did you know?

“God, you are so fucking full of it!” Spencer shouted, tossing down the pamphlets, causing them to scatter across the counter in a mess, his sudden spike in volume making you flinch.

As though you had been slapped, it took you a moment to recover from the pure shock of his words before you could actually speak any kind of reply.

“What?” You gaped at him. “Spencer, what the hell do you mean? I’m trying to help-”

“‘Oh, I know it’s hard.’” He repeated your words in a mocking voice. “Please, what the hell do you know?”

That caused a dangerous shift in you, turning the understanding and pity inside of you toward fed-up anger.

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me!” You shouted back. “You won’t even tell me what the hell is wrong! It’s like you don’t even fucking trust me!”

Unconsciously, this is exactly what Spencer had wanted. He had wanted a fight - claws, noise. He needed to be punished. He couldn’t stand you sitting around, acting so damn calm, being so sweet to him when he was so awful.

“Why should I tell you?” Spencer argued, grasping blindly at nothing, yelling just to make noise. “It’s none of your goddamn business!”

“Why wouldn’t this be any of my business?” You gasped. “Spencer, we’ve been together for - what? Almost three years now?”

It had been two years, eleven months, and three days since your first date. It had been two years, eleven months, and fifteen days since he had first spoken to you. It had been three years and four days since he had first laid eyes on you - thinking that you were the most beautiful woman on earth, thinking that he would never, ever work up the courage to speak to you. Thinking that there was no chance on earth that you would ever actually be his.

And now, he was about to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

All good things must come to an end, right?

“I care about you.” You said, your voice cracking around the words - the ghost of tears beginning to form in your throat, like dark clouds forming in the sky before a storm. “That makes it my business.”

Spencer huffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“It’s not just ‘whatever’, Spencer!” You screamed, your frustration flaring up once again.

He didn’t speak, he just kept on glaring at you. This pissed you off more - finally gave you the balls to say it.

“You’re on drugs!” You finally found the courage to speak it aloud. There was a tense stare down as you waited for him to deny the accusation. When he didn’t, a sharp spear pierced your chest, and the first tears fell. “You’re hurting yourself. This is a big deal, baby. You need help.”

Looking back on it now - it had been four years, nine months, and eight days since the last time you had called him ‘baby’. He should have seen it then, but this was the beginning of the end.

He should have latched onto it as a safety line and pulled himself ashore. He should have accepted the help that you were so graciously offering him.

But instead, at the time - it only stung him more. It only showed him a display of the sweetness that he didn’t think he deserved. It only caused him to turn on his defenses more.

Like a poisonous plant evolving his instincts in the worst way - it made him fight back harder.

“Don’t tell me what I fucking need!” Spencer cried out, every inch of his voice utterly insulted. “So what if I’m on drugs? You’re not a fucking peach yourself!” He let out a bitter, airy chuckle with these words, and instantly your face shifted.

A very large part of you knew that he was resorting to personal attacks because he was desperately trying to shift the attention away from himself - away from talking about his own problems. But with the shock and hurt pulsing through your system, you couldn’t truly focus on the logic of it all.

“What?” You gaped. “Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“You - you act so goddamn perfect all the time, but-”

He stuttered, hesitating for a fraction of a moment, watching the hurt and confusion tangle over your beautiful features - he could have blamed it on the drugs in his system or the fact that the trauma had been so recent and he technically had not ‘recovered’ from it. But he made the final move, then, hurling a harpoon into your relationship, making a giant wound that couldn’t be recovered from.

“But you’re a pathetic, shallow little girl with abandonment issues because your father left you before you hit puberty-” He said, breaking you down in that intense, psychological, profiler way. “You seek validation from me, the man you’re having sex with, in the most utterly Freudian way, and when you don’t receive that validation, you starve yourself in the name of vanity, seeking satisfaction and control that you’ll never truly obtain because you’re a narcissistic control freak!”

He managed to hit every point perfectly; he had used his skills to look into your soul, hand-picking every single thing that would have hurt you most. Given, he also had information that you had told him during late-night conversations where the two of you had bonded. You had told him about your shitty father and the eating disorder that you struggled with on and off since childhood (and still occasionally struggled with since you had met him). He had told you about his mother and his own shitty father - but it was never something that you would have used against him.

You knew that it was meant to hurt you - to distract you. You knew that he was lashing out in order to put a wall between himself and you. But you couldn’t help the giant lump that rose up in your throat, the flood of tears that poured freely down your face.

Hearing those words right from his mouth was one of your worst nightmares come to life - as though one of your safest, softest places to land was now a bed of thorns.

Spencer’s gut twisted when he saw you crying, but like a man possessed, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Did you honestly think that being with me was going to fix you?” He let out a dark chuckle, sounding well and truly like a super villain, punching right through your heart. “Maybe, you should spend less time focusing on me and my supposed problems,” He griped, sarcasm tight on his lips. “And spend a bit more time fixing yourself.”

You sucked in a chest rattling breath, and began gathering your purse, leaving the pamphlets on the counter as you moved to grab your coat off the hook.

You would forever regret turning back for one last word, your throat quaking hard and struggling to even get the words out.

“And how would you recommend that I do that?” You asked, entirely bitter.

“Well, for starters, you could use a few less cupcakes in your life.” He replied, snarky, demanding.

He was angry about the cupcakes because they represented everything good about you - your generosity, your kindness, your propensity to view the small things in life as a representation of life being good as a whole.

It came off sounding like a jab at your weight, degrading your perfect body - especially after he had called you narcissistic for having an eating disorder.

A sharp jolt went through his chest when the words fully penetrated his own ears - when he truly heard how terrible it was.

Especially when he saw the look of horror that struck your gorgeous, tear-soaked features.

“Y/N-” He said your name so softly, and an apology begging to be chased from his lungs.

But you wouldn’t let him.

“We’re done here.” You declared, a dark finality in your voice as you turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you.

At the time, Spencer simply thought you meant - done with the conversation. He didn’t know that you had already decided that your words were declaring - done with the relationship. At the time, you were well and truly done with Spencer Reid.

He ached to chase after you, to scream apologies down the hall, no matter who would hear him - but his feet only carried him as far as the door before he collapsed against it, pressing his forehead hard into the wood while his soul clawed at the inside of his chest, aching to get to you, mourning that he had hurt you so badly.

Spencer left the food to go stale, turning off all the lights in the apartment. Then he took a strong hit, and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up the next morning stewing in regret. He called you, and of course, you didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of his bed, thinking. He wondered if he should go to your favorite coffee shop, get your favorite breakfast and go to your place to force his way in so that he could talk things over with you. He wondered if he should agree to go to one of the sober treatment programs that you had picked out just to please you.

While he was considering all of this, his phone rang, and he rushed to pick it up, thinking that maybe it was you. It was JJ, alerting him to a case. He gathered his things and left for work, letting you fall into the back of his mind, thinking that he would be able to pick up the pieces and apologize when he got back.

But it had been too late.

The next time he opened his apartment door, he tripped over the key he had given you. You had slid it under the door in order to return it to him after locking up.

You had let yourself in to gather your things from Spencer’s place, and to leave a very large box of his things that had been left at your place in the middle of his kitchen counter. Beside that box was an envelope with his name on it. A six page handwritten letter from you, explaining all of your reasoning for not wanting to speak to him in person, wishing him well in getting sober, telling him not to make any efforts to contact you again because he had hurt you so badly and you simply needed to heal - and declaring the end of the relationship finite and official.

(Your pregnancy, of course, was mentioned nowhere among those six pages.)

Several weeks later, Spencer would receive a similar letter from Gideon when he left the BAU without telling anyone.

When he read your letter, Spencer sobbed so loudly that his throat hurt.

And after reading it several more times, letting it truly hit him - he flushed the last of the stash he had down the toilet. A few weeks later, after he had worked up the courage, he went to your apartment. After a while of him knocking on the door and calling your name, begging for you to come out and see him, one of your neighbors came out. They yelled at him to shut up, and informed him that you had moved.

That was the first day Spencer went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

…

It had all happened so fast.

You found out you were pregnant, and you knew that the end of your lease was coming up. It had been a time you were hoping to move in with Spencer, but with that hope blown to shreds, you needed a fresh start.

Your mom knew someone selling for cheap because it was in a newly developing area, and most of the other houses around it weren’t finished yet. She thought it wouldn’t appeal to you because it was in a different state, but - you found yourself calling the real estate agent and packing up your boxes that week.

You figured that because you had done so well growing up without a father, your kid didn’t need one either. You didn’t want Spencer to cause more trouble being in his life and being unstable than not being there at all.

So you fled. It seemed like the wisest decision at the time.

…

Spencer had been so stupid.

Not only had he hurt you badly - but you had wanted him to get sober out of love. You had been so patient with him, so soft, so loving. You weren’t talking about his addiction because you wanted to pick apart his flaws. You hadn’t gone to his apartment that night because you wanted to hurl around accusations. You hadn’t wanted to be invasive; you hadn’t thought that he was a genuinely horrible, broken person and you simply wanted him to admit that.

You saw that he was hurting and you had wanted to help him heal.

At the time, you had nothing but love for him - and you had even loved those broken parts of him. He hadn’t been prepared to accept that love. He had made a terrible mistake. And there was only one thing he could do now.

Spencer shocked you when he moved from leaning on the kitchen counter and got down on his knees in front of you. Your jaw slacked in shock and you stared down at him as he clasped his hands together as though praying, staring up at you with his wide, wet eyes.

“I am so sorry.” He said, his voice quaking around the words. “I know that I could never apologize enough for what happened - I was horrible to you back then. You definitely didn’t hallucinate that.”

“Well… it wasn’t all you, right? I mean, you weren’t really yourself then.” You sniffled, clearly making an implication toward the fact that he had been taking drugs.

All this time, you had put a lot of emotional stake in that. When you looked back on your memories with Spencer, you hoped that drugs was solely the reason he had turned into a different person - a kind of person who would make such harsh personal attacks toward you.

It made a lot of sense as to why he was so sweet, so normal, so personable, so good with Sebatian, so himself now. He must be sober.

“That’s no excuse.” He told you. “I need to take full responsibility for my behavior. I treated you with the type of cruelty that no person should ever have to experience, let alone a partner.”

“Spencer, get up, please.” You reached over and grabbed the fabric at the shoulder of his shirt, and he let you haul him to his feet.

It felt all too natural to stay close to you.

As you leaned up against the counter beside the sink, your hands drifted to his waist and pulled him to you. And his hands lingered behind you on the counter, bracketing you in. His face hovered close to yours - this was the closest he had come to kissing you all day. His eyes lingered on your lips.

But he knew that the two of you were too close now - too close to the truth.

He had to let you speak instead. He couldn’t risk ruining things again.

“I accept your apology.” You told him quietly.

It was something you had been waiting years to hear him say. This moment - this whole day - it was like something out of your distant fantasies. You didn’t think that you would ever get to see this version of Spencer again. And now, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with him. You still felt too cautious.

“I really want to work on things.” It was the truth, and you knew that you had to speak it out loud. “I really want you to be a part of Sebastian’s life.”

I really want to work on things.

It was the tiniest scrap of hope, but it was all he needed to pursue things.

“Are you and I gonna work on things?” Spencer asked, barely above a whisper, reaching a hand up to oh-so-gently brush his fingers across the side of your face. “Is there a future for us?”

He closed his eyes and tentatively pressed his forehead into yours while you tightly gripped onto the fabric of his shirt. His soul was clawing at his chest once again, feeling all too much like the night you had left him in the apartment all alone.

But this time, he wasn’t prepared to let you go.

“Can you answer something honestly?” You whispered.

“Anything.” Spencer replied.

“Have you…?” You breathed out, unsure how to phrase the question. “When was the last time… are you clean? Like - are you sober?”

You were almost certainly sure that he was. He was acting so different, so much more like the version of Spencer that you had fallen in love with. But you couldn’t have someone who was actively on drugs parenting your son. And you had to hope that his prolonged trip to the bathroom earlier wasn’t for that reason.

“One thousand, seven hundred, and two days.” Spencer replied. “That’s how long I’ve been sober.”

That was a very long time. You let out a breath of relief, and Spencer felt it puff out against his chin. To clarify, he then said:

“It’s about - four years, eight months, and two days.” He added on.

“So… a little after the time I ended things.” You concluded.

You felt a pang of guilt flow through you. At the time, you knew that breaking up with him was a risk. It was a painful event, and he could have turned to drugs even more for comfort. You had taken away his support system, something that could have helped him in getting sober. But he was spiraling, and you couldn’t stay there and let him take you down too.

When you found out about the pregnancy, you realized that a large part of how quick you were to act and how rash you were was likely due to the pregnancy hormones. But you weren’t going to rush back and apologize to Spencer because you didn’t want an addict helping to raise your child. You didn’t think that he would simply quit cold turkey because he found out about the baby - not from the way you had seen him.

But apparently -

“The break-up… the way things ended, it was a huge catalyst in helping me get sober.” Spencer told you. “And I’m thankful for that.”

That part surprised you.

At the time, you know you could have severely relapsed in your eating disorder.

The only reason you didn’t was because you found out that you were pregnant. Knowing that you had another human life to support, that your body wasn’t just your own - it pushed you to eat healthy, and allowed you the mental room to eat ‘treats’ when you wanted to. Nobody cares if a pregnant woman gets fatter, and that did make you feel safe, in a sense.

You knew that you didn’t want to date after Sebastian was born - you were focusing so much on him that you didn’t have too much room to be self conscious of your Mommy body. You exercised by lifting Sebastian and carrying him around. Later, you got plenty of exercise chasing him around when he could walk. You didn’t think too much about your diet, because you mostly just ate what he did, and made sure that he was eating healthy.

In a lot of ways, he saved you. Becoming a mother was the best thing that could have happened - for your mind, body, and soul.

“What I was doing… it was not the kind of coping mechanism I should have used.” Spencer spoke up again, distracting you from your own thoughts. “But knowing that I hurt you like that - knowing that I lost the best thing in my life… it made me realize that I was turning into someone I didn’t want to be. I was turning into this utterly horrible person, and I needed to change.”

“Spencer-” You choked out.

Hearing him describe himself as an ‘utterly horrible person’ did hurt.

“It’s okay.” He said softly.

“Can - can I ask what happened?” You whispered. “What made you turn to-? I mean… you left and then when you came back… you were so different.”

He knew what you were talking about.

He wasn’t even sure how he could put it into words for you.

A man in Georgia who had taken on the personality of his father in order to survive. Seven murders in the name of religion. A case that was supposed to be straightforward - a time where Spencer had nearly met God himself.

He had refused to tell you back then because he didn’t want to be seen as weak. He didn’t want to taint you with the details. He wanted to be comforted and coddled by you without you knowing why he needed that comfort.

After a moment of Spencer not speaking - standing there with distant horror in his eyes as it all replayed in his mind, you spoke again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” You said, reaching up and gently petting a hand down his arm. “You’ve done a lot of healing since then, and I know it’s in your past now.”

“Tobias Hankel.” He told you, confusing you slightly for a moment before he continued. “He - he was a man who killed seven people. It was a case in Georgia. It was supposed to be standard. We were called in to profile the murders, and actually - he was listed as a witness, and JJ and I went out to interview him. It was a really secluded area. And we got separated.” Spencer took in a breath, and you continued touching his arm, a gentle assurance that you were there, that it was okay. “And… he caught me off guard. He knocked me unconscious.”

Spencer didn’t feel the need to give you all the dirty details. How he had been shocked by Tobias speaking in the voice of his father, by the appearance of ‘both suspects’ in one body. How he had begged for mercy.

“And he took me to another location. And when I woke up… I had no clue where I was.” He said, this throat tightening up as the memories came flooding back to him.

“Oh baby, that must have been so scary.” You said, the word flying from your lips out of instinct as you moved your hand to his chest - instinctively trying to protect his heart with the whole of your palm.

Hearing it from your lips, so gentle, so soothing - baby.

Spencer felt like he was at home again. It was the last thing he needed to crack open that door - everything he had been holding back, every raw emotion - it came flooding out.

He blinked out tears, and you thought that it was terror resurfacing from that day.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You told him, reaching up to wipe those tears away. “I’m here now.”

That’s all he had ever wanted. To be here with you. All he had ever needed.

“Thank you.” He said quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me.” You replied, your voice gentle.

“At the time - he drugged me.” Spencer continued the explanation - the one he so dutifully owed you. “That - that’s why.” He stuttered out. “When I came home… I couldn’t stop. It was the only thing numbing the pain. The only thing stopping me from… truly facing it all. From thinking about everything that had happened to me - processing it. I didn’t want to like it, but… it was the only thing that got me through when I was… when I felt like I was so close to death. I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to exist without it at the time.”

Spencer took in a sharp breath.

“And when you left, I realized that I needed to stop - I needed to stop the drugs, or I was just gonna lose everything.”

“You are so strong.” You said, your own voice ripe with tears as you continued to hold Spencer’s face, holding both of his cheeks now, forcing his gaze toward you. Your eyes were burning passionate, every inch of the declaration intense and strong. “Spencer, you got through that and came home. I don’t know if I could have done what you did.”

“You could have.” He told you, entirely truthful. “You’ve been raising a child by yourself for four years. Never doubt how strong you are.”

He wanted to deflect - eager to stop talking about himself now. But he was doing it with compliments this time. He knew that he could never make it up to you, but he would never stop with the flattery. He would never stop trying.

“God, Spencer. I missed you so much.” You said, your throat clenching around the words. Then, before you could stop it:

“You know I never stopped loving you, right?”

He swore that his heart stopped in that moment.

“I - I don’t think I could have stopped loving you if I tried.” He replied, his tongue fat and dry in his mouth, having to swallow tightly after he spoke.

You used your hands on his cheeks to pull him toward you, then, and like the inevitability of the earth rounding the sun as the years passed - Spencer came home to you, sighing into your mouth as he felt your lips in that perfect, beautiful kiss. He finally felt that tightness ease in his chest - maybe it was a feeling he had been waiting to pass for years, his heart locked up and tight with that love for you strangling him from the inside, clawing to get out with you not around for him to truly love you the way he needed to. With his son somewhere out there in the world, waiting to be loved by him.

Your lips were so smooth and perfect against his - and it wasn’t long before that sweet love turned aching, insistent, and passionate.

Spencer put his hands on your hips and scooted you back up onto the counter. You let your body naturally shift with the movements, letting yourself slowly fall into the trust of being touched by him again. You let out a moan into his mouth and embraced his tongue past your lips, one of your hands moving to tangle into his now much wilder hair. You loved the feeling of his voice vibrating a moan against you as you gave his roots a gentle tug.

Heat surged through your body as he stepped between your now wide open knees, pressing himself right up against you where you were sitting on the counter - he needed to get closer. He needed to feel you. His crotch pressed tightly against yours - causing a stirring of heat and wetness in your underwear matching him as he was just beginning to get hard.

He had missed you so much. And it had been so long for both of you - you had barely looked at other people since the break-up, and having the touch of a lost loving stirred something in your bodies that made you both so hungry.

Spencer pulled away from your lips and began kissing down your neck, eager to suck and lick and kiss and consume as much of your skin as possible. When he came across the chain of the neck sitting on your skin, he gave it a loving lick and hummed into your skin, and you moaned his name into the air.

“Spence, oh!”

And then-

Then there was a crash from somewhere else in the house. The sound of glass breaking.

You hadn’t set the alarm - because typically that was something you did before going to bed.

Someone was breaking into the house.

The killer was coming for you.

“Spencer!” You said his name with more urgency now as his head whipped up from the crook of your neck, looking around for the danger, not yet moving from between your legs as he assessed the situation.

There was a crash from your office as something was knocked over. The sound of someone stumbling as they climbed in through the broken window.

He grabbed one of the nearby kitchen knives from the block, quickly realizing that his gun was his bag by the front door - too far to run for.

“Go upstairs, get Sebastian, take him in your room and lock the door.” He told you, his voice as authoritative as you had ever heard it. He took his cellphone from his pocket and thrust it into your shaking hand. “Call JJ or any contact in this phone labeled BAU. Call until they pick up and tell them that we need back up here. No matter what happens or what you hear, do not open the door for anybody. Got it?”

...

Keep reading here: Chapter Six - That's What You Get (Finale)

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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clementinegreye · 1 month

Text

the sweetest sin of all

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader ||

summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

word count: 3.4k

warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):

a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!

a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)

From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.

His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.

He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.

Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.

There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.

Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss.

Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.

It was her. Of course, it was her.

She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.

She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.

‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office.

The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.

"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.

She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.

"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.

She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.

She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.

His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.

Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.

‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.

He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.

‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.

‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.

‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.

She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.

His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.

She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.

Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.

His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.

‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.

'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.

"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.

He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.

‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.

Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.

He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.

Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.

On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?

As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.

The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.

Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?

Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.

He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.

“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.

She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.

‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.

‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.

As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.

Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.

As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.

After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.

(you can now read part two here!)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fic #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds hotch

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yutaleks · 2 months

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let me out, I'm starving

yuuta x female reader, length: 4.0K CWs: yandere // reader and Nobara are eating food // explicit sex // allusions to rough sex/roleplay A/N: This is a repost but I have combined it with another post and edited it so this is much longer than the original post I made on my old blog. banner by @/cafekitsune.

Part of Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing series

“He what?”

You wince as you’re met with Nobara’s screech right beside you, and choose to ignore her outcry coupled with the clattering of dropped chopsticks. You punctuate your willful silence with another mouthful of noodles, and Nobara continues to gape at you with an accusatory stare.

It’s “girls night” as she so eloquently (forcefully) declared naught but a few minutes ago, showing up to your shared apartment with takeout and a mission.

Said mission?

Getting you to quit seeing that situationship of yours, Yuuta Okkotsu.

It’s not that he is a bad guy per se; he’s incredibly polite, with a voice and countenance so sweet and timid anyone would find him charming. But he gives Nobara the creeps. She swears if you ever turned up missing, his basement would be the first place to check.

(The second time she said that to you, your first thought was to wonder if his basement wasn’t so bad a place to be).

You don’t have it in you to confront the fact that she’s right: Yuuta is weird.

Outwardly, there wasn't actually anything weird about him when you first met. He's handsome—not 'People Magazine's Top 100 Sexiest Men' handsome, but handsome enough to get your attention. He dressed inconspicuously, stuck to the back of classrooms, and kept mostly to himself. But he had friends, that much you knew from the times you'd seen him around. And he was always kind: opening doors for you, offering you a smile, and later sticking around and chatting with you as acquaintances would, once you got more friendly. He wasn't exactly serial killer material; not to the exaggerated level that Nobara had placed him in the very first time you ever mentioned an interest in him. Sure he was a bit of a loner, but that wasn't a crime.

It took a few more intimate encounters for you to find that Nobara's intuition wasn't far off. Despite her disinterest in them, she's never wrong about men, it seems.

It’s the eyes.

He has this stare that roots you in place, that makes the bones beneath your skin feel like the layers around them aren’t thick enough to hide away from him. You wonder if he can see the reds and yellows of your bone marrow beneath the layers of compacted calcium.

Just that deep, endless blue looking down at you makes your knees too weak to stand. As confident a person as you are, you're reduced to a newborn fawn, struck down to the earth with no strength in its feet. Those first few moments where you're bare beneath him it's like you've never taken a step and are too afraid to. But the fear has never pushed you away—in fact, it’s only drawn you nearer to him, your body a willing addict as it asks for more, more, more.

It's like a person who's afraid of heights becoming addicted to skydiving. The fear is there, it's heavy on your chest when you look down and out of the plane. But you come back and make the jump—over and over, the adrenaline and fear a nitrous; an incredible blood rush.

Perhaps any other prey animal would feel skittish in the presence of a predator such as him, even if he's tamed. But it doesn’t work on you, not entirely. He makes your skin crawl but your heart race, like watching a horror movie from the comforts of the sticky, dirty seats of a cheap movie theater. The seats aren’t remotely comfortable but the movie’s too good to tear your eyes away.

Besides, you wouldn't get up and dash out of a movie theater for being scared. The threat is contained. The movie isn't real, no matter how much adrenaline rushes through your veins—at least, your mind is convinced that it can't hurt you. Because the serial killer or the scary zombie in the screen can't jump out at you, can't actually harm you... can it?

Anyway, that’s what it feels like to be with Okkotsu Yuuta.

Everything he does seems to be both gentle and intense, purposeful and impertinent, yet mindful and considerate. Like he's apologetic for taking up space, for existing, but not so for feeling. He's unapologetically a bleeding heart, and he offers it to you. It makes for a dangerous combination—a man with no self-preservation, but the most intense hunger imaginable. More than once had he compared his desire for you to starving. And you believe him, having felt the intensity of his feelings in the strength of his grip and the bite of his teeth.

He’s never done anything to truly make you fear for your life—but you don’t doubt that he could.

“He asked me to marry him,” you repeat the words after you swallow your noodles. The phrase feels like a foreign language on your tongue, sounds like your speaking through the bottom of a glass bottle. It doesn’t feel real when you say it aloud, not like it felt when he whispered them to you this morning over your shoulder.

“He’s fucking insane,” Nobara guffaws, incredulous. Like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “You’re not even dating him.”

“I don’t think he cares,” you reply. There’s this weird grin on your face, to Nobara’s horror. Are you even entertaining something so—

“He should. He should ask you to date him—”

“Well we—”

“—do normal shit like going out to dinner or something—”

“But he does take me out—”

“—get down on one knee—no, both his knees—”

“Nobara.”

“—first he needs to beg you for forgiveness for all those fucking bruises—”

“But I—”

“—Then, he needs to promise to stay a hundred feet away from you for at least a year—”

“Nobara, that’s ridiculous. I—”

She holds up a finger. “I’m not done.”

Your shoulders sag as she continues:

“You need at least a year of dating normal guys to remember what normal, not potential serial killer men are like. And then maybe I’ll allow him to breathe the same air as you again. Maybe.”

"He's harmless."

She quirks a brow in silence.

"Okay maybe not harmless, but he never did anything I didn't agree to."

That’s a bit of a lie, but Nobara doesn’t need to know that.

"You know," she starts, as she picks up her chopsticks and starts picking up another pinch of noodles, "You were so innocent before you ever let crazy stick itself between your legs. Normal."

"I resent that."

"It's true!" She stuffs the noodles into her mouth, but continues talking. You've seen each other at rock bottom, so she's way past something as small as talking with her mouth full. "Before Okkotsu you hadn't even shown a guy your tits before. You were a virgin when you met him! Now he's got your wrists tied to his bed and got you calling him nii-san—"

You flush, "That was one time!"

"He's fucking weird! The hickeys you come home with are nasty, dude. What if he's a fucking vampire?"

"That'd be kind of hot."

"You're beyond saving," she sighs into her noodle carton. "No man's dick is that good." When you're silent for more than a beat, she groans. "Okay, even if it is, he's, like, two steps away from chaining you to a radiator or something. Some Ted Bundy shit,"

"That would never happen," you shrug, digging into your noodles once more, "Why would he wanna date me so bad if he just wanted to do some shit like that?"

"He'll Stockholm syndrome you into it. Don't call me when he's got you tied to a toilet."

You chuckle. "You don't know him, okay? He can be a little intense but he's harmless. Devoted, even."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, spare me the story about him eating you out the entire night on the first date, okay. I refuse to be jealous of you and him."

"It was amazing though," you grin like a fool. "I think he's more into eating pussy than sex."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okkotsu supposedly being the world's number one munch aside—" she ignores your chuckling, "—what did you tell him when he said that?"

"What, the marriage thing?" She nods, and there's a snap and fizzing sound as she opens a can of beer. "He was literally balls deep in me, what was I supposed to say?"

"Uh, push him off and run the fuck home, maybe? Anyone with sense would," she retorts as she takes a sip of her beer.

"But I like him."

That has her spitting out her beer dramatically. She is one for theatrics sometimes. "I thought you said you'd never date him."

"I've always liked him! He's just... intense, you know? It put me off before but..."

"But?"

Your thoughts fall back to the early hours of this morning, right before the whole 'marry me' sex thing, when you'd woken up first and got a glimpse of his sleeping face. His lips parted just a little, locks of black strewn across his forehead, an innocence about him that made all those intense, scary moments feel trivial. An unconscious arm around your waist as you cuddled up to his chest, prey safe in the arms of its captor. He'd never hurt you, he'd keep you safe—a feeling as soothing as it is addicting.

You find yourself just as wanting of moments like those as you are of the thrill. Is there ever a moment that you haven't wanted to be in Yuuta's grasp?

As soon as his body began to twitch awake, eyes slowly blinking the sleep away, you had turned over and faced away from him, embarrassed at the way your stomach felt like worms when he stirred to life. The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you closer.

"You stayed."

His voice was thick with sleep, his warm breath fanning against the nape of your neck. Judging by the still dark sky beyond the windows, you'd maybe only fallen asleep for an hour or two. Your eyes widened at the realization that, despite sleeping together for several months, this was indeed the first time you'd slept in his bed after sex. It was what later prompted Nobara's 'intervention' of sorts: her fears that whatever you were doing with Yuuta had reached a point of no return.

"Is that," you paused to clear the sleep from your throat, "Is it okay that I stayed?"

"I always ask you to," he rubbed his palm up the curve of your side. "You can stay in my bed forever," he muttered as he kissed the bruise on your neck, a bite he'd left just a little while ago turning dark as the blood under the skin pooled. "You know I wouldn't mind."

"Yuuta." you angled your head as he continued to mouth at your neck. The way you said his name felt like a warning. Perhaps 'Down dog' would've had the same effect.

"I know," he leaned closer to your back, shameless as his length, hardened, pressed against the back of your thighs. "I'm a little stubborn though... and patient. For you, at least. I'll wait until you say yes."

He always said it like it was inevitable. The question of you agreeing to be with him, for more than just sex, was never a matter of if, but when.

And when he soon after pushed you down gently, propped your hips on one of his pillows, and fucked you lazily from behind as you hid your flustered face into your arms, he wondered if he'd finally had you. Because if he was stubborn you were downright impossible, always immediately rebuking his advances with an 'I'm not ready for a relationship right now' or some similar excuse. To which he'd tuck his tail between his legs and brush off the rejection, man up, and fuck you like he owed you the best night of your life—every fucking time.

But today no such rejection came. He said he'd wait until you'd say yes and you didn't say no. When he soon after had caged in your body with his, his body entirely surrounding yours as he pressed you into his bed, he'd gotten carried away, spurred on by your first lack of rejection in months.

"I wanna marry you," he'd told you as he grinded his hips into your backside. The angle in this position was incredible, you had to bite down on your arm to stop from moaning awfully loud. Yuuta wished you would. "I can't stand the thought of anyone else doing this with you. I think I'd kill them."

"Yuuta," you moan his name into his mouth, and it always sets him off to hear you say it. "D-don't joke around like-like that."

Despite your words, you didn't think he was kidding.

And, you realized, you didn’t think you minded if he wasn’t.

A sound, something like a laugh, or maybe a breath of relief, tumbled out of his throat when you squeezed down on him in response. He'd angled your head to the side, to kiss you roughly, full of bite. You returned his kiss as his words made you a combination of afraid and excited. Would you ever get tired of the feeling?

Yuuta was like a rabid dog collared, restrained only by your previous rejections, and for a moment you wanted to know what all of him felt like. What would a Yuuta Okkotsu be like if he were set free, if he were given the ability to satiate this hunger? Would he finally consume you whole, or would he stop baring his raw, beating heart so desperately and relent?

"I'm not joking," he pulled back a little, just to rest his head against your nape. Every word felt hot as his breath warmed the skin between your shoulder blades. "Wanna be with you—marry you and everything. Whatever you want, I'll do. I don't care how it sounds, I just—"

"It sounds crazy," you replied, not a hint of malice in your words.

"I know, I—"

“I like you, Yuuta.” You interrupted what was sure to be another round of ramblings from him about how badly he wants to be with you. You’d heard it so many times, and slowly but surely each attempt had helped his feelings worm themselves deeper and deeper into your guarded heart.

He, who had you pinned down to the bed under him as he fucked you from behind, tensed up at your confession.

"Just... slow down a little, okay? Dating comes first. Do it properly, yeah?”

“What?” He completely stopped everything, pulling out and sitting on his knees absolutely star-struck.

You turned around underneath him and matched his posture, finding yourself breaking out into a smile at his look of surprise. Of all the things, this was what broke him?

"I like you… I think about you doing this with someone else and get jealous too… you scare me a little, but I like you. But we should date first, I think."

His lips started to turn up into an incredulous smile. "Can I... be your boyfriend, then?”

In a voice that’s a little too playful to be considered scolding, you replied, ”Will you stop talking about killing people if I say yes?”

Among all the things he’s said to you, about how badly he wants to marry you or how many kids he’d give you, what stood out in your mind was the way he said he’ll kill anyone who stood in his way. But could someone who blushes as hard as he was blushing at that moment, possibly take a life with his bare hands?

He nodded, suddenly feeling sheepish. You’d turned him into a whole different person, practically.

“Then yes… I want you to be my boyfriend. And you can’t be my boyfriend from prison if you kill people.”

He laughed—god, of all things, he couldn’t stop laughing. His arms reached out to you and he cradled your jaw in his big palms. He leaned into you, and even when he kissed you he was laughing, giggling like a fool. Disbelief surrounded the love that made his heart ram against his ribs, and the feeling left him so incredulous he could only laugh.

“I can, as long” kiss “as I” kiss “don’t get caught.” kiss

He could barely keep his lips off of yours, and as his kisses became deeper, you found yourself being pushed back down into his bed, facing him this time. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him slot himself between your legs. He held himself up by the forearms, and as his nose brushed against yours, the ends of his hair falling across your cheeks, his eyes found yours again. They were still as captivating as ever.

“Do you really mean it? You have feelings for me?”

His stare was intense, like he was searching for any sign of deception in yours. He found none.

“Yes, I mean it, Yuuta… I really do.”

It’s impossible to explain, even to yourself. How his obsessive feelings somehow had fueled your own—how you spent the days leading up to this seeping in jealousy at the mere thought of anyone else being in the position that you were in now. It made no sense, falling for someone like Yuuta—who’d stalked you, hurt others around you—but somehow it made all the sense in the world.

He slotted his lips against yours again, in a kiss that was absolutely smoldering. He was intense, as always, but it felt different too. An arm hooked around your thigh, hiking it up to his waist, and without even breaking the kiss he quite easily slid his cock back into you, picking up where you’d left off moments before your confession. You moaned against his lips as you lifted your other leg, hooking it around his other side, and felt yourself being pushed up as he carved himself into you once again. Could anyone else mold themselves into you so perfectly the way he does? Would anyone else even be given the chance to try?

“I love you,” he said, forehead pressed against your own. It was not the first time he had said it, nor will it be the last, but certainly it was the first time you’d ever accepted it wholly into your heart. “Please—tell me you love me,” he begged against the throbbing pulse of your throat. He sounded like he would fall apart if you didn’t say it, his soul so weakly held together by his feelings for you.

You’ve come to accept it as a part of him: that as long as Yuuta Okkotsu loves you, you are his entire world.

And right at that moment caged under his arms and pinned down by his gaze, it felt like he was your entire world, too.

“I love y—oh,” you were cut off by your own gasp as every ounce of his strength was suddenly hooked under your knees, pushing your thighs flat to your chest, weighing you down and robbing you of your breath. A whine, like a dying animal, escaped your lips as your body was kneaded and contorted in his heavy palms, pliable like dough. The way he touched you, fucked you—it was so different from before. He’d always done it with a desperation to please you, to convince you that he’s worthy of your love. But now that he had it, he wanted every last drop, and planned to pry it out of you himself.

“Again,” you crossed your ankles at his nape, toes curling as his pelvis made contact with your body. “Say it again—pleaseplease—“

“I love you,” you told him—though it’s less spoken word and more an exhale, your lungs were barely able to take in a breath with the weight that lay on your chest. “S-so don’t—don’t hurt anyone,” you gasped. “I’m right here, Y-Yuuta,” you implored him, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Thank you,” he breathed into your mouth—for what you were doing was less kissing, and more trading breaths. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, nails like grappling hooks as you hung on for your life. You squeezed down on him, enamored with the beautiful, pitiful strain in his voice, and he smiled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You’d never felt closer to God in your life.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he started to mumble, the words barely perceptible to you. His thrusts onto your body didn’t stop, in fact, they only got messier, needier. “So many times I thought you’d let someone else in—someone who wasn’t me—“ he pried your fingers off his shoulders, the bloodied crescents marking his skin. He pinned your hands down to the bed, his fingers slotting perfectly in-between, and squeezed hard enough to tempt your digits to bursting, leaving nothing but bone. “But it had to be me—who else can love you like I do?”

He paused long enough for you to open your eyes, to look into his, so glazed over with lust and devotion that there was no other answer to give. “N-No one—ah—No—“

“I know,” he pressed his forehead to yours as your legs fell to his sides, his eyes closing in rapture. “No one else.”

Was that the side of him that you always refused to see? The rabid animal that keeps itself trained, claws at bay; the raw, unfiltered strength that lies in every inch of his body masked by the tenderness he holds for you. You love it, despite how much you shouldn’t; you love every single fucking moment that this man is turned into an absolute lunatic over you. Perhaps you are just as bad as he is, for reveling in it and allowing him his moments of heresy.

Your brows drew together as you reeled in what could only be described as a whole-body experience: an orgasm that felt like every organ beneath your skin had been squeezed of its juices, pulp rendered and offered to him as you wailed into his mouth. He accepted it with an offering of his own, spilling himself into you when you kissed him. He kept his body as close to you as he could while he trembled, throbbed. His chest heaved against your own; and he kissed you so many times across your face you lost count, the waves and aftershocks of orgasm claiming you both until there was nothing but soft panting and the slightly awkward stare from his blushing, sweaty face.

Your stomach lurched at the sight. If only you could tell the you from a few months ago, the one who was so afraid of being with him, that the only thing to be afraid of is the thought of doing without such devoutness.

To those who’d ask why you’d kept crawling back to Yuuta’s bedsheets, even after you’d learned the depth of his devotion: once you’ve had a taste of such fervent piety, it’s impossible to imagine a moment without it.

Color pools over your cheeks as you sift through that memory, much later now, over noodles in front of your best friend Nobara.

"Yeah he's intense but I think it makes my boyfriend even cuter," you smile bashfully. “I don’t want him to feel like that for anyone else… I like that he’s crazy about me… is that weird?”

"Did you just say boyfriend?"

When you nod she shakes her head and groans.

"Fuck, you're just as insane as he is."

#jjk x reader #yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #cw.yandere #every time I think about him and prone bone I just. claw at the walls yk #I’ll be reposting them as I edit them so just give me a bit for each one 🙏🏽#yan!yuuta #writing tag

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studiopeached · 2 months

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THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

You're watching...

#peter your boyfriend #your boyfriend peter #your boyfriend game #your boyfriend #yb game #yb peter #yb smut #yb fandom #your boyfriend visual novel #peter smut #yb peter smut #your boyfriend peter smut #peter your boyfriend smut

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hauntedorpheum · 2 years

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ok stefan and damon phonecall in the blizzard got me

#damon calling and stefan running to cellphone buried in the snow #damon annoying stefan to give him motivation #'get up and kick my ass yourself'#the both of them making jokes about stefan wanting to be human #both bringing up the irony of stefan being in the body of an addict #stefan calling out damon on his bullshit #'your brother included' 'my brother included'#everything about the hide and seek #'why did you bring up hide and seek?' 'because you are never gonna find me'#stefan eating the donuts #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #also i think i was wrong and i actually did finish the season but i just dont remember lmao #i vaguely remembered the beginning of the episode and whats his name stefan serial killer #so its possible i did finish the season and i just dont remember #the vampire diaries #my post

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circeyoru · 3 months

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Darkest Confession _ Part 2

[Human!Alastor x Serial Killer Enthusiast!Reader]

Part 1

Part 2 (here)

You’d say that it was a joke if you didn’t see those eyes and that smile. You’re not obsessed and addicted to serial killers without knowledge. No. You could only keep this self of you that hidden because you adapted some skills these serial killers use to blend in and be ‘normal’ like theyy haven’t killed, only you use it to hide your interest

You were attracted to serial killers, now there’s one that was holding you, presumably in his hunting and killing ground, confessing his love(?) to you and wanted to court you. Though the biggest question you had was, “Why did you confess?”

“My dear dear unusual soul, my feelings for you are like a raging ocean. What started as mere interest became fondness. Even now,” Alastor’s grin widened as his eyes narrowed to make way, “You have that spark in your eyes instead of fear. I love that about you. I love you.”

Was it Christmas or your birthday? Or was this April Fool’s? All in one? It was no sick joke. Alastor jokes and all, but this was a serious matter

This had to be your luck all put into one. Not only was he the serial killer that held your interest the longest, but you also cared for his civilian self. The previous killers that held your interest was over once the case was over or once you had figured them out from every perspective. Maybe it was because Alastor was the one killer that you connected as a person?

The tightened hold of your smaller hands brought you back to reality, your killer was waiting for your response. “My darling, your answer? May I court you? Will you be mine and in turn I yours?”

“Yes, you may.” Your voice came out firmer than your current rush of emotions. You hardly caught yourself when Alastor got up in the blink of an eye and twirled you around, dancing with you under the moonlight as he sang you a train of petnames and how he was glad there’d be no drastic measures taken to receive your interest

Changes were made, namely you had Alastor’s attention a lot more than the unspoken meet-ups you two shared. He’d be at your place, waiting for you by the door with a bouque of flowers and a poem to woo you, he’d back you home when you were done with work, all that romantic stuff. It had the jealous fans at a frenzy as they watched from somewhere or happened to see it

Though, you weren’t complaining

“Filthy thing, you better say away from Alastor! We’re destined for each other! You break of with him if you know what’s good for you! I’d kill you for him!” You merely keep your face neutral as you listened to the death threats, please, words are cheap and actions. Actions speak louder than words

“Darling! Sorry to kept you waiting!” Alastor burst through the front door with a smile, beaming happily like always, but more. You waved it off, saying you didn’t wait long. You had been sitting in the living room enjoying tea with a book on dissection, you recall Jack the Ripper had those skills. “Come, dear, I have something to show you.”

He’d lead you down a well hidden staircase to a soundproof basement, holding your hand like a gentleman so you wouldn’t trip from the darkness. He playfully covered your eyes, saying it was s surprise gift. You half joked if he was leading you to a room prepared to be your torture chamber to which he replied, “Oh heavens no! I wouldn’t even dream of it, dear. Your beauty is not to be locked up in this dingy place.”

When he finally removed his hand, he showed you with jazz hands at your gift

Alastor watched like a hawk. He debetted whether or not he should show something like this to you. But your case files you stored like precious family heirloom proved him otherwise. You weren’t afraid of blood and gore. He even once tested it when he brought you back into the forest, showing you how he hunted his favourite prey, deers. You were watching intensely as he cut the shot deer up, even whispering if that was how he did with his other prey

Your keen and observant eyes would catch onto details like no other. A skill even he couldn’t match to your degree and he considered and was praised for his preciseness. It was a skill you kept to yourself, you explained that’s why you’d return to previous crime scenes or where the bodies were found, because you’d find some clues that were missed

“Why didn’t you tip the authorities?” He remember asking when you added that you never phone the police even when finding something very very incrimadating. You answer saying you didn’t want to, you knew good and bad, right and wrong. It was right to tell the police, but it felt wrong for you to betray your interest, that being serial killers and their art. He fell for you all over again

However, he didn’t like that you gave so much of your time and energy to other serial killers. Sure now he had you, what if there was someone more interesting and you turn to that instead of him like you are doing now? He was lucky that he was the first serial killer you met during active moments. Hell, you were lucky you were never preyed upon

“There was one time where I tracked an active serial killer to his place. I was knocked out before I could investigate more. When I woke up, I was tied up and he wanted my eyes, wanted me to feel the pain and agony while I was tortured.” Oh how furious when he hear that but continued to listen. “As much as it’s a dream to be killed by a serial killer, I wasn’t feeling that ‘spark’ with that one and I escaped. After that, I phoned the authorities anonymously.”

“Why was he different? Won’t you feel like a betrayal?”

That look in your eyes when you remarked, it sent him a shiver while his smile widened at your words. “He wasn’t ‘the one’ and I didn’t like him. I look into every serial killer and he falls short. Can’t let him dirty my collection, so I had to put him out of his work.” When your eyes met him, there was interest and something more, “Have I told you your case is the most interesting and loving by far. There’s actually that ‘spark’ that I never felt before.”

That was it. He knew you were the one. The one for him. And him the one for you

Oh, how his blood boiled when some fan of his threatened for you to leave him. “This piece of flesh had the audacity to threaten the love of my life. My dear, my gift for you, is her life.”

You feel your face heat up as Alastor smiled brightly at you. As morbid as it was, you, a normal person off the streets, caught the attention of a serial killer that just so happened to hold your obsession and addiction for the longest time. Even having you to care and love him like a lover. Well, your family would be happy you have a lover, just not one they wanted you to have

Alastor hated physical touches unless he initiated it, but you were his exception to a lot of things. You ran up and hugged him, planting a kiss on his lips, a gesture he melted into and returned ten fold as the seconds passed

So this was love? A twisted and dark love

As Alastor got to work, you stood at a safe and suitable distance away to observe and note down everything. You wanted Alastor to be in his serial killer zone without outside interruptions. You wanted him to be in his element without a worry

This was the change you love and wouldn’t complain. You merely wish you met him sooner, so you didn’t have to waste your time and energy, as Alastor would phase it, on other unworthy serial killers

But all good things must come to an end. You were diagnosed with an incurable disease. Alastor used his fame and wealth to find you the best doctors and gave you the best treatment, yet you were getting no better with time. You didn’t have long to live and both of you can’t stand for that. The two of you were about to get married and everything would be all the more better!

“Love.” Alastor held your hand, the other held his signature weapon. “My Muse, are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You smiled up at him innocently. It was a request before you were killed by something you’d regret and detest. No way were you dying from that. “Please, show me your first hunt.”

Out of nowhere, Alastor took out a hunting knife and jabbed it into the side of your stomach, it didn’t hit any major organs or blood vessels. You instantly fell back, immediately gripping onto your side to keep the blood loss at a minimum. You looked up to Alastor, the loving look changed

“My father was my first prey. I stabbed him like so.” Alastor explained, then he pointed his shotgun in your face, “And then I gave him hope that he can escape.”

You kicked the gun out of his hold and got up, running deeper into the forest. A gunfire rang behind you and pain came to your left shoulder. You hit into a tree when your right ankle was shot through. Stumbling into the ground as everything became blurry. When you came too, the barrel of the gun was once again in your face

“I caught up to him and I did to you now.” Alastor narrated. “And fired.”

“And that was our love story.” You sighed dreamily as you finished the last of your tea, putting it down on your saucer. “Married and happy~”

The members of the hotel all stared at you with horrided looks, save for Niffty as she seemed to be taking notes for her own bad boy catching.

“But he killed you!” Vaggie exclaimed.

“I asked him too! He rejected it so many times that I loss count! Well, not really, but you get the idea.” You mused as you snapped your fingers, making a tea pot appear and refill your cup. Sipping it with grace and a small smile. “It’s my dream to be killed by a serial killer, you see, but none gave me that spark like Alastor. Honestly,” You lowered your tea, staring into the surface of the liquid to see your own reflection, you don’t understand what ‘look in your eye’ you got like Alastor does, “I’m forever grateful that Alastor made the first move to confess. Else I’d never have such a fulfilling life!”

Angel gave you a disgusted look, “That’s messed up on so many levels.”

Static came as pressure built in the room, while you sat comfortably in your seat, drinking your tea. The shadows twisted and rose to form your darling husbands enraged with radio dials for eyes and voodoo symbols around him. “Dear Angel, what did you say about my darling wife’s words?”

Angel hide behind Charlie and Vaggie as he peeked his head out, looking into your direction as if to beg for your help.

You smiled, “He means messed up in a good way. You need to keep up with the modern terms, love.”

Alastor snapped to you, his demonic aura all gone as he took your hand and kissed it like it would break with the slightest force. “And forget the wonderful time when we met? Never.”

Note: Hehe, added a bit of more formal writing for the ending. That's what I usually write in, this bullet-point format is new to me but very fast to write everything I want with limited time~ (⚈ᴥ⚈)

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

Taglist: (the people who wanted a part 2 for this)

@suya-x-syx

@speedycoffeedelight

@just-here-reading

#Darkest Confession #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #Circe's Nighty Writings

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hobicakess · 4 months

Text

PLAYING DANGEROUS — (teaser)

summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.

warnings: smut murder, blood and gore, Jack In The Box Hobi, corruption, workplace abuse, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, dubcon, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), black/plus sized coded reader, violence from every single aspect, police brutality, mircoagression towards woc, lawyer kim seokjin, maknae helping cause chaos, manipulation, drugs and addiction, unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday)

authors note: howdy hotties! this fic was heavily inspired by this post, i don't think it'll be 30 chapters but something about it just spoke to me and itched my writer brain. even though the mc is black coded anyone can read ofc!! I can't wait to write for this series. if you'd like a tag pls comment below. Reblogs are appreciated and check out my other works (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

part one

There was a manic laughter that echoed through the new station. The giggles caused shivers and goosebumps to pass through everybody in the building simply because that laughter was familiar. The sounds were admitting from the little black box that sat on your desk. In horror you and your peers that happened to be close by watch the little black clown that popped from graffiti painted the box swing animatedly back and forth. Everyone in Korea knew this clown and what it meant.

“Mr.Kim is not seeing anyone right-” you push the secretary out your way causing her to stumble on her kitten heels and she watches you stomp your way into her bosses and yours office. The door opens wide slamming against the wall causing the booksvon the shelves to tremble, some even tumbling to the floor.

There he sat Kim Namjoon. He stared at you with his eyebrow raised. Some of the buttons of his black dress shirt were unbuttoned, the glass at his side was filled with brown liquid and even more books and papers laid out messily on his desk. .

With as much force as you could you throw the giggling box at him. The impact smacking him hard on the chest but with his build you were sure that it didn't do a thing. He held it in his hands flipping it over clicking an unknown button, shutting the gut wrenching sound shut off.

“ You told me if I took this story I'd be safe,*

Namjoon sighs as if you were speaking nonsense and not about life or death. “Let's be clear here you agreed to take this story when I only simply suggested it. Besides what makes you think Jack sent this?” He was right.

Maybe your coworkers thought I'd be funny to freak you out a little more since taking on the Clown killer case, still it was a sick joke that you didn't really find funny.

“Jack is locked in a maximum security prison surrounded by guards, and guns. He's not getting out anytime soon.”

The door swung open again and there stood his assistant. “Mr.Kim turned the news on!”

Grabbing the remote he clicks on the TV that was mounted on the wall of his office. The screen lights up showing a familiar smoking building. Your heart began to speed up in rhythm as you stare at the headline

Serial killer Jack In The Box escapes from Hangsang Maximum security prison

The screen flicks again to the dark red writings on the wall that used to be his cell.

‘See you soOn honey bunches 🃏’

And that was the last thing you saw before you tumble to the ground.

#bts x black reader #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #dee recs.#jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #dee reblogs.#hoseok x reader #rapline x reader #hyunglinexreader #bts fanfic #mafia bts #gangster bts #yandere yoongi #yandere bts

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yourmaximoff · 6 months

Text

Smooth Criminal

Summary: Is it possible for the dreaded serial killer Scarlet Witch to be just a woman you met at a disco?

Paring: Serialkiller!Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (+16) Kisses, warm touches, implicit sex, knife play (light), drink spiking, and implicit murder.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween with Femme Fatale Wanda, literally. x.x

(English is not my first language, sorry for any translation errors)

𓆩♡𓆪

The rain, calm and cold, hammered incessantly against the windows of the distant nightclub on a Halloween night. Each drop left a translucent trail, distorting and diffusing the vibrant colors of the dance floor that shone inside the club.

The darkness inside the nightclub, as dense as pitch, was pierced and illuminated by a mirrored metallic sphere suspended in the center of the dance floor. As the mirrored ball spun slowly, the reflections and beams of light were dispersed throughout the club, painting the walls and people with a sea of vibrant colors.

Your mind was far away while your gaze was fixed on the half-full glass in front of you. Your tedious and weary fingers slid along the edge, creating a sharp and slightly uncomfortable sound. Your wandering gaze seemed to take a different course when a mysterious female figure in a coat and hat walked through the nightclub's door and was reflected in the glass. Your eyes soon shifted from the glass to the woman, who was now removing her partially wet coat and hat.

Blonde hair, short and delicately wavy, swayed gently as she took off her hat. Her eyelids, adorned with a soft touch of silvery glitter, and her lips painted with a soft, rosy gloss, looked like a charming work of art framing her oval face.

She gently slid her hands down the front of her unbuttoned overcoat, shook her shoulders, causing the coat to fall, revealing the stunning black sequin dress hidden beneath it. Leaving the coat and hat with the receptionist at the luxurious nightclub, she entered the flourishing sounds of the 80s and 2000s.

Her hips swayed to the rhythm of the 80s music in the background as she made her way toward the dance floor. The blonde exuded an air of confidence, a seductive look, as if she knew she could kill anyone with just a glance.

By a twist of fate, just as Madonna's 'Hung Up' began to play on the speakers, she looked directly at you. Her body was positioned right in the center of the dance floor, and her eyes were fixed on you, as if she knew you had been watching her since she arrived. Her intense gaze seemed to read your mind, to see through your soul. However, a simple wink and a smile transformed her intimidating look into an invitation.

The music started with its characteristic melody, and the blonde gracefully glided across the dance floor. Her arms and feet moved in rhythm with the others around her. However, even in the midst of so many people, she was the one who caught everyone's attention, seeming to command the minds of everyone around. It was as if she were the queen, and everyone around her were just subjects imitating her movements, much like Madonna herself.

Infected by the addictive beat of the music and her charms, you let yourself be carried away. You allowed yourself to be controlled by her gaze alone. Without knowing her name, her past, her sins, in just a few minutes, you were already by her side, imitating her moves, dancing with the same enthusiasm.

Her shoulders flowed in perfect harmony with the music's beat, while her arms sought to get as close to you as possible. Her radiant smile remained unshaken on her carefully painted lips, just like on yours. Her excitement was palpable, a surge of adrenaline pulsing through her veins, the same adrenaline she was so addicted to feeling.

The rhythm and dance of the people around dissolved as another song began to play. The choreography she had led gradually scattered, with people jumping and dancing randomly.

Stepping back, with the rhythm still pulsing through her veins, she leaned against you. You felt your already racing heart quicken further with the scent of strawberries in her hair, as her hips moved backward, purposefully brushing against your front.

As she whispered the lyrics of the song with her eyes closed, you felt that this was the silent permission you needed. Slowly and delicately placing your hands on her waist, you heard a moan escape her lips, along with a slight movement, pressing even closer to you.

A wave of heat coursed through your body, the countless dance steps leaving you tired, yet her energy seemed to overflow into you. It was so strange to see someone so joyful and energetic. You could feel the adrenaline running through her body, as if she were in ecstasy.

Placing her hands on yours, she slid on the tips of her heels and positioned herself face to face with you, not allowing you to remove your hands from her waist. For a few moments, she seemed to get lost in thought, staring directly into your eyes with those sparkling emeralds. The background music sounded muffled, and her hands, now on your shoulders, began to apply gentle pressure with her sharp, long nails.

When she was sure of what she wanted, she smiled at you, and her intense gaze softened. You didn't quite understand. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't the same enthusiastic woman who had been dancing. Did she seem like someone else? But all the questions were pushed aside when she began to draw closer.

Her hands slid behind your neck, while your hands firmly held her waist, bringing her closer. When your lips touched, and you tasted her lip gloss, the same adrenaline from the dance coursed through your veins.

Your chest pounded strongly as you savored the sweet, slightly tangy taste of her breath. Her tongue, entering your mouth and being met by your own shy tongue, seemed hungry for you, exploring every bit with overwhelming desire. However, when a new song began to play, her hand slid from your neck to your hands before she backed away and disappeared into the crowd.

The entire nightclub was immersed in deep darkness, with the only source of light being the silver disco ball that illuminated the bodies in the middle of the dance floor. Looking around and passing through the people, you truly lost her. She seemed to vanish as if by magic.

Giving up on searching for her and accepting that this was a one-night affair, or rather, a single dance, you made your way to the small bar. A bit disappointed that she had disappeared but happy that you had at least kissed someone as beautiful as her.

With a familiar gesture, the bartender slid another drink across the bar to you. A bit of alcohol in your bloodstream would help calm your thoughts, especially your racing heart. Turning half the glass in one go and tapping it gently against the bar, you focused your attention on the small television attached to the ceiling.

"The criminal Scarlet Witch has escaped from the police, leaving numerous dead and injured in her wake last night," said a woman holding a microphone, as images of a sort of crimson red crown spray-painted on gray brick walls appeared on the screen. "She is on the run, and the reward for any leads is $30,000. Any information should be reported to 911 or the nearest police station."

A shiver ran down your spine. The mere possibility of a serial killer in the vicinity truly made you wary of venturing out alone on the streets.

The scent of strawberries emanating from the newly acquainted blonde's hair filled your senses once again. You glanced away from the news to the blonde woman, who was waiting for her drink just a few stools away.

You could feel those green, almost golden eyes slide to the corner of her own eyes, discreetly looking in your direction. You were so mesmerized that you barely noticed when the bartender placed two glasses in front of her.

A sly little smile formed on her face as she turned her attention back to the two glasses in front of her. The blonde downed one of them in one go, letting out a satisfied moan, while she simply picked up the other with her hand and left the bar, almost disappearing again into the crowd.

But this time, you wouldn't let her escape. Those eyes seemed to invite you to something, and you were curious enough to want to find out what. You followed the shimmer of that black sequin dress, which reflected silver against the metallic ball in the center of the dance floor.

Her hips swayed seductively, as if she knew you were following her. It seemed like she was fully aware that you were enchanted by her, as if there was a cunning plan in her mind that you couldn't even imagine. You had no knowledge of her true intentions, the side that revealed itself when the music pulsed through her veins or when she identified someone as delicious as you.

You lost sight of her for a moment, but when you found her, the situation was so painful that you decided to stop following her. A tall brunette girl took the drink she held in her hands and then kissed her passionately, as if in a movie.

You thought she really wanted another dance with you, but apparently, she was interested in someone else. With a sigh, you turned around and returned to the bar, drowning your senses in any sweet cocktail. You weren't much of a drinker, and even less prone to getting emotionally attached so easily to someone, but you felt that she was truly special, or something cliché like that.

Those intense green eyes fixed on you, sitting alone at the bar. Wanda needed to find out if you were different, she needed to test. Remembering Peggy's lips, the girl who had just fallen under her spell, she realized that she wasn't wrong about you. You truly had something different, something Wanda certainly didn't feel with anyone, let alone with Peggy.

Peggy was already beginning to feel dizzy, not only from the effects of the spiked drink but also from the heat that was taking over her body due to Wanda's touches. She longed to relieve this tension that seemed only possible with Wanda. As if reading Peggy's thoughts, Wanda held the girl's hand, and the two of them made their way through the crowd in the nightclub towards the restroom.

All the people around were drunk enough to not remember "who the mysterious blonde was who had last had contact with Peggy when she was still alive."

𓆩♡𓆪

"Can I buy you a drink?" Like an angel, a soft, deep voice slid from your right ear to your left. A glass filled with alcohol was gently pushed in your direction.

"Only if I know your name," you say, turning your gaze to her. Even though you had never heard her voice, you felt that it was her.

"If that's your price," she says, picking up the glass in front of you with her hand. "My name is Wanda," she says before downing half the liquid in the glass. Then she places it on the table and slides it toward you. "And yours?"

You look at the glass as the name "Wanda" smoothly slides through your mind. She was so mysterious, so intriguing, and that glass seemed strangely delicious after she had placed her lips on it. Her eyes sparkled, and she couldn't contain her wide smile as you turned the glass completely. It was confirmation that you would let yourself be led by her.

"S/N," you sigh, feeling the thick, icy drink slide down your throat like fire.

In seconds, Wanda was already standing by your side. Her black, glossy nails slid over your neck, leaving red traces before tangling in your hair. You slowly turned your head in her direction and were greeted by her sweet, full lips.

Wanda slowly turned the bar stool toward her. Her knee positioned itself between your legs like a support on the bench. This time, the kiss was gentler and slower, her lips perfectly fitting into yours, while her nails scraped and played with the hair at the nape of your neck.

When your hands clasped her waist and your tongue entered her mouth, she allowed herself to slide her knee forward, coming dangerously close to the warm, moist valley between her legs.

You moaned in response to the kiss and tightened your grip on her waist as you felt her gently touch the sensitive area between your legs. That bare and delicate knee, lightly brushing against your already drenched panties, sent an electrifying wave of heat. You desperately desired her, and she was well aware of it.

With small, sweet pecks on your lips, she squeezed your thigh with one hand, while the other made sure to interlace your fingers. Wanda removed her knee from the chair and made a gesture to pull you, to take you somewhere. Completely intoxicated with desire and craving more of her, you allowed yourself to be led.

As soon as you crossed the bathroom door, a firm hand pushed you against the door itself. Your breath caught in your throat, your tongue touching the roof of your mouth, and the taste of gloss invading your lips. Kisses slid from the mouth to your neck, while perfectly painted glossy black nails began to scratch the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Numb from the kiss and the drink that was starting to churn your stomach, you held firmly behind her head, intertwining your hand in her hair as she explored your neck. She made sure to leave a mark on every inch of exposed skin on your neck that the clothing didn't cover.

Wanda slid one of her hands over your stomach, feeling and searching for the location of your womb through the fabric of your dress. As she continued to kiss your neck, making your body tremble and become a hot mess, she removed her best friend, a sharp red and black switchblade, hidden on her thigh beneath her sheer stockings.

Michael Jackson's 'Smooth Criminal' echoed muffledly behind you as you were still pressed against the door. A deep sigh escaped your throat when you felt a sharp pain crawl over your stomach's skin. The wet sensation of Wanda's lips on your neck and her delicate bites tried to distract and confuse your mind. However, the stomach pain was so intense, and the sensation of something wet dripping was so present, that you tried to look down. But Wanda, with her delicate hand, quickly held your chin and raised it again, making you face her.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours once again, trying to distract you from the pain that was starting to become almost unbearable, and it seemed to really work. While you thought it was just a common stomachache, or that Wanda was scratching you again with her nails, you placed both hands on her neck. It was as if you were drunk and needed more of her lips. You felt such a strange connection with her that, if she were to disappear again, you would remember the taste of her well in your memory.

Wanda smiled against the passionate kiss. Her hand left your chin and started holding your still waist, while the other hand worked to leave her mark, or rather, the crown that had appeared on the news minutes before, with a switchblade on the delicate skin above your womb.

𓆩♡𓆪

The small ceiling shower, turned on and gushing water, provided comforting warmth to your body, which was dealing with a painful hangover. You woke up alone in this roadside motel room, with a glass of water and a pill on the table next to the bed.

You weren't accustomed to going out at night with strangers, let alone going to motels, but you really didn't want to keep things between you and Wanda confined to that small bathroom in the nightclub. Sighing, you remembered Wanda. Now, you felt like you would never see her again in your life. At least you had an unforgettable night with her, and that was enough... or so you liked to think to comfort yourself.

Sliding your hand over your abdomen, you felt a burning pain as a small stream of water dripped from the tips of your fingers directly onto a sensitive spot on your stomach. You felt a shiver run down your spine. Without turning off the shower and without caring about the water droplets running from your naked body, you quickly headed for the mirror in the room.

Standing right in front of the mirror, you fixed your gaze exactly on your womb, where there was a sort of crown embedded in your skin. It seemed to be something deeper than a simple tattoo and definitely burned as if it had been cut.

You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to organize your thoughts. Everything seemed confusing, especially because you recognized the mark on your skin that had been shown in the news at the nightclub. Feeling a strange wave of fear and distress, you sat on the bed behind you, not caring about completely wetting the covers. It was like a punch, a punch so strong that you felt relieved to be alive.

Of all the victims, you were the only one to come out alive. You were the only one who didn't trigger a psychotic impulse in her when the music flowed through her veins. You were different, special, and unintentionally became her favorite prey.

Wanda, or rather, Scarlet Witch, left her mark on you, a mark for you never to forget her. Her little declaration of love, stamped in the form of a crown over your womb, was a small sign that she would come back to you.

#Wanda maximoff #Wanda smut #Wanda x reader #Wanda maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #Wanda maximoff x you #Wanda maximoff smut #Wanda maximoff fanfic #marvel imagines #halloween

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