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queenshelby · 3 years

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The Last Semester – Part Eighteen

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,407

Warning: Pregnancy Mentioned

Prior Parts: https://queenshelby.tumblr.com/post/659814893025902592/the-last-semester-part-seventeen

YOUR POV

Another week had passed and there was nothing but radio silence from Cillian and you were scrambling to think about what to do.

Emma certainly achieved her goal by publishing this most ridiculous article about your relationship. Clearly, it had an effect on Cillian.

You texted him twice, but received no response. You were heartbroken and riddled with morning sickness. Yet, you carried on as if nothing had happened.

You had started your first teaching job after finishing university and finally found a small apartment in Dublin and you still hadn’t told anyone that you were pregnant. Only your stepmother knew and she promised to keep it a secret until you were ready to talk about it or make a decision about whether or not to keep the baby.

Whilst you didn’t judge anyone who chose to terminate, your choice was likely going to keep the baby. You couldn’t terminate the pregnancy. It wasn’t really an option for you and you were almost certain that you would keep the baby. You knew that you were old enough and mature enough to have this child.

Packing boxes was distracting you. There wasn’t much to pack as you hadn’t unpacked the majority of your belongings since moving from London to start with.

Your stepmother was helping you sort through everything and made a list of things you would need in the near future while looking through the basement to see what she had kept from her last pregnancy which, evidentially, wasn’t much.

It gave her a good excuse to also do the annual spring clean and clear out the rubbish that had accumulated over the years.

‘You know, he’s good with his boys so even if things don’t work out between you, I think you will find that he will be a good dad’ your stepmother said before asking you when you were planning to tell him.

‘I want him to talk to me because of what he feels and not because he has to if he finds out that I am pregnant. I will give it a few weeks and see if he comes around’ you huffed, somewhat upset by Cillian pulling away from you once again.

‘You love him don’t you?’ your stepmother then asked and you nodded, tears running down your face.

‘I just wish he felt the same’ you then said as your emotions were getting the better of you and you broke down.

‘I think he does. He is just scared. There is a lot at stake for him and, honestly, with you being so much younger he might be worried about the longevity of your relationship. He is probably waying things up. This not only impacts his personal life, the kids, but also his career and friendships’ your stepmother explained and you knew that she was right. Yet, you were angry and hormonal.

Cillian’s POV

Over the past two weeks, Cillian had done a lot of thinking. The conflict with your father was just one final straw that had been drawn.

For months, when his agent found out about his relationship with a much younger woman, he had been told to break it off. It was bad for his career, making him a cliché of a Hollywood actor.

Then, there were his sons who had asked questions about you and his ex-wife certainly fuelled the fire when it came to their apprehension. She opposed his new relationship and, whilst he cared little about what she thought about him, Cillian had to communicate with her on a daily basis. After all, she was the mother of his children and they shared custody for them.

Then, of course, there was the fact that you were twenty years younger than Cillian and he worried that, one day, you would realise that you missed out on life and should have been with someone your own age, explore, party and travel. Do what people your age do and not be slowed down by someone so much older. The age gap between you was certainly something that bothered him on a personal level as he thought that, one day, you might change your mind about him and what you wanted.

In Cillian’s mind, the easiest way out was to break it off with you. It would solve all of his problems. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He loved you, he missed you and he wanted to be with you no matter how illogical it was.

Every night, he flicked through your photographs on his phone and he drafted one message after another to you before simply deleting them all, not knowing what to say, knowing that it was better if he didn’t say anything at all.

It wasn’t until Saturday evening, just as you finished packing up for your move, that Cillian slowly came to his senses about what he wanted and texted you with just a little bit of help from his son Charlie.

‘Hey, dad! Did you listen to what I said?’ Charlie asked as Cillian was, once again, lost in his thoughts.

‘I am sorry Charlie. What did you say?’ he asked, looking up from his phone with some help.

‘I want to go to the movies with Janine tomorrow. Is that ok?’ he asked, causing Cillian to raise an eyebrow and sigh.

‘She is only 18 months older than me and you know what?’ Charlie then said, waiting for his father’s reaction.

‘What?’ Cillian chuckled.

‘According to a very not so relevant book I just read, age doesn’t matter unless you are a cheese’ Charlie then said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘That’s some deep poetry right there’ Cillian chuckled before agreeing to his son’s request and giving him some money to take out Janine.

‘Thanks dad. You know, this goes for you too and if you don’t make a move on Y/N, someone else will snap her up in no time’ Charlie then said with a hint of sarcasm.

‘Oh, you think so?’ Cillian chuckled and, just as he did, Charlie grabbed his father’s phone and began typing in his password.

‘Hey, give that back. I am not joking. I will ground you’ Cillian said somewhat angrily.

‘Well, I am with mum next week so you can’t really do that’ Charlie said as he finished typing before returning the phone to Cillian.

‘Fuck’ Cillian shouted as he read the message from him to you which simply read ‘I miss you’.

‘You just said a swearword. That’s naughty’ Charlie then grinned, causing Cillian to speechlessly stand in the kitchen and think about what to say now.

‘Well, I suppose this will get the conversation going. Thanks for the 50 Euro dad’ Charlie chuckled before walking into his room.

‘Grounded’ Cillian growled.

‘Fine. At least it was worth it’ Charlie winked back.

Your Father’s POV

The same evening, your father arrived home from work to you pulling out of the driveway and a stack of garbage bags being piled up in front of the front door of the house.

‘What the…’ he growled just as your stepmother brought out the final bag.

‘Spring clean’ she said somewhat satisfied, causing him to huff.

‘Where is Y/N going?’ your father asked as he was just about to take off his shoes.

‘To Marina’s house. Movie night I think’ your stepmother said before asking your father to put the trash into the bins before taking off his shoes.

‘Sure’ he responded just as she disappeared back inside to finish off cooking and, as your father took out the trash as requested, one of the large thin plastic bags got caught on the tyre of the bicycle besides the house.

It tore almost immediately and half of its contents scattered over the wet grass.

‘For fuck sake’ your father shouted to himself as he pulled open the bin and discarded of the half full bag and the two other bags he was carrying before collecting the contents from the floor.

‘Fantastic’ he growled again with anger as he realised that it was the bag containing the bathroom contents which had spilled and, amongst old tooth brushes and a sticky tube of toothpaste, he found something unusual. A digital pregnancy test which clearly read ‘POSITIVE’.

His breath caught in his throat as he picked it up, looking at it is somewhat stunned and surprised.

Was this really happening, he wondered?

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#Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine

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heythrrdelilah · 4 years

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Lights, Camera, Love (Tom Holland x Reader) Chapter 1

A/N: So, I’ve been wanting to write for Tom for a while now, I hope all the marvel fans approve. I have incorporated some of my personal goals; like acting since I did 7+ years of theater throughout my life and my certification in Radio/film broadcasting. Also, My nursing degree im working on. So this plot may seem cheesy because of it but… oh well. Also playing off the easter egg of Gwen in endgame.

Word Count: 1,642 (the next chapters will be better and longer sorry)

Warnings/tags: Fluffish, slow beginning (sorry.... it’s been a while since I’ve written anything), friend-zone

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader

The cold winter breeze sent chills down your spine, making you regret not taking a bigger jacket or adding a few more layers to your outfit. Today, was your first day of work as a small part in the new Marvel movie. You hadn’t known much about it, because today was the first table read for your scene. The main cast had done their table reading months ago, however, for certain scenes, the small parts come in with the main cast as needed. You knew that you had more than one line, otherwise you would be placed with the extras. When you auditioned, you didn’t have a preference for a role, which was ideal for the directors. Directors usually want to have complete creative criticism over everything. Plus, you didn’t have an agent anyways, you had just heard of the audition through an online alert you set for google. Your regular day job was a nurse, which you were thankful that the hospital gave you days off for the filming.

“ID and reason for entry please?” The guard at the gates asked you when you arrived in your 2019 yellow and black camero. You nodded, reaching for your purse. Your nerves were causing your hand to shake as you passed your ID along. “Studio 9, Marvel. I play Mikayla, a small role,” You stated with a nervous, shaky tone. He marked you down on the ipad he wielded and passed you your ID along with a parking pass. He pressed the button for the gate to open and you went through, finding your way to the studio. You parked in the assigned spot, which was shockingly close to the studio building and exited.

Nervously gripping your coffee, you walked slowly into the building. There was a security guard in the doorway, who gave you a pass and directions to the reading table. You walked slowly through the building, seeing hundreds of employees rushing around to build sets, props, costumes, lighting, and several agents on their phones. It was seven in the morning and people were already working so hard. You dodged several people rolling giant wooden boards, along with piles of paint. From upstairs, where the reading room was, you could look down to the floor and see everything from above, as the rooms and offices were all around the sides of the building, leaving the middle open. You looked for office number 24 as instructedd in the email. As you reached the windowless room and door, you knocked gently before entering. The room was warm and smelled like a coffee shop. The lights were perfectly balanced between dim and bright. The tables were set in one big circle and the only other person in the room at the moment was a small blonde with rolled up knit sleeves, placing gift baskets at every seat. “Hello! You must be (y/n)! You’re early!” She smiled, placing another basket at another seat. I waved slightly, “Good morning, yeah sorry I actually thought I was running late. Would you like some help?” You placed your coffee and purse down on the table against the wall with the coffee pots, yes...plural. You rushed over to the two carts of baskets and began placing the heavy packets on the table. You hadn't even noticed the names on the baskets either.

"I'm Clara, by the way. I'm the Mr. Whedon's assistant," She placed her dainty hand out for you to shake. She was the same height as you, but probably weighed 20 pounds less given her viable bone lines. You were careful to lightly shake her hands. You didn't want to be objective when looking at her, guessing her weight, but your previous struggle with an eating disorder left a mark on your brain when it comes to this stuff. She was pretty in the way every other shy girl who moves to LA is. Definitely stuck out in this city, Atlanta that is.

"So the director gives gift baskets to even the smallest of roles? That's super cool," You walked over to the coffee stand and took your cup. She followed, pouring herself a nesspresso. "Small roles? No. There are too many characters with less than 10 lines. Why?" She took a second before her Raven black brows lifted, "oh shit! You don't know? They told you that you didn't get mIkayla right?" Wow-what a shot to the heart! You thought to yourself. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. "Well, you blew everyone away and they didn’t want to waste your talent on a classmate of peter. So, they decided it was time for Gwen Stacy to head into the Avenger world,” Clara informed. You scrunch your brows together, “Wait… is this why we saw a glimpse of Gwen in Endgame? That is honestly so sick!” You couldn’t contain your excitement. Your expression grew into a big smile. You were a big marvel fan, so this job was a double dream come true. It hadn’t actually hit you that you were Gwen Stacy until you found your seat. The gift basket in front of you had a place marker attatched, like one at an office, that read “Gwen Stacy/ (y/n),” you were reading out loud. “How many acting jobs have you had before this?” Clara asked cheerily. You placed your coffee down next to the basket, “This is the first professional one.” Just as Clara was about to state something, the door opened behind her.

Walking in was the tall blonde you could never not recognize, Chris Hemsworth. Your heart skipped a beat seeing him in person. Sure, you’ve met a few small celebrities before at concerts, but never someone with so much recognition. He was wearing jeans and a baseball Tee, his hair was spiked up and his smile was plastered on his face. He looked down at Clara and gave her a friendly side hug, “Nice to see you as always.” His accent was like cutting butter. Smooth and pleasing. She smiled up at him before motioning to the coffee. “As always, same to you. The coffee is set up and this film’s gift baskets are an assortment of pastries. Yes, this means apple fritters,” she smiled, pointing to his seat. You were frozen at your chair, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Oh I’m not the first one? This is different!” He began walking over to your direction. You found the courage to stand up, smoothening out the wrinkles in your shirt during the process. “Hi, I’m (y/n). I am apparently playing Gwen Stacy,” You placed your hand for him to shake. He towered over you, as you were pretty short. His firm grip on your heand suddenly calmed you, “i’m Chris. Nervous? I heard this was your first film?” You nodded slowly. This was just another person. Celebrities are people and you would just have to think that when everyone else walked through the door. “It’s so funny, I thought I had a small part, but Clara informed me otherwise just this morning. I thought you had all table read months ago,” You blabbed, taking a sip from your coffee. He chuckled, “They probably meant for it to be a surprise,” He spoke loud enough for Clara to hear that last part, “We read earlier than the small roles, but that doesn’t start until today.” You nodded smiling. This had to of been a dream. “Gwen stacy isn’t even an avenger though and-” Chris cut you off, placing his hand on your shoulder, “It’s the film industry. Nothing has to be accurate. Just accept it and welcome.” Chris walked over to his chair a few down from you, already opening his bag, placing the name card visible to the center of the circle. You placed yours in the same fashion. Shortly after, the door opened once more. Tom Holland walked through sporting a hoodie and jeans. When he looked up from his phone, he greeted Clara and Chris first, before finding his seat beside you. He turned to you, “You must be our Gwen? Im Tom.” He placed his hand out for you to shake, which you kindly did. He was much more handsome in person, in fact, it made your stomach knot up just looking at him. After introducing yourself, you removed the gift basket from the top of the table and placed it beside you, just as the other two had.

“First table read?” He asked, his british accent melting your heart. You nod slowly, “Yeah. I am honestly afraid I’ll be laughed out of the room by the end of the day.” You finished the last gulp of your coffee and pushed your chair back to stand up and walk over to the coffee station. Tom followed, to your surprise. “Listen, Can I tell you a secret?” He asked in a hushed tone, grabbing a glass mug from the table, giving you one after he tossed the paper cup into the trash. You nodded, “If they put you in a role higher than what you auditioned for, you must be good. I highly doubt you will be laughed out of the room.” Your face burned red as his kind words actually sunk into your mind. You shook your head. You had to be professional. These were the people you were going to see every day for a good year. No way could you be blushing at every Avenger walking through the door just trying to create a friendly environment.

“In fact, if you are laughed out of the room, I will walk out with you. Losing both of us. If not… you have to hang out with us after the table read? We all planned on going out for pasta. You aren’t one of those carbphobic ladies are you?” He asked, nudging you slightly. Friendly.

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saveyourblood · 5 years

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Stolen Dance | S.R.

Summary: 15 months. 3 bodies. 1 river.

It was only a matter of time before the FBI showed up.

Notes: Thought I was done writing fanfiction? Sweetie, I’ll never be done 😉 (unfortunately)

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Mentions of dead bodies, blood(? I don’t remember tbh), violence, the usual Criminal Minds themes.

Song: Stolen Dance - Milky Chance

_____________________

“This girl is no different from the rest: her throat was slashed, and she was found naked. I’m sure once we get her to the pathologist, they’ll find signs of sexual assault.”

“Was the clothing found?”

The investigator nodded. “Folded and placed on the ground close to the body, just like the last two.”

You sat on the edge of the ambulance, listening to their conversation.

Amiee Rogers was the fourth girl to show up dead in the last 15 months, and the third to follow a distinct pattern. She was almost identical to other victims, physically and otherwise — young, average height, dark hair and eyes, and athletic. This sicko had a type, that much was obvious.

You still weren’t used to looking at the bodies, which ultimately, was a good thing; f your stomach didn’t turn and throat close at the sight of those poor girls dumped in a river, maybe it was time to quit your job as a paramedic and move to the mountains. That day had yet to come, though, so instead of becoming a hermit, you waited patiently and avoided looking at Aimee’s lifeless body.

“It’s just horrible, isn’t it?” Michael Alphon, your work partner asked. “The way they’re just tossed aside like trash.”

A gust of wind swept through the air. You pulled your jacket tight around you, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It is,” you agreed.

“Alphon, Y/L/N!” The sheriff shouted, catching yours and Michael’s attention. He gestured to the crime scene. “We’re ready for you.”

“I’m tired of pulling bodies out of the Colorado,” Michael muttered.

“Me too,” you said, “but something tells me this won’t be the last time we have to.”

_____________________

After a long night on 3rd shift, you were exhausted. While the left side of your lane was full of people trying to get to work, your lane was basically empty besides your beat up Jeep. Your dog tags swayed back and forth as they hung on the rearview mirror.

You served in the Army for five years, so you should probably be more used to death. Granted, as both a medic and a paramedic, you were always composed and calm while doing your job. But in some ways, the recent murders stuck with you more than serving in war did.

Your work in the Army gave you PTSD, and the killings weren’t doing anything to help it. All the victims were young, less than 25 years old. They were so full of potential, and it was all stolen by a sick man with an unknown vendetta. At least when you were in warzone, you managed to disconnect and hone in on your skills. Now that you were back in Grand Junction, Colorado — the city you were born and raised in — it was almost impossible to zone out your surroundings. You knew these people: the families, the victims. You weren’t just pulling bullets out of men in camouflage anymore. This was real.

Everytime you closed your eyes, all you saw was Aimee Rogers, Felicity Garb, and Stella Lee. You saw their glazed over, lifeless eyes. You saw their blue skin and purple lips caused by the cold water. You saw their clothes sitting on the riverside, neatly folded in a pile. And sometimes, right before falling asleep, you thought you heard their screams.

_____________________

You tossed your bag in your locker with a sigh. Once again, you decided to pick up a night shift, and you hardly got any sleep beforehand. You knew the only reason the night crew wanted to trade shifts was because they didn’t want to find another body, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t sleep these days anyways, and working graveyards made you a few more bucks an hour, so really, what did it matter?

“Y/N Y/L/N?” A handsome black man asked. He wore dark clothing, but he didn’t give you an EMT/paramedic vibe.

“That’s me,” you confirmed, closing your locker. “What can I help you with?”

“We heard you were one of the paramedics on-scene the night Aimee Rogers’ body was found,” a younger, taller man asked.

You didn’t notice him at first, but once you did, it was hard to look away. He had shaggy hair, big eyes, and a sharp jawline. He had to be at least six feet tall, but something about his voice and even his presence was… comforting. You couldn’t really explain it.

“I was,” you said cautiously. “Who are you, exactly?”

The first man was quick to respond; he pulled out a badge and showed it to you. “We’re FBI agents, ma’am.”

You heard through the grapevine that the FBI was in town. Though it made perfect logical sense, it didn’t seem real to you. Everyone always said it, but it was true: things like this don’t happen here. Grand Junction wasn’t even 1/6th of Denver’s population, yet somehow, there was a serial killer running around? It felt more like a novel or movie than real life.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before you guys showed up,” you ceded.

“I’m Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Derek continued. “We were hoping we could speak to you?”

“Dr. Reid?” you asked in disbelief. You took a seat on the bench behind you. “You used the logarithmic spiral and a Fibonacci sequence to find out where Henry Grace was holding his hostages.”

Derek looked at Spencer in a way only the two of them understood.

“H-How did you know that?” Spencer asked.

“I read,” you said simply. “I learned about the BAU when I was in Basic Training. I’ve always had an interest in the study of human behavior. My mother said I had a knack for it, that I was good at spotting liars.”

“You served?” Derek asked with raised eyebrows. He took a seat next to you.

“For half a decade,” you said. “After my first year, I trained to be a medic, a few years after that, I got deployed for 18 months.”

Derek nodded in approval. “Show us.”

You laughed in surprise. “Show you?”

“Prove your mother right. Profile us.”

You looked between the two men. Derek looked insistent; Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely indifferent.

“The two of you have been working together for awhile; years, probably,” you started. “When I mentioned Dr. Reid’s work, you looked at him,” you said, speaking to Derek. “The two of you are professional, so you didn’t say anything. However, Agent Morgan, you raised your eyebrows and held back a smile. This leads me to believe the relationship has become interpersonal.”

“It doesn’t take a profiler to notice changes in body language and facial expressions,” Spencer said plainly. “Really, those are things your subconscious picks up on. You simply analyzed our interaction and took an educated guess.”

“I’m not finished,” you said with a half smile.

Spencer merely looked at you.

You took a breath. It felt like you would be intruding, saying too much about something you knew nothing about. Your father was a good and kind man, but on more than one occasion did he lecture you for your lack of filter. Since then, you learned observe people in silence.

“Had the two of you not been here on work, Derek would have made a comment,” you spoke. You turned your attention to the agent next to you. “You assumed I took a liking to Dr. Reid, most likely in a romantic or even sexual way. However, you also would have found a way to demean Dr. Reid.”

“Demean him?” Derek inquired. He managed to keep his expression blank, but he subconsciously sat up straighter — a defensive position.

“You respect Dr. Reid,” you observed. “In some ways, you probably see him as a brother. But in other ways, you see him as competition. You grew up as an alpha male, a protector. You became a profiler by going through the classes and training. Dr. Reid on the other hand, he just showed up one day out of the blue.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “What are you trying to say, Y/N?”

You hesitated. “I’m saying that, while Agent Morgan respects you, there’s a small part of him that thinks you’re only good at profiling because you taught yourself how to be good at it.”

“Of course he taught himself. That’s how people learn,” Derek argued.

“Spencer doesn’t learn, though,” you said softly. “He reads, and he remembers. He profiles using patterns and statistics, while you profile by getting inside a person’s head. Neither method is wrong, of course, but sometimes, a part of you thinks that your way shows more talent. That’s why you wanted to make a remark: mostly because you wanted to lightheartedly tease, but also because you wanted to show your dominance. You wanted to prove that, sometimes, you can be smarter than the genius you work with.”

Once again, the two of them shared a look. Eventually, though, Derek began to chuckle.

“She’s good,” Spencer noticed.

“Very good,” Derek agreed.

After a moment of silence, Spencer spoke up. “Sheriff Longman said you began to pick up on the Unsub’s habits.”

You bit your lip. “I have a few theories, but I’m no expert.”

“What’re you thinking, Y/N?” Derek persuaded.

“Bea Vallette was the first,” you said. “They thought it was an accident or suicide — he hadn’t developed his signature by then.”

“What’s his signature?” Spencer asked.

“Rogers, Garb, and Lee were all found with the same injuries; their throats were slit, they were discovered naked, face-down, and they all had signs of sexual assault. But unlike Vallette, these girls had something in common: the clothes they went missing in were found washed and folded next to their bodies.”

“Most likely, that’s a sign of -” Spencer began. Derek cut him off.

“What could the clothing be a sign of?” Derek asked you.

“It could be remorse. He rapes and kills them, but he feels sorry for them, so he washes the blood out of their clothes and leaves them behind.”

“If he’d go through the trouble of washing the clothes, why not put them back on the victim?” Spencer thought aloud.

“Putting them back on is a higher risk of leaving DNA behind,” you pointed out.

“Maybe he’s trying to make a statement,” Derek suggested. “Maybe it’s his way of showing power over his victims, even after killing them.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and theorize with you gentlemen,” you said, standing up, “I have a job to do.”

“Absolutely,” Derek said in understanding. He reached into his pocket. “If you think of anything, give us a call.”

You smiled, pocketing the card. “Will do.”

You couldn’t help but steal one last look at Spencer before he and Derek left.

_____________________

You ended your shift by putting another girl in the back of the ambulance.

This time, the BAU team was there to respond. Spencer was the first to approach you.

“Same signature, same MO,” you said without looking up.

“The length between this kill and his last is significantly shorter than the gap between Rogers and Garb,” Spencer continued. “After killing Lee, it took him 4 months to kill Garb. The gap between Vallette and Lee is even longer - 6 months. Why would kill twice in the span of 2 weeks?”

“Something triggered him,” you said. “That, or he’s devolving, becoming more desperate.” You then chuckled nervously to yourself. “Sorry, I’m supposed to be doing my job, not yours.”

“No, it’s fine, I…” Spencer paused, then looked to you. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

You made an involuntary face. “Why?” You asked.

“Locals are essential to every investigation we conduct, just like we - the profilers - are.” Spencer explained. “I’ve never worked a case where someone was both.”

“I’m one of a kind,” you joked.

“You are,” Spencer agreed. His expression was serious. It made your heart skip a beat.

“Look, Dr. Reid, I -”

“It’s Spencer,” he interrupted, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I, um… you can call me Spencer.”

“Spencer,” you corrected yourself, “I’d like to help. Really, I would. But I haven’t been back in town for that long, and I’m not really friends with anyone. I don’t think I have the insight you’re looking for.”

“You’re more important than you think.”

You were almost grateful the two of you were interrupted; you didn’t trust whatever answer you may have come up with.

“This has to be our guy,” a dark haired woman appeared beside Spencer. “The only difference between this victim and the others is the position of the body.”

“The other girls were found face-down, but this time, he left her face-up,” Spencer noted aloud.

“He’s angrier,” you said. “Leaving the girls face-down with their waists in the water gave them some sort of dignity. This time, he left her completely exposed.”

“...I’m sorry, who are you?” The woman asked.

“This is Y/N,” Spencer introduced. “She’s helped recover every victim so far. Also, she has a knack for profiling. Y/N, meet SSA Emily Prentiss.”

“You’re the girl that called Morgan an alpha male,” Emily responded, a grin on her face.

“Only because I said she could,” a voice from behind you spoke. You turned around to see the one and only Derek Morgan.

“Hey, Derek,” you said, almost bashfully. His closed mouth smile told you he had no hard feelings, which you were grateful for.

You caught Spencer adjusting his posture in your peripheral vision.

Three days passed. After your 4th 12 hour shift in a row, most of them being at night, the department decided it was time for you to have a break. If it were up to you, you’d live in an ambulance. Unfortunately, though, that choice wasn’t yours to make.

Instead of savoring your time off, you took up a different job: trying to discover the unsub. You eventually came to the conclusion that Spencer may be right, that you might know something they didn’t. You tried your hardest to take advantage of that opportunity.

You visited your mom, who now lived 45 minutes away from Grand Junction. She only moved recently, so for the most part, she kept in contact with her friends that still lived in the city. The BAU released the assumed age of the Unsub — 30 - 45 years old — and your mother fell in that same demographic. The profile also said he knew the area well; he lived in the area for at least a decade. There was a chance he went to school with your mother.

“That prom was one of my proudest accomplishments,” your mom grinned as she reminisced. “I was so happy with how it turned out.”

“It looks great, mom,” you praised. Her Senior prom’s theme was ‘Under the Sea’, sort of like the dance in Back to The Future. By modern standards, it was tacky, but everyone in the photo looked over the moon happy. You weren’t about to dock that.

You turned the page to reveal a big, black and white photo full of teenage football players. A few were smiling, most of them had a blank expression. A boy in the second row with shaggy brown hair looked familiar. You pointed to him.

“Do I know him?” You asked.

“Caleb Chasing?” Your mom said. “Maybe. Him and his wife never moved; they raised their kids in Grand Junction. Poor guy, his wife took the kids when they got divorced.”

“That sucks,” you said, running your fingers over the picture absentmindedly. “Who did he marry?”

“Stephanie Young,” your mom answered. “He was the quarterback, she was the star of the swim team. They were high school sweethearts, the perfect couple. It’s a shame they didn’t last.”

“Swim team?” you murmured to yourself.

“Turn a few pages, you’ll find a picture of her,” she insisted.

4 pages later, you found the swim team of that year. You read the text on the side, found Stephanie’s location in the photo, and spotted her. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Aimee Rogers. Felicity Garb. Stella Lee.

They all looked exactly like Stephanie Young did as a teenager: same dark hair, big eyes, athletic build.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“I need to speak to Dr. Reid,” you told the Sheriff.

You stood in the middle of the bustling police station. A few officers gave you looks as they walked by, but none of them dared to say something.

“The FBI Agent?” He asked in disbelief.

“No, the medical doctor,” you sassed. “Yes, the agent. Look, he gave me a number to call if I needed anything. I can call him, if you want, but it would save all of us some time if you just let me talk to him.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, miss,” the sheriff warned. “I take no orders from you.”

“I’m talking to the man who watched me pull three bodies out of the Colorado River.”

He averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry if you felt disrespected, but nothing I said was out of malice. I care about these girls just as much as you do. I don’t want to boss you around - I want to help.”

“Y/N?” You turned your head to see Spencer standing behind the Sheriff.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I think I found the unsub.”

The room fell silent when you walked in.

“Everyone, this is Y/N,” Spencer introduced. He turned to you. “That’s Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi, and Jennifer Jureau.”

“You’re missing two, Spence,” JJ pointed out.

“I already met Agents Prentiss and Morgan,” you assured.

“Y/N’s a paramedic,” Emily explained. “She recovered Mandy Koplin’s body.”

“And Lee, and Garb, and Rogers,” you added. You took in a breath. “I have a theory.”

“We appreciate your efforts, but -” Hotchner started. Surprisingly, Spencer cut him off.

“We talked it over, and I think she might be right,” Spencer said. “Hear her out. Please.”

You opened your file and pulled out the first photo, holding it up.

“Meet Caleb Chasing,” you said. “He was the quarterback of the Lakeland Warriors for 3 years, until he graduated high school in 1999.” You threw down the picture of Chasing and picked another one up. “One year later, his high school sweetheart, Stephanie Young, graduated. A year after that, they got married.”

“All of the victims look like Stephanie,” JJ said in disbelief. “It’s uncanny.”

“Were you able to find a stressor?” Derek asked.

You set your papers down on the table in front of you, rifling through them. You must have looked crazy, but you couldn’t feel more composed. They were actually listening to you.

“Caleb and Stephanie had two children together over the 7 years of their marriage. The got divorced last year, and Stephanie won sole custody of both kids.”

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke to the phone sitting in the middle of the table. “Are you double-checking this?”

“Oh, you know I am,” a woman through the line assured. “Our new friend Y/N hit bullseye — In August 2007, Caleb Chasing filed for divorce, and by November of that year, a judge granted Stephanie parental rights.”

“We’ve got a stressor and an MO,” Emily said, “but that doesn’t explain why he leaves the bodies by the river.”

You smirked to yourself, ready with a response. You showed them the photo from your mother’s yearbook. “Stephanie was on the swim team in high school. He could be using the water as a symbol, a power move.”

“If Chasing wants to get back at his wife, why not go for older victims?” Derek proposed.

“If Caleb feels resentment only towards Stephanie, it’s possible he targets younger victims in order to protect his children,” Spencer answered. “He loves his children, but he blames Stephanie for their failed marriage. To cope with the conflict, he kills women resembling Stephanie when they first fell in love.”

“That way, he purges Stephanie from his life without involving their children,” Rossi said.

The agents shared looks with one another. All you could hear was the sound of your heart beating in your chest.

“So?” you asked, sounding breathless. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s time we give Caleb Chasing a visit,” Hotch said.

Caleb was complacent in coming to the police station in order to be interviewed. You thought he would lawyer up right off the bat, but he simply sat there, staring at his hands.

Derek and Rossi entered the interrogation room, and the man sat straight up. His face was expressionless, but his eyes had a fire burning behind them.

“You met your ex-wife in high school,” Derek stated. He tossed a photo of Stephanie onto the table in front of Caleb.

Caleb frowned in confusion. “What does Steph have to do with any of this?”

“She’s pretty. Brown eyes, dark hair, athletic build… every man’s dream,” Rossi said, looking at a photograph of his own. “Kind of like these girls, don’t you think?”

David showed Caleb ‘normal’ photos of each victim; they were dressed nice, smiling into a camera lense. They couldn’t look more pure in white.

“These are those missing girls,” Caleb stated. “Why are you showing me this?”

“The missing girls who turned up dead,” Derek corrected.

Finally, it began to click for Caleb. “You think I did this?!”

You sighed in resignation as you watched behind the two-way mirror.

“This isn’t him,” you said. “He didn’t do it.”

“What makes you so sure?” Spencer asked from beside you. His arms were folded over his chest as he observed the conversation.

“Well, for one, he let us search the house without a warrant,” you said. “Plus, he didn’t react when Derek brought up Stephanie. If he was killing those women out of anger towards Stephanie, his rage would be consuming, so consuming that it’s impossible to control. Mentioning her name should be enough to set him off, right?”

“In many cases, yes,” Spencer said. “He could be manipulating the situation, though. If he is trying to protect his children, like we theorized, he may have found a way to keep his emotions under control.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said. “Or maybe he’s just a normal guy who cares about his kids and doesn’t hate his ex-wife.”

Spencer’s phone rang in his pocket. He answered without hesitation.

“Hello?” He asked. His facial expression quickly changed. “Wait, Emily, slow down. What happened?”

Your heart rate began to pick up.

“Are you sure?” he asked, then sighed. “Alright, just hang tight. I’ll talk to Morgan and Rossi.”

Spencer hung up and dialed a different number.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

Spencer ignored you, the phone pressed to his ear. You heard a ringing noise come from the interrogation room.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

“Stephanie is missing,” Spencer responded.

Despite the mirror, Derek managed to look directly at him. “You’re sure?”

“Hotch, Emily, and the Sheriff went to her house in Loma. There’s no trace of her or the kids.”

“Why would the unsub change MOs?” you asked frantically. “He’s never shown an interest in kids. Why now?”

“He snapped, went after what he’s wanted this entire time,” Spencer said. “The kids probably got caught in the crossfire.”

Derek hung up the phone and leaned over the table. “Stephanie and your kids are missing,” he said bluntly. “If you had something to do with it, you’re gonna tell us where they are. If you didn’t, you’re going to tell us who could have.”

Caleb ran his hands over his head. “Oh my god,” he breathed out. “D-did someone take them?”

“It appears that way, yes.”

“I always tell her to lock the door,” Caleb murmured. “She never does. Even when we were married, she forgot.”

“Caleb,” Derek said, this time, more gently. “Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt Stephanie?”

He shook his head violently. “She’s perfect… she loves everyone she meets. God, why would someone do this?”

Suddenly, it clicked in your brain.

You grabbed the yearbook and rushed out of the room, despite Spencer’s protests. You barged into the interrogation room, and it was clear that David and Derek were less than thrilled to see you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek asked. Rossi rose to his feet, but he didn’t say anything.

You flipped through the yearbook, eventually finding the class pictures from that year. You set the book down in front of Caleb.

“The man we’re looking for chooses victims that remind him of Stephanie when she was in high school,” you explained. “Did either of you have a classmate that was… weird? Kept to himself, didn’t know how to talk to girls, maybe had a short temper?”

Caleb looked through the yearbook. “I… I don’t know.”

“Think,” Rossi encouraged. “He might have made a few comments about Stephanie and her appearance.”

Caleb discovered the page showing the football team. After a moment, he pointed to someone in the bottom row. Austin. Austin Beck.”

“What about him?” Derek prompted.

“He mentioned how attracted he was to Stephanie, almost every chance he got,” Caleb said. “Sometimes the other boys would join in, saying she was hot, asking if she had a sister, that sort of thing. Once Steph and I started dating, they stopped.”

“But Austin didn’t,” Rossi said.

Caleb nodded, swallowing nervously. “He didn’t bring it up as often, but he would say that if I ever broke up with her, he wouldn’t hesitate. I snapped at him one day, and that was the last I heard of it.”

“Does he still live in town?” Derek asked.

“Maybe? I heard he works at the mechanic’s shop on West Geranium, but that was a while ago.”

Suddenly, Spencer entered. He held his phone outwards — it was on speaker.

“Garcia, what can you find on Austin Beck?” Spencer asked into the phone.

“He lived in an apartment on the westside of Grand Junction until a year and a half ago,” Garcia said. “After that, he managed to mostly cover his tracks.”

“Fits the timeline,” Derek said. “Bea Vallette was found dead about 15 months ago; a little less than a year and a half ago.”

“What else can you find on him?” Rossi inquired.

“His father bought a cabin in 1987. It sits on the eastern border of the city.”

“That’s right next to the Colorado,” you said.

“Garcia, send everyone the address. Tell Prentiss and Hotch to meet us there,” Derek said.

In a matter of seconds, it was only you and Caleb left in the room.

_____________________

You sat alone at the bar, sipping your drink.

Everything went as well as could be expected — they managed to apprehend Beck without too much trouble. He hid the kids in the basement, most likely to finish them off after he was done with their mother. He never got that far.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Someone asked from behind you.

You smirked and down the rest of your drink. You spun around in your stool to see Spencer.

“Ever since your team came back to the station,” you confirmed.

“You didn’t stick around to hear the story,” Spencer observed.

“Stephanie and her kids are okay. That’s all I need to know,” you responded.

Spencer studied you for a moment. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure, why not,” you allowed. When you caught the bartender’s attention, you pointed to your drink, then held up two fingers. He got the memo.

“You didn’t profile me.”

You chuckled. “Was I supposed to?”

“You could have profiled both of us,” Spencer said. “You chose Derek.”

“Are you jealous?” You teased.

The bartender came over with two more drinks. You thanked him.

“Confused, mostly,” Spencer replied.

You took a sip, nudging the other glass towards Spencer. “I didn’t want to make things awkward,” you admitted.

“Awkward?”

You didn’t reply right away; it took you some time to gather your thoughts.

“You and I have a lot in common,” you eventually said. “Most people look at us and think we wear our hearts on our sleeves. Really, though, we’re secretive. You hide behind your intellect, I hide behind my job. We’re good at talking to people, but we’re better at shutting them out, because the last time we let someone in, they burned us. For me, it was my father.”

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment. In the corner of your eye, you watched Spencer bring his drink to his lips and take a steady sip. He set it back down on the bar before speaking.

“Me too.”

The two of you clinked your glasses together.

“Derek was right, you know,” you said.

“Right about what?”

“I am attracted to you,” you said plainly. “Bringing up the idea that he’s an alpha male distracted from that, at least for awhile.”

“I’m attracted to you as well.”

You looked up in surprise. Never in your life have you been so honest with someone, and if you were honest, you thought said honesty would send him running for the hills.

Spencer cleared his throat and suddenly had trouble finding your eyes. “Derek and I have worked together for a long time, so he knows that I appreciate it when people take an interest in me. But you… You’re beautiful, and smart, and amazing at profiling without having to try. A woman like you, interested in someone like me? It’s flattering.”

Hearing Spencer Reid, one of the brightest minds of his generation, say that he was flattered by you, a nobody from nowhere… it made you want to kiss him.

And so, you did.

His lips were chapped — you caught him licking them absentmindedly on a few occasions earlier. Despite that, though, his touch was warm and inviting. Your hand moved to his cheek instinctually. Meanwhile, you felt his fingers against the bottom of your chin. When you felt his other hand land on your waist, you gasped softly, pulling away to take a proper breath.

“Did I do something wrong?” Spencer asked. The concern in his voice warmed your heart. His hand slowly drifted away from your waist.

“No,” you whispered, returning his hand to where it was. “That was perfect.”

You started kissing him again, and it felt like you couldn’t stop. His grip on you was tight, yet comforting. Your hands trailed down his chest and to his back, pulling him closer. The two of you only parted to take desperate breaths before reentering bliss. Eventually, however, you remembered the two of you weren’t the only people existing, and the bliss was over.

It didn’t have to be over over, though.

“We’re probably not gonna see each other ever again after tonight,” you said breathlessly. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want our goodbye to be us sharing our daddy issues.”

“How would you like me to say goodbye to you, Y/N?” Spencer asked, voice gravelly.

You smiled, leaning into his ear. “The apartment complex on the corner, 3rd floor, room 17.”

Your hand was still on his back, so you felt the chill that ran down his spine. You only moved your hand so you could take money out of your wallet.

You set a few bills on the bar and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. “Goodbye, Dr. Reid,” you said, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The minute you stepped into your apartment, you began to panic. You were normally a reserved, almost shy person. You weren’t a girl who tells people when you’re attracted to them, you don’t initiate kisses, you don’t invite men from bars home. You didn’t do this. This wasn’t your normal.

But then again… neither was Spencer.

He was handsome, and smart, and you could listen to him talk for hours. You’ve never met someone you connected with so well within mere minutes of knowing them. It seemed almost unfair that the two of you had only one night to spend together, but you were determined to make the most of it.

You paced for a bit. You sat down. You went back to pacing. You took off your jacket and threw it on the couch. You checked the time. 15 minutes had passed since you left the bar. If he wanted to see you, he should have been only a few minutes behind you.

You threw in the towel.

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. You felt silly. In some respects, you wanted to cry. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course someone as good-looking and charming as Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t want you. It made sense. It made perfect sense.

You turned your back to the door, pinching the bridge of your nose. Then, you heard a knock.

You spun around, and it took all the self-control you possessed to walk to the door rather than sprint. Normally, you’d look through the peephole before opening the door, but not this time. In this and many other ways, this man was an exception.

You opened the door, and it felt like the wind was knocked out of you.

“Hello, Y/N,” Spencer said. The corner of his lip curved up.

“Hello, Dr. Reid.”

_____________________

Part 2

Notes: For the record, I am aware of how grossly unrealistic this is lol. But if you look into it, you’ll see how inaccurate the show is, so I don’t feel too bad. After all, this is fiction, as is the show.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #man it feel weird to type out tags like this again

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