#help i thought this was about police for a second
Text
Gang AU Series 7
Mafia Boss! Park Jisung x Wife! Reader
Summary: “Do you even know who you married?”
cw: mentions of violence, death, murder, and blood. Jisung is a bit insane here but that’s what makes him hot though.
AN: I can’t take this seriously because I’m using Andy instead of Jisung IJBOL.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You were shaking. Hands cold yet tightly gripping on the gun. You stood there in darkness, silence devouring you and your husband.
“What? Come on, shoot me,” his deep voice echoed through the void. From the dim light of the kitchen, you can see his sinister smile, teasing, with a smirk on his lips. Nevermind that he’s covered with the blood of whoever he slaughtered, all you knew was that the person standing in front of you is not the person you married.
“I’m waiting, you know that?” Jisung smiled, even leaning forward, resting his forehead at the tip of the gun. He stares at you cold, and you swore that he became a monster.
In a minute of silence, no one moved. You couldn’t help but to lightly push the gun forward to him, and yet he remained unfazed. He’s only staring at your soul, waiting for your next move.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and in a split second, you dropped onto your knees. Your hands still holding the gun, as you tried to catch your breath. You can’t. You just can’t imagine ending the life of your lover. You couldn’t. Not when your love for him is too strong despite the betrayal that he just did.
Jisung kneels in front of you, his hands grabbing your wrist and snatching the gun away from you. You watched him observe the gun, smiling, “You don’t even know how to load a gun.” he said, placing it at the top of the kitchen counter.
He glances at you, slightly caressing your cheeks and you couldn’t help but flinch at his touch. “I knew you couldn’t do it,” he whispered to you and you don’t know if he was disappointed by your actions or he was relieved
“I’m sorry Andy…I’m really sorry,” you cried. Tears started to flow only for him to swipe it gently.
“It’s okay love, I understand why,” he assured, but in a split second, you saw how his expression darkened. “Now tell me what happened here while I was gone.”
You could only stare, trying to recall earlier events.
You didn’t expect that police officers would show up at the footsteps of your door on a random Tuesday afternoon.
“Is Park Jisung home?” the female police officer asked immediately, you raised an eyebrow.
“I think you got the wrong address,” you answered.
“You’re yn ln right?” she asked, and you only nod. “Well then, I guess your husband hid his identity from you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Can we come in for a minute?”
Onto the next few hours, you didn’t expect to be interrogated by them. They asked you about your husband, where did you meet him and do you even know what he does in his job. They kept on pushing you for answers but you were clueless about the accusations.
You told them your truth. You met Jisung at a club in Seoul, he introduced himself as “Andy Park” and said he just got home from studying abroad. You two immediately hit off. Went several dates and became exclusive after a few months. A year into being together and you agreed to marry him. You felt like there’s no need to take things longer since you can see your future with Jisung. He was serious and was loyal to you. You two never fought and had a healthy relationship.
You two have been married for almost five years now. You two promised to focus on each other’s careers, that’s why both of you are childless. You know that Jisung works as a businessman, specifically on human resources, while you’re a freelance digital artist.
You never suspected Jisung to be working for an underground gang. You were clueless. You told them that numerous times but they were sceptical. You explained that he does arrive home late but you thought that just him being workaholic. You convinced them that you’re innocent, not even knowing that your husband’s real name is ‘Park Jisung.’
“Do you know Prosecutor Seo?” the officer asked. You shake your head.
She gave you a picture of a man in his fifties along with your husband. They seemed to be having a serious conversation. The picture was angled as if someone was watching them from afar.
“I told you many times, I never meddled with my husband’s career. I don’t know him and his affiliations with Andy,” you told them with a serious tone.
The officers both glanced at each other. The lady lets out a sigh, grabbing another photo of a crime scene.
“A few weeks earlier, Mr. Kim, a mayoral candidate, was found dead in his hotel room. We suspected that it was a hitman who did it, since there’s no signs of forced entry,” she explained. You only become quiet as she explains it to you slowly.
“During investigation, we found out that Prosecutor Seo was behind the murder, but in order to not get his hands dirty, he hired Park Jisung to assassinate Mr. Kim.”
Hearing those words felt as if something heavy crashed onto you. Suddenly everything became blurry to you and you were frozen. You couldn’t believe it. How is it that that shy and sweet husband of yours is behind a murder case. You tried to grab the glass of water but due to your shaky hands, you dropped it, startling the two.
“I’m sorry…it m-might’ve slipped,” you stuttered. You tried to stand up to get a tissue but the male officer stood up first.
“This must be a lot to take,” the female officer said with a weary tone. “I’m sorry you have to discover this way.”
“Are you going to arrest him?” you asked instead.
“No,” the officer sternly said. “We were ordered to take Park Jisung out.”
“N-no! You mean —”
“An order from the higher up,” she explained. “I’m sorry but your husband was too stupid for killing an influential man.”
You only became quiet. You don’t know what to do. You feel defeated, betrayed, and worried by the fate of your husband. You felt overwhelmed by the revelations told to you. You didn’t even notice that tears are starting to stream down your eyes. You couldn’t help but to bite onto your fingernails, a thing that you do when you’re anxious —
“But don’t worry, we can help you. We know how hard it is to understand things, but I hope you understand that your husband is a criminal,” she said to you with a serious tone.
“How?” you asked, defeated.
She only became quiet, placing a gun in front of you.
“So that’s why you have a gun,” Jisung nonchalantly said. Grabbing the gun once again. “Got to give them kudos for giving you an illegal gun too.”
“Andy…” you muttered.
“No more ‘love’? I understand,” he chuckles. Jisung turns around and looks at you, who's sitting at the chair.
Jisung couldn’t help but feel guilty for hiding his identity to you. But it was for the best. He was afraid of scaring you off, that you might think of him as a dangerous man. But Jisung knows that his works aren’t ethical either. He also knew how much you would worry about his work and career if you knew. The underground scene is dangerous and illegal, but Jisung finds solace in that place. It’s no different to their government and leaders. At some point, all of them went running through gang members and bosses for illegal activities.
And to think that the police officer forced you to kill him was hypocritical. They weren’t any different from him.
“Look, I’m sorry for hiding this from you,” he said sincerely. “I just don’t want you to be involved with my career, it’s risky and I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
Part of him was afraid that you turned your back on him. He’s afraid of you leaving him after revealing his true identity. He knows how ruthless and cold he can be, and it’s that side of him that he promises to not show to you.
“And what!? You’ll continue hiding it from me until you die!?” you shouted, but you were only welcomed by Jisung’s hands on your shoulders.
“No! It’s just — I fucked up. No, my men fucked up,” Jisung tried to explained. “Goddamn, if only they were more careful with their actions, then this wouldn’t happen.”
“What did you do?” you asked slowly, eyes darting at the bloodstained shirt of his.
“Just a small punishment for being stupid, it’s not your concern,” Jisung smiles. “I went home like this on purpose because I know what’s going to happen.”
You only became quiet. Jisung glances at the cupboard, and points at it. “I have eyes everywhere love, I got to be sure you’re safe.”
“So you knew?”
“Always one step ahead from them,” he smirks. “Now love, I’m going to be honest with you.”
Jisung gently removes his hands from your shoulders and places them on your hands. Something that he does to make you feel safe. “I know that you’re overwhelmed with everything, and you are having a hard time trusting me too. I’m sorry, and as much as I want to explain everything to you, we are running out of time.”
You only stared at him for a minute. That assured Jisung that you’re listening. “Any minute now, they might return to our place and take it upon themselves if you fail to kill me. Now, they might also do the same with you.”
“They told me they will not touch me,” you explained.
“We can’t be sure about that,” Jisung rebutted. “Now, are you with me? Chenle’s waiting for us at the port. A boat going to Hong Kong is waiting for us. We can start new, hide ourselves from the world, and maybe…” he kisses your forehead fondly. “Have kids now. You don’t have to worry about anything, just trust me in this one please yn.”
You looked at Jisung, and finally, saw the man that you married. The man that you exchanged vows with and promised you to put your safety against any things.
You thought that you were a fool for marrying him early due to the revelations earlier, but you know that your heart is telling you something else. As you caressed Jisung’s cheeks, you couldn’t help but to smile bitterly as you nod. You saw how Jisung’s eyes lightened up and how his hands squeezed your cheeks.
“I know that you wouldn’t put me in danger, love,” you whispered to him.
“Of course I won’t. God, I love you so much,” he confesses. Pulling you for another kiss once again. You couldn’t help but to kiss him back. Eager and longing, as if you two haven’t seen each other for a decade.
“Pack light okay? Just important things that you need, we need to leave before midnight,” Jisung told you as you two broke the kiss.
You only nod, watching him grab your hands once again, gently squeezing it. That’s when you noticed the sudden change of his expression.
“Where’s your ring?” he asked.
“Oh! I placed it on my jewelry box —”
“Good,” he said in a serious tone. “From now on, don’t you ever remove it from you.”
#nct dream#nct imagines#nct dream fic#nct fic#nct#nct dream imagine#nct x reader#nct dream imagines#nct jisung#nct jisung fic#nct dream jisung fic#nct jisung imagines#park jisung#jisung#park jisung fic#park jisung x reader
154 notes
·
View notes
Text
La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 10
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9
Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour
Summary: Barbara learns the truth and you spy someone unexpected talking with the Feds...
WC: 3.4k
Barbara Howard is still thinking about the fact she has this ledger, and Melissa does not want it back. The woman knows that she shouldn’t open it- not with the explicit instruction from her friend to not open it, but she feels the need to. Perhaps she could help to balance the checkbook and find where the issues are in the ledger.
So, with Gerald in the office and the girls nowhere around, the woman of God opens up the ledger. And when she sets her eyes upon it, she can’t help but gasp.
It isn’t what she expects to see- not in the slightest. No, instead there are a bunch of names that she’s heard were rumored to be connected to the Irish mob, and others that she knows she's heard her husband mentioned before in his work. Lo and behold- there is the Schemmenti name.
Barbara slams it shut. She should turn this over to the police immediately, and she nearly does. She’s actually in her car and about to pull out before she stops to think what this would mean for your family.
Turning this over means that you would end up in prison, potentially Melissa too if she has any ties to this side of the illegal business. It means that the girls would grow up without a mother figure, perhaps two- ending with those two sweet girls who Barbara absolutely adores in foster care and away from her. It means ripping a family apart that she absolutely adores, even if they do have a hand in what her husband actively roots against. She cannot do this to the Schemmenti family, she decides.
Without a second thought, she hides the ledger that she now knows the truth of in her glovebox. And then she pulls off out of the driveway and heads for church.
When she gets there, she slides into the back pew silently. Barbara is the only one there, no sermon taking place. But she needs the strength that God can give her, so she prays to God by herself.
“Dear Lord,” she whispers softly, head bowed down. “Please... please grant me the strength to carry what I am holding with me now. Please keep those beautiful little ones safe and out of harm’s way. Please... please keep those two, who you know I am speaking of, safe. Please... if not for the two of their sake, for their little girls. Lord, please. I am begging. I am here begging... because even though they are wrapped up in shady business, they are good people. They are two wonderful women who would do anything for their little girls. And God, please... if something does happen to them, please do see to it that those two little ones are spared of the understanding and disparity of the world. Gerald and I will take them in if we have to. Just please, keep them safe, and keep them from this dark and depraved world that we live in- because they don’t deserve to grow up in this world without somebody, anybody who loves them for who they are.”
She slips out of the church with her eyes down, as if she doesn’t have something that could quite literally get her killed. The woman of God speeds back to her house and hides the ledger back where it once was. There is no way she can let anyone find out she has this- especially not her girls.
By the time you leave Mickey, you feel that you know what you have to do. You have to continue to fight for this- if not for yourself, than for your family- the family that is real and true. You feel the slightest bit better having been able to speak to Melissa’s brother, and as you drive through the countryside, you allow yourself to hum along to the music that plays softly through the speakers. You’re more at ease than you’ve been in the past few days.
When you pick up Melissa, you park the car in the lot and head in through the back. She looks so at ease now, in her element. She’s humming softly to herself as she and Val continue to prep for the dinner rush, and you can’t help but let your eyes go soft as you take in the beautiful sight and sounds.
You snake your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek and then behind her ear in that one spot that almost always makes her shiver. “Hi, my love.”
“Ciao, mi amore,” she whispers back to you as she craned her neck to kiss you gently. “How was your day?”
“Actually…” You start before pausing long enough to kiss her lips again before letting her return most of her focus to her prepwork. Your arms stay around her waist. “It was good.”
“A quiet day around the house did you good, huh hun? I knew you'd relax eventually.”
You prop your chin on your wife's shoulder. “I went to see Mickey,” You admit softly. You watch your wife's hands as she works. You notice the small pause in their process when she hears what you've said before they keep moving.
“What'd you go all the way up there for?” She mutters as she chops a pepper with a bit more force than before. “‘S a long drive.”
“A drive I needed. It helped clear my head, I think. I'll make it up to you by staying home bored out of my skull tomorrow?” You say, attempting to joke as you squeeze her waist lightly.
Melissa is quiet for a long moment. You don't push her to speak her mind. Instead you let her think as she works, just enjoying being in the presence of your favorite person. You're about to pull away from being so in her space when she sets her knife down.
She turns in your arms, hands on your wrists to keep you from stepping away when she moves. “You coulda talked to me and helped clear your head. Instead you went all the way to the pen.” She sighs, lightly brushing stray hair away from your face. “It was that bad, hey? You needed my goofy ass brother's advice?”
“C'mon, you know it ain't like that, babe.”
“Then what's it like? Tell me.”
“We've both been stressed to hell ‘bout this. How was I gonna just…talk to you ‘bout it? Wring us both through it for the hundredth time?”
The fingers caressing your cheek slide down in order to grip your jaw. “I'm your wife.” Melissa reminds softly. “That's kind of my job, amore. Go through the wringer with you as many times as we need to. I meant it when I told you ‘for better or for worse’.”
You smile at that, just a bit. You remember when you had first started seeing each other- how you both had your doubts and fears. You remember the day that the two of you decided to lay everything out on the table, weighing the pros and cons of intermingling your businesses and how it would affect both your personal and professional life. She had told you that day that she was in it if you were. You answered her with a passionate kiss. You also remember the day that the two of you were wed and your families were officially tied together- the way that as you both spoke those words in front of your families to witness, Melissa let go of her tough act, her voice wavering and eyes shining with tears, as she told you that the two of you would be together for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death did the two of you apart.
And you have seen each other through better and worse. You’ve seen her on the happiest of days- the day you found out you were pregnant, the day the girls were born, when they took their first steps, when she opened her restaurant. And you’ve seen her through the lowest of lows- the day her Nonna died, the day she finally cracked under all the pressure with opening Twelve Tables, how she’s had quite a few moments of doubt when it comes to raising the twins. You’ve seen each other through moments of wealth, as well through moments where you were living paycheck to paycheck and doing everything you could to make ends meet. You’ve both seen one another in sickness and in health- whether that be while you were suffering from terrible morning sickness during your pregnancy with Cat and Rosie, or when the two of you were taken down by the flu that the girls brought home from daycare. You’ve held each other through it all, loving and cherishing every waking and sleeping moment that you share together, and you fully plan on it until death does the two of you apart.
Now though, the two of you aren’t sure when it will be that death parts you. For all you know, it could be tonight. And that… terrifies you beyond belief. Even before, when things in the business got rocky, it’s never been as bad as it is now. You’ve never been in as much danger. But now? Now you’re on the forefront of this operation, and you have the feds tailing you and presumably tracing your every move.
You sigh, Melissa's eyes on yours softening you as they always do- especially now with how relaxed you can see they are. She's not upset or angry, just trying to understand your choices and remind you she's here.
She uses the fingers gripping your jaw to pull your face to her own so her lips can kiss yours. “Sono con te amore mio. Sempre.” Melissa whispers the reminder against your lips, her hand sliding away from your jaw to the back of your neck as she kisses you deeper this time.
The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly behind you in the room makes you pull back after a moment. You gently press your forehead to your wife's, not moving away further.
“Hey, Val.” You greet your wife's manager without looking.
“How many times am I gonna have to remind you the restaurant is off limits to foolin’ around?” She teases with a smile as she moves past both of you.
“That depends.” You say as you slowly pull away from Melissa, though not completely. Your hands are still on her hips, hers are still at the side of your neck and gently threading the fingers of her other hand through your hair. “How long you plannin’ on workin’ here?”
“As long as your wife lets me, Y/N. You know that.” Val tosses back easily.
“Then I guess you got at least a hundred or so more reminders that might happen.”
Melissa lightly hits your shoulder for that. “Stop.” She murmurs. It doesn't sound that much like she means it when she kisses you again. “Lemme finish what I'm doin’ then I'll be ready to get the girls.”
You continue to hold the redhead by her waist as she finishes chopping the cilantro used for garnish before she sighs softly. “Okay, let’s go get our little tornadoes, and then… Val, I’ll be back for the dinner shift.”
“Melissa, you know I have it handled if you want to spend time with your family,” the manager reminds her.
“I think I need to be here,” the owner states. “But I might just have to bring my circus with me.”
“We’ll see you later, Val,” you nod in the woman’s direction as you guide your wife out the back door.
The second that you’re out of the restaurant though, your wife has you pinned up against the stone wall. It catches you off guard, but it’s not unwelcome.
“Honey,” you mutter against her lips after a few minutes- your wife’s hands and lips wandering. “Baby, as much as I would love to… you do have security cameras out here, and we do have to pick up the girls.”
She groans but does pull away. “We need a night where we aren’t both so exhausted, and we can actually have time to ourselves where we aren’t just sleeping.”
“I’ll see if I can take the girls to one of our parents this weekend,” you promise her. You lead your beautiful wife down to the car, and you pull off in the direction of the girls.
Once you’ve collected them, you take them back to the restaurant, and they are all too thrilled to jump on Valentina with hugs and kisses.
“Can you keep an eye on them?” Melissa asks her manager. “Just for like… twenty minutes?”
Val eyes the two of you, who are still very much undressing each other with your eyes. “No.”
“You still want a job?” your wife threatens, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let me remind you that I do own this place.”
“You wouldn’t fire me,” Valentina rolls her eyes. “Fine. Just… don’t… anywhere where I’ll be able to see it on the security cameras.”
By the time the two of you reenter the restaurant, you’re both much more at ease. The girls are sitting at their designated table in the back with their coloring books and crayons with Val, giggling as she too doodles with them.
“We really need to give her a raise,” you sigh softly as you watch with a soft fondness in your eyes.
“Oi, remember who you're married to.” Melissa says with a small jab of her elbow to your ribs when she sees your look at the twins with Val.
You roll your eyes but kiss your wife again just to make sure she knows you definitely didn't forget. “Like I could forget being the luckiest woman in the world, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah, just watch our girls, sweet talker.” Melissa answers despite her smile and a tint to her cheeks.
You take over coloring duty to let Valentina follow your wife back to the kitchen for the dinner rush that's starting to come in. The twins chatter with you about their days over their crayons and pages. You manage to keep them quiet and contained to your table until Val is bringing out little plates for them for dinner. You smile knowing well that it's your wife's work and nothing at all that's actually on the menu. The best and solely Melissa made things were reserved for your tiny twin terrors.
“Mommy!” Both your girls are saying excitedly, with mouths full a few minutes later.
“Stay here.” You say softly at them starting to scramble for your wife despite her making her way over.
Melissa sets a plate in front of you and one next to you for herself. Quickly kissing the heads of your girls and murmuring to them softly as she wipes their faces. It's only then that she takes her spot next to you for her dinner break.
“You comin’ home with us for bedtime or are you stayin’ to close with Val?” You ask as you work on stabbing another forkful of pasta.
“I don't wanna make ya come back.” Melissa answers. “It'll be late and I don't want to—”
“No fuckin’ way.” You cut your wife off when you glanced back up from your plate, your eyes catching a table across the restaurant floor.
“Mam! That's a bad word!” Rosie says loudly from her spot standing on her chair next to you instead of sitting. You wince as most of the sentence is said directly into your ear.
“Mam you gotta pay the jar a dollar!” Cat exclaims from next to her sister, referencing the swear jar on the entertainment center in your living room.
“What is it?” Melissa asks, seeing your face. “Rosie, sweetheart, sit down before you fall.” She adds without even looking at your youngest.
“Sit down completely.” You add when you see Rosie merely crouch on her chair instead in the corner of your eye. You lean a bit more into your wife, gesturing as subtly with your fork as you can. “Look at who's sittin’ at the table ‘cross the floor.”
Melissa glances about the room, looking like she's merely checking on the restaurant and that her staff is working even though she's on break. You know when she sees it though because a half second after her head is turning back to face you, her eyes wide.
“I know that is not Uncle Dom sittin’ with the Feds in my restaurant.” She hisses out at you.
“‘Cept it is. It definitely is.” You retort, forcing most of your attention back to your meal and your daughters.
“You think he's talkin’?”
You scoff at your wife's question. “Dom? Flipping? I don't think so, babe. I think he'd sooner have a heart attack at your restaurant for the dramatics of it than do that.”
“Then they're pressin’ him.” Melissa guesses, doing her best to not seem as if she's noticed that particular table at all.
“Or tryin’ to.” You cede. “Maybe finally gettin’ closer on the Bobby business. Realized it ain't somebody like us they should be worried about.”
“God, if only. I ain't gonna put my guard down yet though.”
“I wouldn't.” You agree.
You're nearly finished eating when Val comes to your table, leaning close to your wife's side. “Dom is askin’ for you. I told him he'd have to wait.” She relays, glancing between the two of you for reactions.
Valentina doesn't know about the salon and it's extra business. She doesn't have to, though. She lives in the neighborhood and she knows plenty well who people like Dom are. If you guessed, you'd imagine she has an idea of who you and your wife are, too.
“Thanks, Val. I'll take care of it, huh? You mind bringin’ the girls a couple cannolis?”
You groan as your daughters cheer and Val walks away. “Baby, why?”
Melissa leans to kiss your cheeks. “‘Cause they've been little girls on their best behavior for their moms tonight.” She says loud enough for the twins, shooting them a smile. “And to keep them occupied just a little longer.” She adds in a whisper to you.
You reach and grasp your wife's wrist as she gets up to leave the table, watching Agent Shaw and Danik rise from Dom's table and shake his hand before they leave. You look back to Melissa who looks down at you. “Be careful, yeah?” You whisper before you kiss her knuckles.
She smiles, her fingertips brushing your cheek in affection when you pull away. “I'll be fine.” She promises before stepping away to weave through the tables on her dinner floor.
Valentina comes over and brings your girls dessert, and they grin the entire time that they eat, the chocolate sauce and raspberry sauce finding its way more to their cheeks than their mouths. You silently curse your wife as you usher them into the bathroom to clean their sticky faces and fingers- but you have to admit that they’re absolutely precious.
“Why’re you here?” Melissa asks the older man- the one who took your salon out from under you. “And why the hell were you talkin’ to the feds?”
Dom shrugs. “I wanted dinner.”
“You know you can always get dinner over at Ma’s. You have no business bein’ in here during our rush, and you know that,” your wife says pointedly.
“They were askin’ me questions,” he tells her. “Asking about you and the restaurant- if this place had anything to do with Bobby’s murder.”
“What the hell could they be askin’ ‘bout?” the redhead grumbles. “They already searched the damn place and tore it up. I’m sure you heard about it.”
“I told ‘em that the restaurant is legit,” Dom says quietly. “I told ‘em that you put your whole heart into this place, just as you do with the salon… that they need to stop harassin’ you, or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“We already told them that,” Melissa mutters. “They have no right showin’ up here like that.”
“Well, they did,” the man shrugs. “And it seems like you should be in the clear with the way that they saw how business is conducted- that you brought your girls here. Which is why, I have a proposition for you.”
“And that would be?”
“We start using Twelve Tables as the front.”
#melissa schemmenti fanfiction#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#abbott elementary fanfiction#la cosa nostra#collab fic
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
The darkest parts of me (4/5)
A/N: Trigger warning for this chapter, a part of this is Hotchniss being very toxic towards each other (they’re serial killers so I think that might be a little expected), BUT I want to give a warning for that, and that part starts after *-* so jump to the next part if you don’t want to read that part!
Title: The darkest parts of me (4/5)
Summary: They find each other in a dark world where they do twisted things. The only way things could have become more dangerous, is if they were together. Funny how life turns out.
Unsub!Hotchniss AU.
Word count: 3k
Rating: Explicit
Warnings (for most or all chapters): smut, descriptions of violence, descriptions of murder, gore (nothing too explicit), mentions of weapons
It had come as a surprise for them, both of them sated after another night of killing and then as they watched the morning news the next day, a sketch that looked eerily like them was shown. Serial killer couple, victims found in multiple states was written in big letters above the sketch and Emily had almost dropped her coffee on the floor.
“How do they know?” She asked just as the anchor kept talking, and Aaron froze to the spot.
“A witness who encountered the couple in question in Georgetown has stepped forward…”
“The woman, the prostitute.” Emily concluded before he could say anything. “You said we didn’t have to worry about her.”
“I was wrong.” He turns to look at her just as she scoffed. “They never talk, she must have been brought in for something else.”
“What do we do now?” She asked, her eyes wide as she watched him figure out a plan. After a couple of seconds of silence he took her hand, the warmth of it so familiar to her by now.
“We lay low, we go somewhere we haven’t been. And if things calm down then we can figure out a new way-”
“They’re after us now Aaron.” She interrupts him. “We can’t just take a break and then go back to what we’re used to.”
He knows she’s right and he squeezes her hand tighter.
“We’ll go to California like we planned, and then we’ll figure it out from there. But we might have to leave the country.” He searches her face for a reaction, for her to refuse but it doesn’t come. And he realizes that she’s already started over twice before, she could easily do it again.
“Okay.” She says, her hand holding onto his for a moment. “But first we’re driving to California, I have a friend there who might be able to help.”
“Who?” His eyebrow furrows as she reaches for her phone.
“He helped me when I moved from Ireland, he’ll help me again.” She wrote the number on her phone on a piece of paper to be used when they got new burner phones. “His name is Clyde Easter.”
For some reason the thought of another man knowing her secrets sent a spark of jealousy through him.
“Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”
“There wasn’t any need to. Just like we want out privacy for our… activities, he needs privacy too.” She catches the darkness of his eyes, feels his hand hold hers even tighter and she smiles. “Don’t be jealous honey.”
“I’m not.” He lies and she chuckles slightly as she straddles his lap on the couch.
“You are, and it’s hot.” She kisses him, kisses him until his hands are banding over her lower back to pull her further into him. “I’m yours.”
“And I’m yours.” He promises.
*
It was strange, they had gotten a lead, they knew they were looking for a couple that traveled through the country. They even had a sketch that had been circulated to the press. They were closing in, and then the murders stopped. Dave rubbed his forehead, they hadn’t had another lead in months, he was pretty sure that they didn’t even have a new victim, nothing turning up anywhere even after letting police departments know what to look for.
“They must have seen the press conference, must have seen the police sketch and decided to lay low.” Jason says as he sips his coffee across from him.
“They’re smart, but killers like these, they’re addicted to it. It shouldn’t be long until they either of them break.”
“Maybe they’re using each other to get their urges under control.” His words causes Dave to look up from his own coffee mug. “Maybe the fact that they can go as long as they can without killing, is because they have each other.”
Dave knew that he was right.
*-*
They don’t fight often, but when they do, it’s like everything between them. It’s intense, loud and explosive. It’s dangerous.
He’s not sure what set them off this time, probably something dumb, probably the fact that they hadn’t killed in months. It made him irritable, it made her push his buttons in ways she usually wouldn’t, just to get a rise out of him. And it worked.
“I swear Emily, if you don’t shut up I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” Her tone is icy, her smirk condescending as she interrupts him. “You’ll what Aaron? You’ll hit me? Be like your dad?”
It has the desired effect and he pushes her hard against the wall, the sound of her body colliding with it sending a satisfying shiver down his spine. His fingers dig into the back of her shoulders as he keeps her against the wall, his eyes locked on hers and he sees the familiar glint of pleasure in her dark orbs.
“You never know when to stop.” His words are hissed against her face and when she tries to squirm out of his hold he only grabs her harder, makes sure to leave bruises on her skin. “You think you’re in charge, but we both know that in the end you’ll be on your knees, begging for me. You’re not the one in charge here.”
She uses her strength to push him away, rage quickly flowing her veins. She had crossed the line first by bringing up his father, she knew that, but that didn’t stop her from feeling anger like fire inside of her at his words. He stumbles back, momentarily surprised by her strength and she smirks at the angered look on his face.
“You think you can control me?” She pushes him again, but this time he barely budges. “You’d be nothing without me.” Her words make something close to a growl rumble in his throat and she feels anger and arousal at the sound. He tries to grab her again, but she’s faster than him and she takes her gun from the table beside them.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” He chuckles, not afraid of her even when she points the gun at him. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last. He takes a couple of steps forward, stands close enough for the barrel of the gun to press against his chest where she keeps it steady, a look of calmness coming over her as she grips the gun tighter.
“Don’t think I won’t do it.” She whispers and he laughs again, cold and close to manic and it reminds her of every time he would strangle a man to death. Like he reads her mind, his hand wraps around her throat, his hold tight enough for her to go lightheaded.
“I know you want to, I can see it, how badly you want to.” He takes in the view of his hand around her throat, catches the way she smirks as his grip loosens for her to draw a short breath. And then he pushes her back against the wall again, his hand still around her airway and his other hand digging out his knife from the pocket of his jeans.
“You want to kill me?” She juts her chin out, the barrel of the gun still pressed against his chest as her finger hovers over the trigger. The feeling of cold steel against her stomach makes her gasp, and when he presses even closer to her, she can feel him, hard and thick inside his jeans.
“I could do it, you know.” His words are quiet and cold and she knows that he’s right. That the only reason why he doesn’t is because he loves her. She loves him too, in whatever twisted way they had found love in the darkness of their world. He grabs her throat so tight her eyesight goes blurry and she feels the tip of his knife cut into her skin, nicking it and she moans at the sting.
“So do it.” She challenges, forcing words out through his hold and he relents just slightly.
“Maybe next time I will.” He throws the knife to the floor and then takes the gun from her and places it back on the table. She stays still, watches him through narrowed eyes as he takes in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest heaves slightly from deep breaths.
“Don’t think this mean I’m still not mad at you.” She grabs his shirt and pulls him against her.
“Oh I’m counting on it.” He smirks before catching her lips in a kiss. There’s nothing romantic about it, tongues fighting for dominance and hands tearing at clothes, ribbing fabric and skin until they’re both naked.
She bites his chest, her teeth leaving an angry red mark in their wake as she kneels before him. Her hand is too harsh when she grabs his cock, and when he hisses she smirks up at him in satisfaction. He doesn’t seem bothered, his fingers easily gripping her dark hair and angles her head back. When he pushes his cock between her parted lips he groans at the smooth, wet heat of her mouth.
“Told you, you’d be on my knees for me.” He taunts her and when she grunts his hold on her hair only tightens as he thrusts his hips against her face. “Look who was right.”
She almost bites down on his shaft in retaliation, lets her teeth graze his skin in warning and he lets up.
“I swear the next time I’m pulling the trigger.” She rasps, her voice thick with arousal before she takes him back in her mouth, her lips tight around him as she sucks.
He wants to reply, but her tongue is doing something wicked against his skin, and he can’t seem to form a whole sentence together. Instead he settles for thrusting harder, making sure to poke at the back of her throat until she chokes and her eyes fill with tears.
When she feels him pull her up to stand, she’s so wound up she can feel her slick on her thighs. His thumb gently brushes a couple of tears away from her cheek and she licks her bottom lip.
“You’re so pretty like this.” He whispers and then claims her lips in a kiss and swallows up her moan as his fingers find their way between her legs.
“Fuck me, Aaron.” She gasps at the stretch of his fingers, still nowhere near the stretch of him and he bites down on her neck.
“I love how wet you get for me, how much the thought of killing me gets you off.” He mumbles against her neck as he moves her back through the house they’re renting in California. When she falls back against the bed he’s quick to join her, his heated eyes locked on hers as he hovers above her. “You love the thought of killing me almost as much as killing other men, don’t you.”
“Yes.” She digs her nails into his skin, makes sure to break skin for making her wait and he grunts in pained pleasure. “Just like I know you want to feel me gasp for breath as you strangle me, I can see it on you every time your hand wraps around my throat.”
When he finally pushes inside of her it’s hard and fast, his hips pressing against hers for only a moment before he starts to move.
“You’re right, sweet thing.” He pants, his hips thrusting hard and deep, a pace that’s close to violent and she meets him with every thrust. “I dream of it.”
“I know.” She grunts at the feel of him, huge and rough as he fucks the anger out of them both. Her legs tighten around his hips, one hand moves down between them to toy with her clit and when she tightens around him only a few minutes later she feels him smile into her neck.
“That’s it, come for me.” He licks a stripe up her neck, tastes the vibration of her moan as her back arches underneath him.
She comes with a scream that she doesn’t even try to keep down, her body spasming as her mind goes deliciously numb from pleasure. He doesn’t stop, even when she lays back limply against the bed. Instead he replaces her hand with his own over her clit, relishes the whimper that escapes her at the overstimulation.
“Again.” He tells her and she knows what he’s doing. That he’s proving his ownership on her by showing her that no one else would get her like this, just like she would dig her nails and teeth into his skin to claim him. He already had scars, thin, barely noticeable lines from where she had drawn blood in the past on his ribs and back, and every time she saw them she felt satisfaction.
She comes again, her body always so responsive to him and when she gasps for breath he flips her around and pulls her hips up. His hand is hot against her skin when he spanks her, and she whines at the slight sting, back arching for more. He spanks her three more times before pushing back inside of her again and she’s quick to move back against him, meeting each of his thrusts.
He makes her come three more times, dragging pleasure from her until it’s more painful than pleasurable and when he comes it’s with a strangled groan, his hands tight on her hips and head thrown back as he lets the power of his release wash over him. She’s trembling underneath him, exhaustion and pleasure making her muscles ache and when he lays down beside her, she just barely has enough energy to turn her head to look at him.
“We need to find someone soon.” She says and he nods, knowing that if they didn’t they’d only end up fighting again.
“I know baby, soon, I promise.”
*-*
The next time they kill, it wasn’t supposed to happen. They were keeping a low profile, they had ever since the news broke about them. It had been easier than Aaron had thought, they had rented a house in the middle of nowhere in California, Clyde Easter had shown up with new ID’s and passports, given them instructions to stay put until things had calmed.
It had been close to three months now and just like he had predicted, the news stopped reporting about them, the magazines that had been littered with the police sketch of them were gone. Sometimes it felt like it had been a bad dream, but he knew that they had to continue to be careful.
But Emily was restless, she wasn’t able to stay in one place for too long. That’s why they had gone for a drive, to get away from the house, and then they stopped at a tiny diner on the way back. It almost felt like normal until Aaron noticed a man looking at them, and he immediately knew that they had been caught.
“We have to go.” He mutters as he motions for the bill calmly.
“Why?” She stays just as calm, but her eyes are zeroed in on him, her back to the man that’s still watching them.
“There’s a man at the bar, I think he recognizes us.” Aaron smiles his thanks to the waitress and pulls out enough bills to cover the tab.
“Go to the bathroom and I’ll go to the car.” She rolls her eyes when he arches an eyebrow at her. “He’s more likely to follow me if I’m alone than us together or just you.”
“Fine.” He agrees, because he knows that she’s right. He stands up and she follows and then he goes towards the back where the bathrooms were but he could see the man in his peripheral, watching them closely.
Emily walks slowly out the door towards the car. She feels someone watching her and catches the man in the bar’s eyes but she keeps walking. Her ears are trained on any sound as she steps outside. It’s dark out, for that she was thankful and like she expected, she hears the door to the diner open after only a few seconds.
“Excuse me?”
She turns to the sound of a male voice and comes face to face with the man in the bar.
“Yes?” She smiles sweetly at him.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” He walks closer, his phone in hand and she’s sure he’s already called 911, can hear the faint mumbling of a voice coming from the speaker..
“No, I don’t think so. I’m just visiting some family out here.” She backs up, continues further into the shadows and away from the lights of the diner. He follows her, but stays a few feet away.
“Is that so?” He asks and looks around quickly. “And the man you’re with?”
“He’s my boyfriend.” She talks quietly, makes sure that the 911 operator doesn’t hear her. The man stares at her for a few seconds, like he’s sizing her up and then he takes another step closer to her.
“The police are on their way, you might as well drop the-”
His sentence is cut short by Aaron coming up behind him, easily snapping his neck and his body falls to the ground. Emily smashes the phone quickly and opens the trunk to the car and Aaron places the body in the back.
“We have to go, the police are on their way.” She says, voice slightly laced with panic at being so close to getting caught.
“We need to leave, get away from here.”
With that, Aaron drives towards their rented house, feeling adrenaline rushing through his veins.
#hotchniss#hotchniss fanfiction#hotchniss smut#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss smut#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss#hotch x emily#aaron x emily#criminal minds smut#criminal minds fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner smut#emily prentiss fanfiction#emily prentiss smut
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
I accidentally came up with three oumota fics I want to write in the span of a week whoops
#me: I am going to take a break#also me: I am going to listen to music and accidentally think of lots of things I want to write#the first idea that came to me was a phantom thief oumota au#where kaito accidentally gets kidnapped by dice and kokichi#like kaito is helping shuichi out catching the elusive phantom thief and shuichi has garbage luck getting close#meanwhile kokichi spots kaito and turns to dice like guys we have to mess with him#ends up with kaito accidentally being taken since the police or something show up idk I don't tend to plan lmao#my second idea is basically chapter 5 but I shove kaito kokichi and maki in an exisal#basically more of a fanfic where I figure out if kokichi and maki can cooperate#the answer is yes and no#my final idea is a roommate au of some sort???#I was thinking of making it ryoma pov where he kokichi and kaito live together#and basically he's just watching kaito and kokichi fall in love#that's the idea I like the most since I have thought about writing it a lot but hnngngnng#I am garbage at having more than one project on the go at once#although then again each idea is pretty much 2-3 chapter long ideas#I just wanna write something more lighthearted lol#this is what happens when I take too long a break I end up thinking of other ideas lmfao
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Personally I think the Justice League not knowing Batman had kids would be more bad at social things Batman rather than paranoid Batman and they found out like this:
Justice league, minus Batman: *walks into the meeting room*
Superman: *freezes*
Green Lantern: what’s wrong?
Superman: …Batman. Why do you have three heart beats and why is one of them a cats?
Batman: *throws cape over his shoulders revealing Damian sleeping on his lap and a cat sitting on his lap* this is Robins cat Mr Whiskers
Flash: you have a side kick?!
Batman, confused because he thought they knew: no? I have a team?
Wonder Woman: a team?
Batman: Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, Signal- I thought you guys knew this *pulls out his wallet and pulls 50+ family photos out of that* how did you not? Have none of you pick pocketed me? *the Robins always steal his stuff and he assumes that both his teams do the same things*
Superman: I’m sorry, what?
Batman: how did you not know?
Green Arrow: well you don’t exactly talk about your life
Batman: yeah but you should’ve figured it out, I give figuring out your guys secret identities out as things to do when the Robins are bored. Who did you think looked after Gotham when I couldn’t?
Flash: I thought your power was being two places at once?
Batman: ??? I don’t have powers?
Everyone: WHAT
Batman: I never have?
Superman: how are you such a good fighter then?
Batman: I trained for two decades?
Flash: what.
Green Arrow: wait, why did you call them ‘the Robins’ I thought there were only two Robins?
Batman: well they were all Robin at some point, most of them anyways. Dick was the first Robin, then he became Nightwing. A while after that I found Jason and he became the second Robin, he died and then got resurrected and became a crime boss for a while and changed his name to Red Hood. And while Jason was dead Tim showed up and became Robin, Tim became Red Robin. And Damian is the current Robin.
J’onn: why do you call them by their real names, I know you know everyone’s secret identities but isn’t that rude?
Batman: what do you mean? They’re my kids? I’ve adopted all of them?
Everyone: WHAT
Superman: Wait, circle back. One of your kids got resurrected and is a crime boss
Batman: he isn’t bad, he just isn’t offically part of the team anymore but we still work togther all the time-
Flash: offically? What is there a list on the Gotham police website.
Batman: yes, it can be wrong sometimes though, they thought Batgirl was my sidekick way before I actually started training her. It took me a while to realise I couldn’t convince her to stop crime fighhting.
Green Lantern: you don’t make them when you adopt them?
Btman: NO! She was like 12! I don’t make kids fight! She wouldn’t stop and it would be mroe dangerous to leave her without proper gear or any way to call for help, and I didn’t want Nightwing to fight when I adopted him he chose to himself and when I said no he went out after Zacoo anyways, and I found Jason stealing my tires so he already knew I was Batman-
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE
pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader
summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?
warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.
⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅
“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”
Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.
“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.
“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.
She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.
Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.
A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.
He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.
Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.
She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.
“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”
“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.
Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.
But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.
Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.
“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.
Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.
“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.
As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.
She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.
“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.
She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.
“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.
Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.
“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.
It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.
“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.
There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.
“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.
Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.
Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.
Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.
“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.
Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.
Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.
“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.
Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.
Guilt and jealousy.
Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.
“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.
Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.
“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.
Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?
“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.
“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.
Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.
“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”
“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.
“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”
“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.
“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.
A full stomach meant nausea.
“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.
Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.
“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.
Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.
“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.
She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.
Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.
She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.
“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.
“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.
JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.
Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?
“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.
“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”
Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.
“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.
Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.
“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.
Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.
“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.
“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.
“Okay.”
Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.
You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.
So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.
Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.
One step at a time, one day at a time.
You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.
For now, at least.
✦ want to be the first to know when i post? message me about being put on the taglist!
@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @gimalo135 @erikaar @i-love-milfs2 @lllijeu @softieciubs @sqandroct14 @me-and-your-husband @blssm-cherry @lovelyygirl8 @cacti-succulents-andlesbians @ucannotcompare @yazzi111 @rainletty21 @meah-06 @hyunjinswhoresworld @marine-mayday @jokerpokimoon @ihatehughgrant @kristyslostsoul @macaroni676 @eveshyper @lil-elliesgf @fuckingstarellie @gold-dustwomxn @madislayyy @moonbluz @vianna99
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#military!ellie williams#the last of us x reader#the last of us x you#the last of us x y/n#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#tlou#tlou x reader#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fic#ellie williams angst#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams smut#tlou2#ellie tlou#the last of us 2#the last of us x female reader#tlou part two#tlou part ii
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k
cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible.
"Who is this?"
Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me."
"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?"
"There's someone in my apartment."
"You're sure?"
You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen.
"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."
It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are."
The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real.
You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other.
You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy.
The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer.
You hang up the phone.
"I know you're here."
Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long.
You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.
"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.
You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible.
They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me
Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet.
Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself
That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality.
You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice.
In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you."
What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you.
You could be dead in the next two minutes.
thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know.
If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything
After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this
Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees.
"Found you."
You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar.
He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt.
You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away.
He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall.
You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood.
"Stupid bitch," he hisses.
You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh.
"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."
"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed.
You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg.
"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you."
You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.
You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted.
"What are you going to do?" he asks you.
You won't negotiate. You don't answer.
Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down.
"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?"
"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic.
"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?"
"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw.
"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional."
You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.
"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice."
You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night.
Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here.
"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face.
"Aw. To begin with, sure."
You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?"
"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.
"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice."
"We both know you don't like nice."
"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things."
The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side."
There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.
You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else.
"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?"
"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better."
You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh.
Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read.
"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up."
You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face.
Hotch moves in.
"Drop the weapon."
Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room.
You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise.
"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?"
You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer.
"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light.
"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.
"You were talking him down."
"No, I was surrendering."
"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering."
"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.
"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it."
You hang your head.
—
Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.
He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.
"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks.
The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone."
"That doesn't need a cast?"
Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life.
You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.
JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen?
What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head.
You'll be gentle?
No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?
He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy.
Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened."
"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock."
"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?"
"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently.
You don't answer.
"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it.
"I don't feel well," you say quietly.
"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?"
"Don't think so."
"It's shock," says the paramedic.
"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?"
"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's.
"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?"
You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.
"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval.
"Her boss."
"Not her partner?"
"He's my closest friend," you say.
He's never heard you say that before, but it's true.
"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay."
You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.
He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down.
"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.
Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye.
"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing.
"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me."
"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks.
"No. No, I want you to."
It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.
He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks.
You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.
"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay."
"I'm fine." You sound welled up.
"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine."
"Yeah, I do. It's my job."
"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does."
He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.
"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says.
You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there.
"How did you get here so fast?" you asked.
"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast."
You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right.
"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start."
"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft.
Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard.
"I knew you'd come," you finish.
He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call.
That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down.
You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek.
Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead.
He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#criminal minds#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)
When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it. After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin. You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.
When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it. It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read. Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?
And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it. Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed. Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything. “Green tea, right? With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you. You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.
“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you. “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”
“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip. He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind. His heart was racing already, more than he expected.
When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you,” you finally said. So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea. That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness. You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side. He found it so irritating— that confidence. Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically. You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all. Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.
He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie. For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file. But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.
You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you. You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.
He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time. No, it was the drugs finally kicking in. You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.
You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited. He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance. He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply. He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.
~
You woke up on the floor. You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard. And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.
Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers. You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t. You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own. You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move. The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.
He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you. “Comfortable down there?”
You started to put together a few things. One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment. Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.
And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.
He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them. “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear. “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”
He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.
As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous. He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least. As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing. You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”
Your therapist. This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist. And it was obvious whose file it was.
As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.
“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued. “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault. Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”
He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved. In fact, you were horrified. He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes. Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there. You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man. He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women. Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.
“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”
He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.
“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there. It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares. You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”
All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.
“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do. And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”
He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace. But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent. You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.
“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently. “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected. You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating. God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”
You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field. It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged. You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him. And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted. He just wanted to humiliate you.
“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added. “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it. It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with. Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”
Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.
“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg. It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t. “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly. Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak. Pathetic.”
Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes. He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.
“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear? Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused. He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.
It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it. You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.
“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it? Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase? Let me find exactly how you put it…”
He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.
“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”
So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.
As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words. “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth. Not just what he did to you… what you did.”
With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.
“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right? But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”
You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed. Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.
“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted. “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”
With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.
It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers. You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly. But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare. You couldn't cry out from the sting.
"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you? Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked. But now…"
He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.
"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"
Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy. You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone. But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.
"What made you come so much before? Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl. “Did he know exactly how to touch you? Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly? Is that why you came while he raped you?”
It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.
“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor. “I think you wanted to be put in your place. You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else. You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”
He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.
“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true. He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once. “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”
You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.
"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed. "I only gave you a small dose. Can you move at all? Can you beg me to stop?"
You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan. You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.
"You don't want me to stop," he decided. "Feels too good?"
I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—
"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized. "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street. He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you? Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"
As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…
"He was fucking right about you. You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled. "You think you're so fucking smart, and special. But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"
You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.
"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."
"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.
“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better. Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”
Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy. Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.
"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before. Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this. They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat. What would they think of you if they knew?"
"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt. He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.
"It's happening, isn't it? You're gonna come."
He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust. You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut. It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.
"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”
A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.
He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.
Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his. “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”
It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure. Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.
Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting. “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.
“A-almost every night,” you whimpered. “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”
"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded. “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”
You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.
You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again. “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed. “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”
A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck. “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there. Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again. So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.
"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder. "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."
"I— I don't—" you stammered.
"Say it," he ordered.
"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck.
"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air. You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face. "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock? Bullshit."
"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"
He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately. "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster. "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."
“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you. “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”
Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body. You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.
He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him. Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong. Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time. Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all. He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules. Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.
But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please. He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away. “‘Please’ what, honey? You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted. “Something like that?”
“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”
“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”
You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for. You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.
“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away. He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare. “This isn’t about me. This is what you wanted. This is what you fucking wanted!”
As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip. “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you? You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”
As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.
“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away. Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.
“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work. His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark. His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you. He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured. Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner. You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask. This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you. “Please, Jonathan—”
“Doctor Crane,” he corrected. Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…
“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come. I want… I want you to come.”
“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse. “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”
Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.
Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment. For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually. “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you. “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”
"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered. "Please, don't do that—"
"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you. "Shh, it's alright. I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”
“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.
“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close. Fuck!”
He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace. You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.
“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”
You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped. He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed. Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.
Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on. “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was). “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”
#jonathan crane x reader#scarecrow x reader#cillian murphy x reader#jonathan crane smut#cillian murphy smut#IM SO SORRY TO THIS MAN#not to crane he's garbage
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Trophy wife
Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~ 4.5K
Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut.
Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.
Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."
A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒
“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.
"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”
“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.
Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"
"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.
"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.
As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”
“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.
And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.
Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.
And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.
To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.
"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."
Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain."
As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus.
A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”
"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.
“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.
--x--
As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.
By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.
"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.
"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.
Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.
As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.
"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"
"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."
"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."
"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."
"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.
"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."
"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.
He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."
Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.
"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."
"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."
"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"
Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."
"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.
Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."
Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance."
His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?"
The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.
"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."
"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.
"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you."
My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.
"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.
"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.
"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.
--x--
JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.
As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.
My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?
I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.
Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.
From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well.
We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.
"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."
With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back.
"Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."
I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand?
"You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.
"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk.
My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.
"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.
“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.
"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.
From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.
I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.
"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.
"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling.
His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain.
"If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused.
"It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.
"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him.
"Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.
--x--
As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.
The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."
As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.
Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.
The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?
The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.
The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.
As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.
His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.
"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.
His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."
"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."
We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan.
It was just all part of the plan.
"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine.
"What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.
"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"
His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder.
"How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.
"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction.
I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.
I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?
"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck.
"If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."
"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting.
"Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.
"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.
“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”
Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."
I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.
"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction.
"Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.
His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."
His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.
Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace.
"He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby.
Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me
"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.
"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.
Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.
As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.
As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.
Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."
Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.
Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?
The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.
My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.
"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."
My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.
"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.
"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"
"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.
I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.
“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.
"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.
"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.
"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."
“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.
"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go
"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.
"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.
Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.
Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself.
Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.
After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out.
"Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.
Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."
"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.
"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."
"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"
"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.
"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"
And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.
His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,
“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.
"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#spencer reid imagine#mgg x reader#mgg smut#spencer reid x you#mgg x y/n#mgg fanfiction#mgg
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Please Accept My Apology
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: After three days spent trying to convince the BAU that they had made a mistake, Spencer Reid shows up at your door to offer his apology.
Warnings: enemies to lovers, smut 18+ minors dni, slight age gap, penetrative sex, squirting, fingering, dirty talk, name calling, degradation, hints of bdsm, implied creampie etc.
You can find my masterlist here and my 2024 song fic challenge here (don't forget to send song recommendations to my inbox!)
You never thought you'd ever see the inside of an interrogation room before this week. Now you didn't think you'd ever see the outside of it.
“Y/N, you're brother ran from law enforcement multiple times, if you know where he is you need to tell us or you'll be charged with accessory to murder and kidnapping after the fact. Is that what you want?”
“Of course it isn't what I want, but I already told you I can't fucking help you!”
You paced in the boxed room, feeling closed in and hot.
Your brother - your innocent brother - was the key suspect in a series of child abductions and murders, and as he'd ran from law enforcement multiple times, they'd dragged you into the police precinct to try to track him down.
For the last three days, you'd been stuck sitting at that table across from Doctor Spencer Reid, waiting for the worst news of your life, because you knew it was coming.
“He's not a murderer. He's mentally ill, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. I keep telling you that, why won't you believe me?”
“A lot of loved ones protest a suspect's innocence, right down to the last second.” You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from the depth of your chest.
“My brother is schizophrenic. He was violent before, sure, he had outbursts. But he has been monitoring his meds for the last three years perfectly. He has a job, he has a son. He would not hurt those kids.”
You had always looked up to your elder brother, even through the tough years.
He'd inherited both your fathers drinking problem and your mother's mental illness, each demon feeding the other until he had a breakdown at age 19.
You were only 17 yourself, but with no one else to hold him accountable, you'd been there. You'd checked him into a facility, you drove him to each of his doctor's appointments when he was clean. You'd been around for each sober anniversary, for each birthday and holiday and celebration that he'd made it one more year without falling into himself.
He'd reciprocated by being the most reliable man you knew. He helped put you through college when he was stable enough, he'd managed to work his way up in the ranks at his construction job. He had a beautiful wife (currently in another interrogation room with another agent) and the cutest little boy.
He'd promised you that your family struggles would end with the two of you. You'd promised each other to take care of each others families if anything happened to them in the future, and while you currently had no family to speak of, you sure as hell were going to make sure that your nephew never wanted for anything in his life.
Your brother wasn't a murderer, and you had proof enough.
“You know, you haven't asked me yet why I think he's innocent.” You took your seat again, and gathered your hands together on the table, leaning in closer to the agent in front of you.
You watched him think for a second, then mirror your pose, leaning in just as close, eyes locked with yours.
You'd talked about a lot of things these past three days, and you got the idea that he was a bit of a jackass. If not a jackass, then at least big-headed; he'd practically shouted his title of Doctor at you as he'd walked in, and made sure to correct you every time you'd called him agent or sir.
You kept doing it just to piss him off eventually.
“It's denial, Miss Y/L/N. You don't want to see the signs you'd ignored for that lingered, so you beg and protest and plead, hoping that eventually you'll turn out to be correct.” His voice was low, but you caught every word.
“While I am sure you know what you're talking about Agent Reid, that is not why I'm here still. I'm not being charged with a crime, and I've been here much longer than 24 hours. I'm free to go at any point, but I'm sticking around here, lawyer free, because I want to watch your face when you realise you'd been wrong this entire time.”
He shifted uncomfortably and you smiled, happy to get under his skin once again.
“Okay, Miss Y/L/N. What makes you so sure your brother is innocent?”
“Your profile.” His eyes slightly widened at that, and you basked in it, leaning back and waiting for him to take the bait as the tide turned in your conversation.
“We profiled that our unsub would be late 20s to early 30s, probably a family man who'd likely been abused as a child. The profile also suggested he may have had a psychotic break recently, likely as a result of coming off his meds. Your brother fits the profile, Y/N.”
He'd dug his own grave, and you were happy to see him getting ready to sleep in it too.
“No, he doesn't, Agent.”
A tense silence passed between you, and you knew his gaze was fixed on you. You let your eyes dart elsewhere, rolling down his body to his hands. They were totally still of course, but you could see how tense he was by the way he pushed them flat against the table, almost as if he were trying to ground himself, finding reassurance in the pressure.
“How does he not fit the profile?” His brows were knitted together, and his expression was one of annoyance now.
No matter how much you had shouted or let out your frustrations these past few days, he'd kept a placid look of sympathy plastered across his features. He hadn't listened, or even suggested he'd wanted to, assuming your brother was guilty.
Now he was annoyed, as if he had the right.
“Despite what your records supposedly tell you, my brother is not off his meds.”
“Miss Y/L/N, we know that your brother did not refill his prescription three months ago, and that he looked into some clinical trials in the metropolitan area and was rejected.”
“Congratulations for having 50% of the facts. My brother wasn't rejected from those trials, he withdrew because they changed the terms. They wanted to study my nephew as well to see if they could predict where hereditary cases of Schizophrenia would manifest.”
You leaned in again now, enjoying watching the thoughts rush through Spencer Reid's head once again.
“His health insurance had some issues after the withdrawal, so his prescription couldn't be filled until next week, but my brother always had six months of pills delivered.”
You watched the realisation come crashing down on the agent in front of you, though he was doing a good job of keeping himself out together.
It was time to end this conversation.
“To take part in the clinical trial, he needed to stop taking his regular medication for two weeks. Meaning he has two more weeks of his regular medication. I watched him take it Monday morning, right about when your second kidnapping occurred. My sister-in-law will confirm.”
He stood from his chair slowly and nodded at you, making his way to the door.
“And Agent Reid?” You said making sure to hold his attention one last time before he could leave. “If anything happens to my brother, I will hold you responsible.”
He slipped from the room without another word, and you relaxed into the chair, letting your eyes fall shut as you waited patiently.
Xxx
It was another week before your brother was totally cleared. He'd turned himself into law enforcement the same day you'd forced the BAU to reevaluate their profile, and both he and his wife had cracked up your story.
With nothing else to distract them, you'd been happily informed that they'd caught the actual perpetrator, and saved another victim.
You were back at home now, trying to relax, to get back on track.
You knew by the knock on the door that you weren't going to get back to your normal routine just yet.
“Agent Reid, I wasn't expecting you.” He was there at your door, and you had to brush off a wave of annoyance, forcing yourself not to slam the thing in his goddamn face.
“It's Doctor Reid. You know that, though.” He mumbled the words, jaw tense as he heaved out a sigh, trying to get to his point but being distracted by your prickly words.
“I came to talk. May I come inside?”
“We talked for three days straight, Doc. What else could we possibly need to discuss?” You made sure to block the door with your body, one arm resting on the doorframe as you leant across it, the other holding the door tightly next to you.
You thought he'd get the idea, tuck his tail between his legs, and swiftly leave you alone, but you were sadly mistaken.
Instead his eyes raked over your body as you put it on display, curiously exploring every inch you put in his eyeline.
“May I come in?” He repeated, eyes still trailing down your body. If it weren't for the heat building inside of you, you'd have slammed the door in his face. A moment's hesitation was all you got instead, as he locked eyes with you again, and you reluctantly moved an inch to the side.
You stayed there in the doorway even as he entered, his body brushing against yours almost intimately for the second, his hand faintly tracing over your hip as he stepped inside, watching you all the time.
Needing desperately to gain your composure back, you jumped into asking questions. “You're in now. What do you want?”
“I wanted to apologise.” He hadn't moved far into the apartment, and you realised aa soon as you turned away from locking the door, overestimating his distance. You spun right into his arms, one of his palms coming to your waist to steady you as the other steadied the two of you against the wall.
“And whatever would the wonderful Doctor Reid need to apologise for?”
Your words were venomous, but the heat in them rose from somewhere deeper than the acid in your stomach, somewhere more fiery than the burning sensation at the back of your throat.
“I'm trying to do the right thing here, Y/N.”
“After a week of doing the wrong thing, Spencer, I'm not sure you're fully capable of that.”
His brows furrowed as he pouted, and you hated his proximity, both too close and too far at the same time. You wanted to run him apart, and then delicately sew him back together.
“I was doing my job.”
“You almost got my brother killed.”
“I'm sorry.” He heaved out an exasperated breath with the words, body relaxing and pushing your back fully against the wall. His eyes widened, and you could tell that he hadn't meant to move you in that way, but you just stared at him still, eyes flicking down to his lips with every intrusive thought.
This was how close you needed him.
“I don't give a shit if you're sorry.” You meant the words to be harsh a warning, but you hadn't realised your heartbeat bursting from your throat, your breathy gasps for air making it sound more erotic than angry.
He blinked once, then twice, slowly as if he was a scientist observing an experiment, not wanting to take his eyes off of it until he was certain something wouldn't happen.
“You're enjoying this.”
“I'm not.”
“Your heart rate is at 127 bpm, your pupils are dilated, your breathing is shallow. You're enjoying this. Why?”
His hands didn't let up, even as he shot out his words, brows furrowing further as you resisted the urge to push him away.
It was more comfortable keeping him close.
“I told you I am not enjoying this. You're just too close.”
“So, you're having a physical reaction to me?” He asked, almost quizzically. You had expected to hear a triumphant smirk or something in his voice, but he seemed genuinely curious.
“For God's sake, Spencer, yes. Yes, you're close and it's making me uncomfortable. You spent three days making me feel uncomfortable, and now you've come back for round two, are you happy now?”
“You're not uncomfortable,” he shot out again, almost as if he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. “You're aroused.”
“Know it all.” He laughed at that, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks. You weren't sure what the hell was going on with your body, because you'd spent the week despising the man in front of you, but now a simple hand on your wrist and a laugh had you blushing like a schoolgirl.
“So what if I am aroused? You're touching me, you have me pinned against the wall, really this is your fault, Agent.”
“It's Doctor, but you can call me Spencer. Or you can go back to another colourful insult if you'd prefer?”
“You're pretty full of yourself, I thought you came to apologise.”
“I did, it's not exactly me that is acting like they want to be filled right now though.”
“Jackass,” you snapped, as he lowered his hand around to cup your ass, finally allowing himself a tiny hint at the smirk you'd predicted earlier.
You gasped as he took a handful of your ass and pulled you flush against him.
“I want to say sorry, I want to make it up to you. I'm being quite charitable here.”
“Charity, my dear Doctor, is where you give something and expect nothing in return. It seems like you want something in return.” You spat the words again but you let your hands press lightly against his chest, waiting for him to make the next move as you played with the buttons of his shirt.
“I'd be more than happy to do that, too.”
You weren't sure who reached for who, or which one of you made the first push, but you were suddenly joined together by your lips, each of you battling furiously for dominance.
Your hands pushed up desperately, clawing into his long, busy strands and pulling him down further into you as you worked against him.
He was still stronger than you though, so when he forced your head back an inch, you moved out of necessity.
“Is that enough, or should I keep apologising?”
“Nowhere near enough, jacka-” he cut you off by pushing the tip of his thumb into your mouth, using one of his legs to spread yours so he could nuzzle himself between them.
“Why so quiet now? We couldn't shut you up in those interrogation rooms, but now you're so polite and obedient.” You moaned around his thumb as he stroked your tongue, encouraging you to suck it.
You didn't need much instruction, desperate now to show off your superior skills to the man in front of you.
“That's it, show me how much you want it, my little whore.”
His hand slipped into your pants quietly, but you twitched as his hands feathered their way along your pelvic bone, twitching at the sensitivity of the connection.
His hands slipped into your panties and you knew immediately it was over for you. You were so wet, and he was going to be able to tell just how much you apparently wanted him.
You moaned as he roughly pushed your pants down, finger teasing your cunt through your panties as you still struggled to suck his thumb so you didn't make any louder noises.
“You're enjoying this.” It was no longer a question, but a confident statement, no curiosity but simple satisfaction at how good he was making you feel.
He pulled his thumb from your mouth, rubbing some saliva across your lips to make them shine before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your hands barely pushed out in from of you before your chest collided with the wall, and he was close behind you.
As he coaxed your panties down your legs, you closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, desperately clinging to some high ground where you could find it.
His fingers were hot and long, and they quickly found your clit and got to work as he ground his hard cock against your bare ass.
His pants were still on, but you could feel the outline of his dick against you, hips rutting back into him with each flick of his wrist.
“Now, come on Y/N. You said it's not charity if I receive something in return, right?” He whispered into your ear as you tried to reach behind you to grab his dick.
“We're going to take this nice and slow, and you're going to enjoy all of it.”
His fingers slowed to an aching pace as he finally pushed a first digit inside of you. His hips finished moving and his free hand held you still too, so the only friction was coming from that one hand between your legs, practically edging you.
“Fuck me, just fuck me Spencer.” You moaned in frustration.
“Doctor.” He whispered in your ear, the glee in his voice igniting your hatred of him all over again.
“What?” You spat out.
“Call me Doctor Reid, and I'll give you anything you want. You want to cum, right?”
His fingers kept their slow pace, and you could feel yourself growing more impatient, even as you grit your teeth together.
“Fuck me, Doctor Reid.”
“What about please?”
“Fuck you.” You instantly regretted your words when he pulled his hands off your body completely, retreating further into your house.
“No, shit, wait.-”
You scrambled after him as he took a seat on your couch, removing his jacket and loosening his already dishevelled tie.
“What do you want, Y/N?” He asked, palming himself through his pants as he watched you practically fall at his feet, needing his hands back on you.
“I want you to f-fuck me, please Doctor Reid.” He nodded slightly, pulling your remaining clothing off as he responded.
“That's a good little slut.” He led your hand over his cock and let you undo the buttons and pull him out. You needed no other instructions as he leaned back and pulled your legs into a firmer position.
You gave his cock a few strokes before lifting your hips and sinking back down onto him.
“So fucking wet for me, you were so aroused, baby.”
He didn't let you control the pace, but held your hips still just above him as he began pushing into you from below, lifting his hips to fill you up with each thrust.
You couldn't bite back the screams as his balls slapped against you, Spencer trying his best to fit his entire length into you with each deep thrust. You wanted to kill the man only an hour earlier, and now you were sure you wanted to have him inside you like this forever.
“Oh fuck, just like that, just like that Spencer please!”
Your hand drifted down to your cunt and you're began to rub feverishly, even as you felt the pressure build up from your gut.
The pressure was almost unbearable and before you knew it you were squirting on his cock, fingers splashing wave after wave of your arousal over his cock and clothes.
“Already squirting for me? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, Y/N. I guess you are just a little whore.”
You twitched, but couldn't respond, as he began thrusting sloppier than ever before, grunting in your ear as he finally joined you in your mess.
His grip on your hip slipped as he finally started cumning, and you moaned feeling him so deep as he gathered you in his arms and pulled you chest to chest.
You sat there panting together for an eternity before you even thought about detangling your limbs from one another.
“You made a mess of my fucking sofa.” You said as you finally rose up slightly, looking down at the mess beneath you.
“No, Y/N, that was you. I simply helped.”
“Jackass.”
“Whore.”
You gasped as he laughed at you again, pulling your hips back down over his so you couldn't slide off his cock again.
“Don't act so scandalised when I can feel just how much that turned you on. You're enjoying this.”
You pouted a little, but let your head fall back against his chest.
“And what if I am, Agent Reid?”
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#mgg#spencer reid smut#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
“what? hello?” steve mumbled sleepily into the phone.
“i’m going insane,” eddie nearly shouts.
steve sits up in his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. “woah woah, eds, what’s goin on?”
a high pitched wail is heard in the background and eddie is immediately cooing and shushing. steve presses the phone tighter to his ear.
“eds. eds, can you hear me?”
“i’m going insane i’m going insane i’m going insane,” eddie breathes. “she won’t stop crying steve she’s been crying for two hours—fuck, three hours. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do steve.”
“who’s crying?” steve asks.
“my cousin. or my niece, maybe? i don’t know how it works. my cousin’s baby is here and she won’t stop crying.”
more crying and wailing is heard. steve has to hold the phone away from his ear when eddie gets closer to her. he can hear eddie pleading with her, trying to comfort her, to no avail.
“i need help,” eddie says. “i need help, please.”
“uh, okay. okay,” steve replies as he rolls out of bed and stumbles around his room in the dark to find some pants and shoes. “i can be there in ten.”
“make it five,” eddie nearly whines, anxiety pouring through the receiver.
“got it.”
steve’s tires screech into eddie’s driveway. his trailer is the only one with the lights still on and he could hear the baby crying from outside. he’s surprised no one has called to complain to the police station. though he’s sure callahan or hopper would simply hang up.
steve barrels up the steps and opens the door to utter chaos. toys and books scatter the ground, there are blankets and bottles strewn over surfaces (some definitely knocked over and spilling onto the floor), and baby clothes and diapers in the leftover spaces. and of course, a screaming infant.
eddie pops out of his room with said infant trashing in his arms. eddie has tears streaming down his fact too and steve’s heart just cracks.
“help me,” eddie mouths.
“uh, okay, okay,” steve is wracking his brain for any tips he learned in home economics about taking care of a baby. “what have you tried? i presume she’s in a clean diaper and…” god it was hard to think with the noise screeching in his ears. “fed her?” steve asks louder.
“yes fuck, i keep changing her and trying to feed her. i read her stories and rocked her and tried to put her in her crib. she’s so upset i don’t know why,” eddie’s voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, steve’s across the room. ready to comfort him.
“give her here,” steve says.
eddie’s eyes are panicky and wide but eventually, he hands steve the child. she continues to cry and thrash in steve’s arms so it takes a second for him to hold her properly.
“what’s her name?” steve asks.
“cheyenne” eddie responds, arms wrapped around himself like a hug. his whole body is bouncing and steve feels the urge to reach out and bring him in too but the more pressing matter is currently occupying those arms.
“hi cheyenne,” steve says gently. “seems like you’re mighty upset.”
she yanks at steve’s shirt with her little baby fists, definitely grabbing some chest hair underneath and ripping it. steve winces but recovers quickly.
“would your neighbors kill me if i take her outside?”
“probably,” eddie mutters.
“i’m going to anyway.”
steve heads for the front door and eddie goes to follow him but steve holds out a patient hand. “stay here, take a breath,” steve instructs.
eddie’s eyes well up with more tears. “but what if something—“
“then we’ll do something. right now, being around her isn’t good for you. let me take a crack at this, alright?”
eddie nods solemnly and backs away so steve can open the door.
cheyenne’s cries echo out into the night sky as steve starts to pace around the porch. steve starts to feel a little scared being alone with her but he’s more scared of what the stress has done to eddie.
so he decides to do it scared.
the baby starts to have this hiccuping breaths that pull steve out of his thought spiral. steve shushes her and props her up so her head is on his shoulder. he rubs her back with his hand, which takes up her entire back, and tries to stay calm when her cries are right next to his ear.
“you like music? 'course you do, everyone does.i don’t know how many lullabies eddie knows. his taste is a little more intense,” steve says conversationally as he continues to pace. “i don’t even think i know any lullabies. um…”
cheyenne cries with new fervor right into his neck and steve just panic sings the first song that comes to mind, “shake it up is all we know. using bodies up as we go. i’m waking up a fantasy. the shades are all the colors we used to see.”
cheyenne’s cries go down a peg, still loud but less wailing and more whimpering. steve’s heart is racing as he slowly continues the song.
“broken ice still melts in the sun. and ties that are broken can be one again. we’re soul alone and soul really matters to me.”
cheyenne keeps crying but it's getting softer by the second. steve rearranges her so she's cradled in his arms. he's blown away by how small she is. how helpless. everything must be so scary for her.
“i'm out of touch,” steve sings softly. “you're out of time. but i'm out of my head when you're not around. oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.“
cheyenne's eyes open up and they're this big beautiful brown, just like eddie's. his breath is taken away as he keeps singing weakly. he doesn't even realize that she stops crying entirely and is just blinking at him, dazed.
it takes eddie slowly opening the front door for him to recognize the silence. he sits on the couch and bounces her gently in his arms, still humming and singing the occasional "oh's". eddie very slowly and quietly sits beside him.
steve looks up at eddie who is staring at him in awe. the same beautiful brown eyes are puffy and swollen, just like cheyenne's.
“c'mon eds, sing it with me,” steve jokes quietly.
eddie shakes his head. “i can't believe she's a hall and oates fan.”
“everyone is,” steve says simply and sings, “i'm out of touch.” he gestures to eddie to continue.
“i'm out of time,” eddie sings, looking incredibly pained to do so.
“but i'm out of my head,” steve leans his ear to the side.
“when you're not around,” eddie says flat, voice raspy from his exhaustion. it makes steve's stomach flip so he returns his attention to the near asleep girl in his arms.
they keep humming until she's fully asleep. steve leans back into the couch with a long exhale, his shoulders rubbing up against eddie's.
“you're magical,” eddie whispers.
“please,” steve scoffs.
“i'm serious,” eddie replies. steve turns his head to face him and nearly chokes from how close their faces are.
”i don't know how you do it,“ eddie mumbles.
”do what?“
”make everyone around you so calm. i feel like all i can do is make everyone stressed out,” eddie laughs weakly.
steve shakes his head. ”not true. just ask buckley, i stress her out on a daily basis.“
eddie chuckles and sniffles. steve sees his lips stretch over his teeth in a smile.
”thank you for coming over. i didn't know who else to call.“
”how did you end up with your baby cousin anyway?“ steve asks.
eddie sighs, tilting his head back into the cushion. if he leaned his head closer, he'd be on steve's shoulder. steve wishes he would.
”her mom is taking a much needed vacation and i promised wayne that he didn't need to take time off work to take care of her. that was a huge mistake.“
”you did your best,“ steve argues quietly.
”maybe but it wasn't enough.“
”hey, c'mon. don't beat yourself up. you did what you could and found help when you couldn't. it's not your fault this is her only form of communication.“
eddie smiles again and yawns. ”you wouldn't happen to have this album on cassette would you?“
steve beams at him. ”in my car, actually.“
”i'm getting it.“
they put cheyenne to bed with the big bam boom album playing softly on eddie's stereo. they stare at her peaceful form snoozing away and seem to forget how she looked not even a half hour ago.
”you should get some sleep,” steve whispers, nudging eddie with his shoulder.
“you're right, you're right,” eddie sighs. he gestures that he's gonna walk steve to the door. steve grabs his keys and turns before opening the door.
“thank you again,” eddie whispers.
“anytime. hall and oates always heals,” steve smiles.
eddie rolls his eyes fondly and shoves steve's shoulder. only, his hand doesn't move away. it splays out over steve's beating heart which is rapidly picking up speed. eddie's eyes slowly drift up to catch steve's.
“i was listening to that song yesterday,” steve whispers. “over and over and over again.”
“you must really like it,“ eddie says, a little confused.
”no. i mean, i do but…“ steve whispers. ”i was listening to it because... i start to go a little insane when i'm not around you.“
eddie's brows furrow. ”w-what do you mean?“
”can't keep you out of here,“ steve explains, tapping his temple. ”i don't know what to do. this is where i need help, eds.”
eddie's lips part in a silent gasp. he takes a step closer and rubs his thumb over steve's shirt. steve's hand comes up and covers his.
“i can help,” eddie whispers, tilting his head up so their noses brush.
that's how steve and eddie share their first kiss in eddie's living room, sleep deprived and unhurried. just four lips gently sliding over one another.
when they pull away with tired smiles, eddie murmurs, “in case she wakes up, you should probably sleep over.”
(inspired by @gothbat99 's wonderful steve harrington playlist)
#emily writes#idk why i hc steve being great with babies but i just DO#steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fics#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things ficlet
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
the archer | S.R.
in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay
who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader
category: angst
content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.
word count: 5.96k
a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.
can you see right through me?
Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.
Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”
You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.
The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.
It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.
Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.
“And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.
You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”
He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.
“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.
Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”
A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.
'cause all of my enemies started out friends
Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.
You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.
“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.
Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.
Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”
“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”
Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”
You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”
“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.
You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”
Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”
Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.
When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.
He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”
You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”
The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.
“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.
Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.
You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.
You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.
Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.
Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.
“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.
Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”
You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”
“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.
“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.
Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.
“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”
Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”
“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.
Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”
“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.
You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”
Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”
“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”
Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.
help me hold on to you
Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”
You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.
Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”
That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.
“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.
You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.
He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”
Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”
He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.
“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.
i've been the archer, i've been the prey
The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.
“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.
You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.
“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.
Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.
“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”
Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.
“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.
Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.
Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”
You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”
He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”
Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”
“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.
You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”
Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.
Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.
Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.
It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.
They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working.
all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again
The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.
You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.
Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”
Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”
You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.
For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?
Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.
“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.
“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.
Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.
The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.
“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.
Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”
Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.
“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.
The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”
Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”
You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”
“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.
Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”
“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.
Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”
Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”
You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”
She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”
You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”
Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”
You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”
“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”
Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”
Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.
You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”
“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.
You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”
“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.
Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”
The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.
i see right through me
Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.
He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.
“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.
He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”
You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”
He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.
“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.
Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”
You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.
Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”
You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”
“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.
Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.
He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”
“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.
Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”
Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”
After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”
“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”
You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”
“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”
Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”
Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”
Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”
“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.
Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”
who could stay?
You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.
You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.
Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.
“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”
Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.
You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.
Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.
“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.
He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”
“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.
Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.
But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.
So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”
“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”
He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”
After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”
“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.
You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.
Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.
When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.
It made your chest ache.
Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”
He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”
“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”
Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.
On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.
you could stay
please remember to like, reblog, and comment
#written by margot#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid x you#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds angst#criminal minds hurt/comfort#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fic#criminal minds imagine
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Hal bent down as the little girl approached him. Even then, he still managed to tower over her with how small she was.
"Hey there little lady," he said. "Anything I can help you with this fine evening?"
The little girl looked at him anxiously, fiddling with her hands. Ok so not a nervous fan. Hal immediately switched to serious mode, scanning the crowd for anyone who could be her parents. He didn't see anyone running up to the two of them or even so much as keeping a watchful eye from a distance.
"Is something the matter?" Hal questioned, making sure to keep his voice even and calm.
The girl continued fidgeting, her big blue eyes scanning from side to side. Finally she spoke. "You wiff da space po-eece yes? Not da am-ear-ree-ca one?"
Hal smiled at the girl. "Yes, I'm with the space police." Honestly that was oversimplifying the Corps a little but he had long since gotten to citizens calling him a space cop.
The girl offered up a small nervous smile of her own. "So you won't tell da gov-ment what I tell you wight?"
Hal was on high alert now. Just what was this little girl trying to tell him? "I won't tell. I promise," he said after a second.
The girl broke into a big smile at this. "Really? Dis way den." She started tugging Hal along and he began to follow.
"Where exactly are we going?" he asked.
"You see," was all she replied.
Hal was led down a couple different alleyways and was beginning to think he was walking into a trap when they reached an abandoned building. The girl dashed in and up the old rusted stairs, with Hal following closely behind her.
If this really is a trap, I'll never hear the end of it from Batman, he thought morbidly as he cleared the last step. Instead of finding himself facing an ambush however, he saw a boy curled up on an old mattress. The girl was already by his side as Hal approached.
"Don wowee Danny, I got help. Like I said I would," he caught the little girl whispering as he knelt down next to the boy. He had to have been older than the girl. Three years older maybe? Yet he was still so small. Hal took sight of his condition. He was in pain. That much was certain by his little face scrunched up in agony and his quiet moans. He was also sweating profusely. His raven black hair sticking to his forehead. Fever maybe?
Hal continued his observations as he scanned down the boy's body until he got to his stomach. The boy was clutching it and Hal could make out blood bleeding through from underneath. Oh no.
He quickly yet carefully removed the boy's arm to get a better look at the wound. The kid let out a groan as his arm was peeled away. Hal couldn't help but thank Oa for all his training that helped prevent him from letting out a gasp.
The boy's chest was covered in blood. Dark red mixed with flecks of green soaked through his shirt and there were bandages that had been amateurishly tied around the wound.
"How did this happen?" Hal asked, turning back to the girl. He did his best to keep his tone as gentle as possible.
Her smile was gone now, and her eyes welled up with tears. "He pwotected me," she said. "Dey wanted to huwrt us. Dey shot at us. Danny pwotected me."
Anger boiled within Hal. Who would shoot at these children? They were only little kids. If what the girl had said earlier was anything to go off of, the answer had something to do with the government. He would have to take care of that later though. For now, this boy needed medical attention.
"Let's get Danny to a hospital," Hal said resolutely, as he got up.
"No!" the little girl screeched. "No has-pee-tail. Too dan-er-us!"
"But he needs-" Hal started but then he met the girl's eyes. There was abject fear in them. As if going to the hospital would be a death sentence for both children. Where else were they supposed to go though? The boy- Danny needed medical attention stat. That much was certain.
Hal paused. There was one place. He sighed. Batman was going to kill him for this.
"Okay okay. No hospital. But what about space?"
"Space?" the girl repeated.
Hal nodded.
The little girl smiled. "Danny lobes space!"
"Well then. That's perfect."
Hal constructed a new bed for the boy, carefully easing him onto it before putting a protective dome around both children. The little girl giggled as he lifted them up. He then turned to the wall where he created a giant hammer to knock it down. Then they were off. Flying higher and higher, towards the atmosphere. As the Watchtower got closer in sight, Hal couldn't help but groan. Taking civilians to the Watchtower? Oh yeah, Batman was definitely going to kill him.
#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dpxdc#winter's tales#sorry if the baby speech is annoying#really wanted to emphasize that ellie is just a tiny tot is all#side note it was strange writing “thank oa”#because on one hand it's pretty much the equivalent of saying “thank earth”#but on the other hand i felt like a natural thing for him to say?#*it#though i guess there are some people who say “thank gaia”#which is just another name for earth#but that's probably in reference to the actual greek personification so....#idk#anyways i'm getting off into a random tangent#feel free to ignore this
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
Sooo I was wondering if you would write about toji being a police officer and he forgot his lunch at home so you take it to him and instead of him eating his lunch he eats us out in the back of his police car.
Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader
Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Squirting, cop!Toji
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi
Toji sits in the police station, hungry, patiently waiting for his wife to come with his lunch. After forgetting his lunch at home, Toji usually goes out to eat but you agreed upon saving money. So now he waits, trying his best to be patient. His stomach growls and he swears he’s going to faint because he’s waited for so long.
He’s a big man, he can’t go without food for long. He pulls out his old flip phone to send you a message, but he sees you walk in with a plastic bag. He isn’t looking at the bag though when you walk in with a flowy short sundress. He licks his lips as you walk toward him. His mouth is salivating just looking at you.
When you get to him, you peck his lips and hand him the bag. You give them the sweetest smile that gives him the dirtiest thoughts known to man. “I’ll see you at home, baby. I made your lunch extra special today.”
“Honey–” He grabs your hand, stopping you from walking away. “Will you walk with me for a second?”
“Uh… Sure.” You respond happily even though you’re confused as to why he needs you. You follow behind him, taking his hand as he guides you out. You can’t help but ask, “Where are we going?”
“I have an emergency.” He tells you and your brows furrow, wondering why he’s walking you out. You get to his cop car, and he opens the backseat door.
“What? Am I under arrest or something?” You joke as he’s pushing you into the car. You wonder what he’s doing until his hands cup your face and he kisses your lips. He mutters,
“God, you look so fucking hot.” And you immediately know what’s about to happen. You bite down on your lip as you look up at him. He forgets his hunger for food, he wants something else, “Wanna taste you so bad.”
You slide till the other end of the car, till your back is pressed against the door, and you lift up your dress, and spread your legs. Toji nearly has a heart attack when he sees that you don’t have panties on, and while he’d scold you, right now he has a nasty smirk on his face. He gets into the car and closes the door. His knees are on the floorboard, and his hand slaps your pussy which earns a whine from you.
“Be nice, Toji.” You tell him. His lips kiss your cunt and he says,
“Sorry, baby, I’m just hungry.” He responds. His tongue licks through your folds, maintaining eye contact with you until his mouth begins to suck on your clit.
His hand goes up, and he presses his index and middle finger against your bottom lip; you open your mouth and when he shoves his fingers in, you roll your tongue around his fingers. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and moves them down to your cunt, before he pushes them inside of you. His fingers are so thick, they’re making you roll your eyes to the back of your head.
He slowly moves his them in and out of you, curling them. Your hands run through his hair and you grip a handful of it when he curves his fingers so they press against your sweet spot. You can’t help but moan, “Oh, Toji!”
You toss your head back, pressing against the car window as Toji flicks your clit. God, the last thing you expected when you came to drop your husband’s lunch was to end up in the back of a cop car and get eaten out by him. You’re not complaining though– That’s the last thing you’re doing, his name softly leaving your lips. You have to put your hand over your mouth because the car can’t drown out all noises.
“Fuck, baby, it’s so good.” You exhale. He takes his fingers out of your cunt and his tongue moves down until it reaches your hole. He teases your entrance before his tongue plunges into you. You’re in cloud nine, especially when his thumb begins to play with your clit.
He’s moving his tongue around, and you feel that pressure build up in your stomach. You’re holding back on not screaming his name because you don’t want everyone inside the building to think Toji committed a homicide. When he looks up at you he sees your face contorted with pleasure, and when you look down at him you see how focused and eager he is to be eating you out.
This is truly the best lunch that you could’ve prepared. Toji is humming and moaning, letting you know just how much he’s loving this. There’s nothing the man loves more than eating his wife out while he’s supposed to be working– Or, well, on his break.
He takes his tongue out and moves it back to your clit. His tongue is sloppy flicking your clit but it’s getting the job done, and he pushes his fingers inside of you. He doesn’t waste any time moving his fingers around as they go straight to your sweet spot and brush against it repeatedly. Your hand keeps holding on to his hair as your orgasm continues to build up. You keep moaning his name over and over again, until you finally reach your high. You squirt all over him, and get the car dirty as well
What Toji loves about it the most is that you make a fucking mess. Not only is his uniform dirty but the car as well. He has to hold back on continuing, but he has to eat some actual food before he faints– And maybe try to clean himself and the car up. When you come down your high, the first words that leave your mouth are, “Sorry, honey. I can help you clean up– Is that your coworker?”
You hadn’t noticed one of Toji’s buddies right by the window. You fix yourself up, putting down the dress, while Toji chuckles. You wonder for how long he had been standing there watching as your husband ate you out. Toji just rolls his eyes and shoos his coworker away as he continues laughing. Your face is extremely warm, and you don’t know if you’ve lost your sense of humor but you can’t find this situation funny.
Toji simply cups your face again before he tells you,
“Thank you for lunch, honey. I’ll see you back at home.”
#toji x y/n#toji zenin#toji fushiguro x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji fushiguro#daddy toji#fushiguro toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu toji#jjk toji#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x you#dilf toji#toji fushiguro x you#toji fanfic#toji fushiguro smut#toji fic
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
💰 with sugar daddy Carlos, you get in an accident in one of his expensive cars and freak out thinking he’s going to be pissed but instead he just worries about you?
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
.
It happened so fast that you weren’t even sure what happened.
Carlos had been so insistent that you take one of his many cars. You had been stubborn for the best part, far too attached to the crappy car you saved up for and bought after almost a year of working your ass off and saving every penny. It was your baby even if it took more effort and money to keep running over the years over buying a new car, and you weren’t ready to say goodbye yet.
But then Carlos had seen you taping your side mirror back on (again) and had to practically beg for you to use one of his cars. He even promised to keep your car in the garage amongst his multiple sports cars and high-end names that you still thought only existed in James Bond movies, and in return, you took one of his cars out when you needed to go to work or run errands.
And that was exactly what you had been planning today.
It was meant to be a quick errand run: mostly grocery shopping, picking up a few things from the dry cleaners and popping into a few other shops you had been meaning to visit the next time you were out. And everything had been going fine until you were on your way to the food shop before you returned home.
You didn’t see him coming. You didn’t hear him coming. You didn’t even know what happened until the ringing in your ears stopped and the taste of metal was prominent in your mouth.
Ambulances and police were called to the scene. You were pulled out of the wrecked car by a paramedic, only to let out a sob and almost fall to your knees when you saw the damage. It was honestly a surprise it was still in one piece, but it was mangled and you hated to think about how much repairs would cost.
And despite your deepest wishes, the police had to call Carlos since his name was not only under the main driver of the car but also as your emergency contact.
Your stomach was in knots at what he would say. He had many cars, far too many for a single person to have but he adored every single one. The memory played on a loop in your head of Carlos telling you why he bought each car, when he bought them, the special occasion they were linked to. Each car had a meaning, and you had completely shattered one of them.
You were on the edge of throwing up the whole time you sat in the back of the ambulance, clutching onto the blanket they placed over your shoulders and trying to bite back the tears when you realised this was it.
This would be Carlos’ breaking point. This would be the reason he needed to break up with you. This would be too much even for him, even if it would barely dent his bank account to repair the car. This would be a step too far in his eyes and he was going to leave you.
“Where is she?!”
Your eyes clenched shut as you heard his voice a few feet away. You could hear the commotion like muffled voices underwater, but it took less than thirty seconds before he was rushing towards you.
“Mi amor,” he breathed out as his hands cupped your cheeks, his eyes glancing over every inch of you to make sure you’re okay.
But his touch was the last thing you needed before you broke down.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” you sobbed as the tears began streaming down your face, blurring your vision of the Spaniard standing in front of you. “I didn’t see him coming and he just came out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to crash the car, Carlos, I promise. I-I’ll help pay for—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumbs wiping away the hot tears running down your cheeks. “Breathe for me, amor, breathe for me. Deep breaths. Just….breathe.”
Your breathing was still shaky and shallow as you shook her head. “But the car—”
“Fuck the car,” Carlos said, a frown downturned on his lips as he softly squeezed your face. “Mi amor, I don’t fucking care about the car. I just care if you’re okay.”
You blinked. “Really?”
“Yes,” Carlos murmured, and it was only now you could really see the fear and concern written all over his face and shining in his eyes. “Those cars mean nothing to me. They can be replaced. But you can’t.”
“Oh,” was all you could reply with.
“I was so scared when I got that call, I—” he let out his own shaky breath as he shook his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I thought I lost you.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“Stop apologising, amor,” he murmured before lifting his head to press a lingering kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, let’s get you cleared and then I’m taking you home and not letting you out of my arms for at least three months.”
“Carlos—”
“I’m serious, mi amor, don’t fight me on this.”
.
#cece's slumblurb party#carlos sainz#formula one#f1#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz fic#carlos sainz one shot#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST
Officer!Bakugo is a seriously scary motherfucker - he's really tall and big, and he gives off an intimidating vibe. I mean, he gets annoyed over the tiniest stuff
Officer!Bakugo is a stereotypical “bad cop” type - tough, no-nonsense, and not afraid to bend the rules
If Bakugo slams his fist on the table during an interrogation, you can bet you'll spill all your secrets, whether you like it or not, thanks to those intense crimson eyes boring into your soul
Officer!Bakugo owns a big K9 dog named Blast. The massive belgian malinois is super intimidating - nobody dares to move when the dog is around, showing off its long fangs. The dog pays close attention to whatever Katsuki commands
Bakugo often goes undercover to bust drug rings. His intense look, paired with his scarred face and that maniac grin, makes him appear like someone who tasted cocaine or any other heavy drug for breakfast
When Bakugo raises his voice, it makes both kids and adults cry
Officer!Bakugo harbors a cache of dark secrets, ranging from covering up crimes to manipulating evidence. He becomes adept at concealing his corrupt actions behind a facade of a dedicated officer
Bakugo really likes wearing the uniform because it makes his ass, chest, and shoulders look awesome
Officer!Bakugo drives his cop car like crazy, but he's super skilled at it - when he's chasing someone, he always catches them
Can and will swiftly pin anyone down in just 1 second flat (he's used this move on his one-night stands numerous times)
One of the corrupt things officer!Bakugo does is take it easy on the cute girls (basically all the girls he finds attractive) when they come to his office to report a crime or seek help
He's definitely used handcuffs on a few girls in his career
Sex in his office is a must, but his police car is also on the list
Bakugo's preferred position is doggy style - he just loves the feeling of being in total control and able to thrust as hard and fast as he pleases while spanking the ass of his lover, like when he apprehended you for exceeding the speed limit, and due to your earnest pleas and appeals, he opted to fuck your little, sweet-scented cunt rather than revoke your driving license. You found yourself pinned down to the backseat of his car, your ass raised up as Bakugo fucked your cunt mercilessly from behind, spanking your ass every now and then. The vehicle was swaying with each forceful thrust as he assaulted your drenched pussy, growling like an animal. "Just like that, you little whore. Look at you, taking my cock so well. Dripping wet just f'me like a good slut you are."
Officer!Bakugo has a kink for public sex. There is something thrilling about the danger of being caught, the thought of someone stumbling upon you in the act only added to the excitement, especially when you're bent over, sucking his dick while he's smoking a blunt in his police car, guiding your head more towards his pelvis, and the only thing you can do is to choke on his fat cock as its tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly
Officer!Bakugo has a particular fondness for dominating his girls, both physically and mentally. He enjoys the thrill of manipulating them into submission, leaving them begging for more and being on his mercy
Officer!Bakugo quickly gets turned on when a girl pleads for mercy with doe eyes; also, he really likes skimpy skirts that hardly cover her ass
Officer!Bakugo enjoys night patrols the most because there's a better chance of catching criminals and tormenting them. Plus, Katsuki can smoothly hand out fines to loud tipsy ladies leaving the clubs, and he even doesn't hide that he's checking them out
Officer!Bakugo who has a preference for younger girls (Katsuki is in his mid-30s, but he won't hesitate to flirt with someone barely over twenty-year-old)
#bakugou smut#bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugo x reader smut#quirkless au#mha bakugou#bakugou x y/n#officer bakugo#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#mha smut#bnha smut#bakugou x fem!reader#bakugo smut#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki#bakugou x you#anime smut#divider by cafekitsune
735 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
black-army-06
Black Army
Legacy
leaderpunk
how to kick my own ass
kl692
Celebs are Goddesses
vangiaphatdeco
Thiết kế xây dựng Vạn Gia Phát