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Without Faith

a/n giggling and kicking my feet rn btw, this is meant to be a set up for something longer! lmk if you're interested in part 2 :)

Summary: After a news story that was only meant to be an internship assignment spirals into a crime story that earns national attention, you feel conflicted enough about your involvement to join a criminal psychology class despite being a journalism major. Despite your good intentions, the universe seems to have it out for you considering your slightly older professor is extremely attractive and the only person that seems to understand what you're going through.

Warnings/info: age gap (reader is of consenting age tho!!), future student-professor relationship, slow burn, slight changes to how college works for the sake of plot, a surprising amount of lore (i got carried away), me writing for a character for a first time on here so be kind 😭

----

It's not often one finds their enemy crumpled up and lying helplessly next to an overflowing garbage can. It's even rarer to see that and still feel the bitter sting of defeat.

"He didn't text me back, which is weird because when I ran into him on Friday--" Carlie, who might know you better than you know yourself, pauses.

You turn your head away from the trash in an attempt to abandon the newspaper as completely as the person who had thrown it away. "You saw James last week? You didn't tell me."

She watches you for a moment, her eyebrows pulling together in a way that tells you she won't accept your lie just because you're offering her an opportunity to re-dissect her most recent interaction with her latest target. "You know I did."

Carlie shifts her weigh from one foot to the other, her eyes drifting towards the ground. "It's there because it's old--it's over."

It's over. The words crack themselves against your skull. More than a sentence, more than a promise. The only consolation the state's attorney could offer grieving families. The sound ringing in your ears as a mother gave into her agony, a choked sob ripping its way out of her throat.

It's over--the catalyst that sent the mother to you in a parking lot illuminated by stale, synthetic lighting. They're the reason for her confession, that in some off-kilter way she thought the verdict would make her feel better.

It's over--the syllables that accompany the sound of the needle leaving Josh Robinson's lifeless body. Killed by the justice system or the media?

"You didn't do anything wrong." Carlie's voice is careful in its unflinchingness. "He was a serial killer. You--you wrote the truth."

And while this awareness has bound itself to your bones, it is rarely enough to make you forget what you did wrong. Journalists are impartial, they don't--they're supposed to understand, they're supposed to be careful. You took it a step further.

"I know."

You don't need to look up to know that you haven't convinced her. However, you must have sounded okay enough for Carlie to accept moving on. "And you're doing more than anyone else would do to make your true crime even better."

It's an exaggeration. Journalists have done a lot more for their careers than request to join a class that belongs to a department unrelated to their degree. But Carlie seems so happy to be able to compliment you, you decide to go with a less sentimental correction, "Not true crime."

"I know, journalism." She sighs, but continues to walk forward in a way that feels oddly optimistic. Maybe even relieved. "Make sure you point out the difference to the professor. I'm sure he'll love that."

You roll your eyes at her sarcasm, but follow her lead anyway. You've already perfected the elevator pitch you're planning to present to Dr. Spencer Reid. A brief but genuine description of the importance of ethical journalism, especially when it comes to writing about serial killers.

You're well practiced and far from worried about winning him over. Academic authority figures have always taken well to you...it also doesn't hurt that you spent all night googling him just to be safe.

"Actually," she begins, pulling open the door to the psychology building, "I bet there's no room for original material in the interaction that you've already imagined, planned, and mentally rehearsed."

You scoff as you step past the door's threshold. "No," the word is dismissive and entirely unconvincing. You instinctually move past it. "Go talk to your advisor about your thesis, I'll meet with Dr. Reid, and then we can order food or something."

The reminder of her own meeting seems to kill the mood, her smile morphing into something more focused. Carlie lets out a small breath. "Right. We got this." And with one final assuring nod, Carlie turns towards the stairwell.

----

The thought is a dull ache that wedges itself into your chest before you can bring yourself to knock against the door. It'll follow you forever.

When you step into the room, Dr. Reid will inevitably ask why you want to join his class. And then you'll have to answer.

You exhale as you extend your arm, knuckles rapping against the wooden surface before overthinking can hurt you any further. After a brief silence, you hear a slightly muffled, "Come in."

You reach for the brass handle, pulling the door open before stepping past the doorway's threshold.

The office is comfortable, a large desk and two plush chairs manage to share the space without seeming cramped. There's a pencil holder and several stacks of papers on the desk's surface. If one ignores the degrees--and the age of the recipient when he received them--on the walls, the office seems normal. Almost suspiciously so. There's even a partially wilted plant sitting on the windowsill.

After taking in the room, you let your attention fall to the individual behind the desk. He's--he--while you've read enough about Dr. Reid to already respect him, and are fully aware that he is far from your peer, you're also now looking at him.

Last night, you did stumble onto a few pictures of him that forced you to reluctantly make a mental note of the fact that he's aesthetically pleasing, but those occasionally blurry snapshots did him and his sharp features little justice.

"Hello," the word is an instinct, slipping past your lips before you're ready to speak.

"Hi," his response is as sudden and lacking in context as your own--a fact that immediately eases you.

Dr. Reid shifts, back straightening against his seat. "You're here for your appointment." You barely have the chance to nod in confirmation before he's continuing, "Come in, take a seat."

In all honesty, you're more glad for the direction than the excuse to sit. You enter his office fully, approaching the plush chair in front of his desk. You sit down, lips parting before you're ready to speak. All structured thoughts have abandoned you.

"Hi." You realize your mistake immediately. You blink, a sound between a self deprecating laugh and a sigh escaping you. "I already said that."

If Dr. Reid thinks anything of your mistake, he gives no indication of it. His expression remains steady, with the exception of the corner of his mouth briefly tugging itself upwards.

Your hands come together on your lap, one of your nails pressing into the nail bed of the thumb on your opposite hand before forcing yourself to relax. You've read enough about his work with the FBI to know that he's so adept at analyzing behavior, you don't need to make it easy for him by giving into obvious signs of nervousness.

"Like I mentioned in my email, I'm interested in joining your class even though it's not an elective and in an entirely different department than my degree." This part is easy, a perfunctory explanation of what he already knows. "However, there is enough overlap that my advisor is supportive of the idea and has already signed off on it."

He shifts again, his pointer finger tapping against the surface of his desk. "Right, she mentioned that, but she didn't mention why."

Okay. This is the part that matters. "I'm a journalism major, and I've recently completed an internship with The Washing Sun." In an act of total self betrayal, you study his expression for any hint of recognition. Finding absolutely none makes it easier to breathe. "And spending time in such an active, journalistic environment has made me fully aware of the way that morals and personal views can complicate ethics."

You pause, pressing your lips together. "I'd like the opportunity to learn about certain behaviors in order to develop a perspective separate from my own.

Though still politely neutral, something behind Dr. Reid's eyes implies an uncertainty that has the rest of your pitch jamming itself down your throat. Whatever's changed doesn't feel like disbelief, and you're far from worried about being accused of lying. You were careful to comb through your mess of emotions before you had even pitched the idea to your advisor--you do feel those things, they're just not the only things you feel.

How delusional had you been to assume the same answers that hid their vagueness behind a heavy layer of altruism that worked on Mrs. Carol would work on a FBI profiler?

"I um--" The sound of your own voice surprises you. "I know what it's like to write something when you can't feel anything for the person everyone's already rooting against, and I'd like to not feel that again." Another glimmer of honesty, barer than your curated story, but still not exactly everything.

Dr. Reid is quiet for a moment, studying you with an openness that should make your skin crawl. "What did it feel like?"

The question throws you. Friends, family, strangers--they've all asked you things about the case, about your article, about hundreds of other things so barely connected you couldn't fathom an answer. No one has ever asked you about that feeling.

"Uh..." You're not even sure you have an answer. "Weird." Your blankness feels like such a cop out, you feel the need to try again. What did it feel like? A hybrid beast made of a festering not-quite-guilt, an over awareness of your every action, all held together by an uneasy pride...that only served to further aggravate the not guilt. "Like I was doing something right and wrong, with no way of knowing what it was more of."

You squeeze your hands together, allowing yourself to focus on the action instead of him. "I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make much sense."

When you finally lift your head, Dr. Reid is already looking at you. A moment passes, the somberness of his features growing heavier in the silence. Maybe he's looking at something past you. "It does."

The affirmation is a small, fragile thing, so faint and far away it almost feels like an intrusion to have heard it. Some selfish part of you latches onto that, his unexpected understanding a lifeline you can't let go of.

You almost thank him before realizing that you have no idea what you'd be thanking him for. "I'm glad," you settle on, fingers carefully coming apart on your lap. "The writing thing's no good if I don't make sense."

The attempt at humor seems to pull him back from wherever he had gone. "Then you have nothing to worry about." He doesn't exactly smile, but there's something easy about the way he's looking at you. "I'll approve your enrollment request."

Relief floods through you immediately. "Really?"

"Maybe it'll help you feel less...weird." From him, your too plain adjective feels a lot more fitting.

You nod once, the motion quick and polite. "Hopefully." The beat of silence that follows comes closer to kinship than anything you've ever felt in someone's office. You're also fully aware of the fact that you've gotten what you came for and that Dr. Reid is likely a very busy man. "I shouldn't take up anymore of your time."

His fingers tap against his desk. "Right. I'll see you in class."

You smile as you stand. "See you then."

The walk towards the door is a lot less intimidating now. Still, once you reach it, you can't bring yourself to immediately reach for the handle. You pause, letting out a breath before turning around. "Dr. Reid?"

He looks up, nodding once in a way that's meant to prompt you. Maybe it's overkill, but it feels necessary and it's too late to back out now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He doesn't look away from you after responding.

There's nothing left to expect, there are no words or anything else meant to be said. That's not enough to stop some unknown feeling from wedging itself between your ribs, urging you to something, to say anything that might come close to offering him the same kind of understanding he's given you.

"I hope you find a less weird, too."

He doesn't respond, but something about the look behind his eyes and his slight nod makes you feel okay about leaving him.

----

There are few ideologies that have clung to him, and even fewer that have managed to bind themselves to some integral part of his being that exists beneath his skin.

The pursuit of knowledge is one of the few constants Spencer Reid allows himself to rely on, one of the only things he allows himself to consider a saving grace. However, circumstance has prevented his views on the subject from skewing. The irony of the fact that some things are better left unknown is not lost on him.

For example, the girl that walked into his office and immediately saw through him, is better left a mystery. He'd see her in class, he'd answer her questions, he'd grade her work and offer her necessary feedback--but he will not know her.

It's a mantra, a promise that he repeats in his head again and again as his attention falls to the desktop in front of him. He attempts to grasp onto this lack of knowledge, to transform it into a tangible entity to keep him from typing your name into the search engine.

----

a/n spencer entering his garcia era while googling reader 💻🧑‍💻

anyways in ur interested in part 2 or would like to be tagged let me know!!

I need this

Aaron’s wife getting drunk on spiked egg nog at a party with the rest of the BAU and she’s just all over Aaron. Kissing every part of his face and pinching his cheeks, she even tells the rest of the team cute stuff he does for her and being like “isn’t he the bestest hubby ever?!” Aaron’s just in the corner blushing lol

lovestruck and eggnog

!!!!!!!!!!!<3333 cw; fem!reader, reader is intoxicated, mentions of drinking, fluff, small allusions to sex/praise

in the midst of the party, you made your way back to aaron. he's been seated in the same spot for a while - exactly where you had been with him an hour ago - but still, his presence surprised you, your few glasses of spiked eggnog all to thank.

you promptly dropped yourself onto his lap, absolutely buzzing. your voice was on the sing-song side, your words slurring together the smallest amount. "hi handsome."

"hi honey," aaron chuckled quietly, amusingly wrapping an arm securely around your waist. his eyes scanned you, quick to notice your current state. "having fun?"

"a ton." you nodded giddily, "especially now, now that i'm with you." you reached past him, grabbing the santa hat perched atop derek's head - "hey!" - and sloppily onto aaron's, rather lopsidedly at that.

a giggle erupted from you, "look how cute you look!" you turned to derek, wrapping your arms loosely around aaron's neck. you squeezed him softly, causing your cheek to come flush with his. "isn't he so cute?"

derek snorted faintly, covering it up by bringing his drink to his lips. "he's a stunner, for sure."

aaron subtly glared at morgan, while you continued. "i love you, just so much." you placed a kiss on his cheek. and then another. and then another.

aaron laughed gently as his hands sprawled across the span of your back, holding you close - and steadily - to him. the more you littered kisses across his skin, the more his cheeks flushed, "what're you doing?"

"loving on you silly." you gave him an almost offended look, before your face returned to that soft, lovey-dovey expression. "because i love you. and i love being your wife." you took his face in your hands, planting a kiss onto his lips. "i love that i get to do this wheneverrr i want."

quick to reciprocate, but more reservedly in view of his colleagues, aaron gave you one more, small peck, "i love you too darling."

"you're perfect." your focus went back to derek, as emily and penelope joined the three of you as well. "he's perfect. wanna know what perfect things he does?"

"don't hold back on us," emily egged you on completely, at the playful expense of aaron - she shot him thoroughly entertained look.

"he gives me soo many back rubs, especially if i have a bad day. he leaves me sticky notes everywhere. on my coffee mug, on the bathroom mirror, on my pillow if he leaves early. i find a ton when you're all gone on a case, i don't even know how he does it." your nose scrunched a tad, befuddlement in your voice. "must be magic."

"and what do these notes say?" penelope asked eagerly, as if she's been waiting forever to hear details when it comes to a certain boss. (to be fair, she has.) (more often than not, you've spared them the specifics just as much as aaron.)

a wickedness came forth in your eyes, your lips pulling into a smirk. your hand found the back of aaron's neck, your fingers brushing through the nape of his hair. "he left me one yesterday that said he'd like to-"

"okay." aaron interrupted, kissing the spot of skin behind your ear and halting your words. "sweetheart, if you continue, i'll never hear the end of it."

you complied, but just for a second. "he's just so cute." you cheesed, pinching his cheek gently. despite the fact you were very much inebriated, you were well aware enough to not actually hurt him. "he's all i want for christmas." after your statement, your smirk quickly resurfaced, your current no-filter flowing freely. "i've been a good girl, haven't i, aaron?"

another snort exited a wide-eyed derek, and you missed the others' very taken aback reaction as your gaze shifted to aaron, whose blush was prominent as ever.

"what?" you pouted softly, confusion arising on your face.

a mix between a sigh and a breathless laugh left aaron through his nose, affectionately patting your hip and transferring the santa hat onto your head, "i think that's enough eggnog for you tonight."

such a heavy topic written so tactfully and this fic is just incredible.

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” -Friedrich Nietzsche 

Summary:

Since you joined the BAU, you have been keeping a terrible secret from the team.

When the team takes a case in your hometown - your festering secret comes to be known with a vengeance.

Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Criminal Minds Season 3.

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a general casefic - there is no romantic pairings in this fic, it is more about the mystery of the case and how the reader character fits into it (if this were a real Criminal Minds episode, this would be the episode named after the reader) - with that being said, the main relationship focuses are between Emily and the reader and Spencer and the reader (because I am biased and I love them) but there isn’t any romantic threads or romantic tones, it is all platonic; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and is described as a woman, but I went out of my way to make sure that there is no descriptions of the readers looks or body type; there is use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); mentions of the reader being from Georgia (because the case takes place in her hometown); smoking/cigarettes - mentions of the reader character smoking tobacco; mentions of the reader character being injured (severely in a past incident, and minor injuries during the course of the fic); mentions of vomit/mentions of the reader character throwing up; lots of warnings for general Criminal Minds topics; murder, killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, guns/gun violence, mentions of rape and sexual violence, mentions of systematic violence towards women; there is no graphic depictions of rape/no rape scenes in the fic, but there is mentions of the event of rape happening to certain characters, references to rape culture, and the shame/guilt/self blame a rape victim feels; mentions of stalking/stalking behaviors - including the delusion mindset of a stalker, obsessiveness, sending someone unwanted letters, mentions of a ‘one sided’ relationship; mentions of trauma/PTSD; descriptions of symptoms of PTSD; themes surrounding the cycle of violence; I did kind of purposefully make the warnings a bit more vague than I usually do, because I really don’t want to spoil the plot of this fic. But as lot as you are okay with the maturity of all these themes, you should be okay with this fic!!

A/N: This is pretty much 100% inspired by the music video for Figure It Out by Royal Blood - which the fic is named after. I highly recommend watching the music video, because it is fucking art in my opinion, but I have taken such heavy inspiration from it in terms of the style, tone, and even storyline - so the music video kind of spoils this fic. So probably watch it after you read the fic lmao. I also feel like the instrumental version of the song goes very well with this fic. This fic is not at all typical and I am terrified that people won't like it, or that they won't 'get it'. But I am very proud of it, so I am going to put it out there and hope that people enjoy it. So - please enjoy!! I really love writing Criminal Minds casefics and coming up with the details of a case, and writing it in this style was so, so exciting and interesting for me, and I really do hope that you can enjoy reading it.

...

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche 

...

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret more palpable in your lungs. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would soon be resigned to a cage. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. 

Ten more minutes. 

“I just want to talk.” 

So caught up in your thoughts, your mind so foggy from the hectic night - you had almost forgotten that there was someone sitting in front of you. 

He looked so entirely stiff - wearing his cookie cutter suit and his carved-in scowl. He did nothing to shift your mood. 

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.” 

He continued on, using a monotone, would-be soothing voice when you didn’t say anything. 

The metal chair felt stiffer underneath you, and you felt further suffocated within that small, concrete box. 

You felt inclined to call it an interrogation, but you wouldn’t be so quick to tell him that. It’s not like you were going to tell him what he wanted to hear. 

“You can smoke in here if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He added on, pushing something from the middle of the table toward you. 

A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was also an ashtray. A collection of things that someone had put there, knowing that you would be resigned to this tiny, tiny room. 

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Hotch.” You huffed, saying his name, using the same technique that he would likely be using on you. You could mirror him, get ahead on the mind games. “I’m not as crazy and detached from reality as you think I am.” 

Perhaps that was a false statement. You weren’t even sure how crazy he thought you were. Perhaps, that in itself made you detached from reality. You couldn’t be sure. 

Nonetheless, you took him up on the offer. You reached out and eagerly picked up the pack of smokes, ripping off the outer plastic before you took one out, shoving the tip between your lips and lighting it up. 

You took a heavy draw, and the nicotine throbbed through you. Seemingly adding to the headache you already had from the large gash on your forehead that they had hastily bandaged before bringing you in here, rather than relieving it. Still, you sucked on the cigarette like it was your only lifeline - taking a moment to tap some of the ash into the small ashtray while you stared at Hotch carefully. 

You wondered if you should really tell him all the gory details. 

“Just tell me what happened. Tell me your side of the story.” Hotch said, trying his best to sound warm and convincing. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Just like you are.” 

Perhaps your biggest regret was that you were here, cooped up in this hole - and he was in the hospital somewhere, laying in a soft bed, being attended to by nurses, being comforted. The fact that he was still breathing - even with the assistance of a tube down his throat, and not in a body bag.

“You’ll never look at me the same if I do tell you.” You managed to find these words, and these words only. Ominous, almost threatening - more so than you intended. 

“I won’t.” He returned. Shallow, fallible. 

Suddenly, a crash from the hallway broke the tense silence that was brewing between the two of you. The door was thick, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the ruckus coming from outside. 

“No! No! You have to let me through! I have to be in there!” 

The voice was familiar, but that tone of desperation certainly was not. 

“Reid, he specifically told us to sit this one out-” 

“Sit this one out?!” Reid repeated the words back, his voice warping with pure shock, the inability to conceptualize such a thing. “You expect me to just sit out?” He scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me, two more people would be dead, and there wouldn’t even be a ‘this one’! Now let. Me. Through.” 

“Reid-” 

With all his bolstering stubbornness, he shoved past whoever had been trying to stop him, and as you took another heavy puff off your cigarette, the interrogation room door came flying open. 

Hotch stood up, rushing to block the door, but you smiled. Though you were numb from the day’s events - it was your natural instinct upon seeing him. 

“Reid-” Hotch choked out, trying to block the gangly man from even entering the room. 

“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” You greeted him gently. 

Upon seeing your reaction - so much more open and warm - Hotch allowed him in. This was the wedge that he needed to pry you open. Reid closed the door behind himself with an indigent huff and a glare toward his superior. 

Reid crossed his arms, hovering near the door as he turned his stiff-jawed glare toward you now. Your cigarette turned to a hot cherry in your hands - sucked to death already, and you stubbed it out in the tray before starting a new one. You knew chain-smoking was an even filthier habit than the occasional ciggy, but you had one hell of a day under your belt. If there was ever a time, it was now. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Reid asked, his voice stiff and oppositional. 

“Oh, so many things.” You said, your tone clever and unphased. Hotch let out a sigh as he sat back down in his chair. He was glad that you were talking openly now, at least. “Shall we go in alphabetical order, or start at my birth and work or way back from there?” 

Reid let out another nasal thick sound. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for banter. 

You were met with nothing but a stony wall of silence, and cold glares of disapproval. It almost made you feel guilty. Almost. 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid corrected you. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

Prentiss led the team as they searched through the house. It was the only solid lead they had as to where you might be. It was a house that your parents used to own - a place of significance because you had lived there the summer when it first happened. 

“Clear!” 

She went through the living room, the kitchen, the entire first floor, leading the team with Reid at her side, guns drawn. 

“Clear!” 

As she crested the top of the stairs, she heard sobbing. 

It was distinct - something that tugged harshly on her heartstrings. 

Even though it was against protocol not to clear the rooms in order, she rushed toward it. Reid continued to flank her - obviously he had heard the noise too. 

Prentiss landed a sharp kick on the door’s handle, causing it to fling open. 

The picture on display in front of her almost caused her to drop her gun. 

Hotch had been right. 

You were on top of the man, straddling him. Both you and the man were badly beaten - but right off the bat, Prentiss could tell that he was far worse off. Clearly, you had bested him in the fight this time. 

The contents of the room strewn about; broken glass, busted furniture, the curtain rod torn down. It looked like the remnants of a bad WWE brawl. You were the picture of desperation - heavy, hot tears coming from your eyes, blood smearing down your face from a gash on your forehead as you stared down the man beneath you with fiery madness in your eyes. 

You had a knife to his throat. A large hunting knife - the same kind that all the other victims had been stabbed with. 

You had the tip of it poised to his throat, just barely touching his skin. If you put any amount of pressure on the blade - if you bared down, then you would slice right through his esophagus. It would take almost no effort from you at all to end his life. 

From what Prentiss could see, the man was unconscious. He was completely slack, his body still on the ground. He was bleeding from a small head wound. His life was entirely in your hands. He couldn’t fight back. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of the confrontation with your life’s biggest monster. 

Though it went against everything inside of her, Emily kept her gun raised. She kept her arms stiff, keeping her gun pointed at you. As much as she detested that man, knowing what he had done - it was her job to shoot you if you tried to kill him. Right now, she hated that job. 

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply. 

You didn’t move. 

Naturally, Reid, in all of his softness and empathy, slackened his arms and holstered his gun before anyone could blink. 

“Come on, put it down.” She tried again. 

You ignored Prentiss entirely, your hands still shaking, making no moves to lift the knife away from the man’s throat. 

Reid moved to step into the room, and from his view at the top of the stairs, arms stiff and gun pointed in your general direction - Hotch called out to him. 

“Reid-!” He tried to warn Reid against doing this. Of course, he didn’t listen. 

Reid knelt down beside you, posturing in surrender with his arms. Of course, he wasn’t even on your radar at the moment. Your entire gaze, your entire focus was on the unconscious man underneath you - the true target of your agony. 

“Y/N,” Reid said your name calmly, trying to capture your attention. “You don’t have to do this.” 

You hesitated for a moment, and Prentiss worried that even his gentle voice wouldn’t be able to get through to you. 

“I have to.” You sobbed out. More heavy tears slid down your face, and you began to shake more visibly, shockwaves moving throughout your entire body. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

It made Prentiss’ heart jump inside of her chest. If it wasn’t protocol, she would have dropped her gun and run over to comfort you with a hug. But she knew that you weren’t in the most stable place. You might have tried to stab her with the knife. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, trampling over his quiet voice. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her. 

If you didn’t move off of the unconscious man soon, then she would have to take you down. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. She had faith in Reid. 

“We both know that’s not true.” Reid told you. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t mean for this to happen-” 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

At this point he was doing some pleading of his own - but your hands were unsteady and you still refused to look at him. 

You weren’t going to give up the fight that easily. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Somewhere On The Country Backroads - Madison, GA. 2:11AM.

“I want two squad cars down the road, I want state police cutting off all the possible exits to the major highways.” Agent Hotchner was on the scene, doing what he did best - giving orders. “I want to cut off any chance of possible escape incase the suspect tries to flee-” 

“Hotch, do you really think that’s necessary?” Morgan asked. “We’ve got the house. Thermal cam’s got two bodies on the second floor. There’s nowhere to run from here. We’ve got spike strips on all the dirt roads. No car is getting past any of that. It should function as a hard extraction from here.” 

Hotch glared at Morgan as he fastened the straps on his bulletproof vest. The glare of the red and blue lights from the squad cars only made the deep frown lines on his face look firmer. 

“I am not taking any chances.” Hotch said. “We both know this is an incredibly delicate matter. We found one of the victims across state lines. We know this suspect has mobility. I’m not risking finding another body.” 

The air became tense as everyone realized what he meant by ‘another body’. 

“I want tactical swat to go in first-” Hotch began, and was quickly cut off by Morgan. 

“You’re sending in swat when there’s a hostage in there?” Morgan questioned harshly. 

“Even if we go in there blazing, showing force, she might not come in quietly.” Hotch explained.

“You’re serious?” Prentiss replied, hooking the wire of her earpiece around her ear in order to tuck the mic in. “She’s the one you’re worried about? She’s a victim in all this.” 

“You saw the incident report.” Hotch reminded her. “The amount of defensive wounds she had… the first time he attacked her, she fought back hard. She’s desperate, she’s feeling cornered, she-” 

“She’s terrified right now.” Prentiss pressed harshly. “She doesn’t need a bunch of men going in there waving guns in her face.” 

“She could sacrifice him.” Hotch theorized, further trying to prove his point. “This could be her chance to finally get justice. Finally getting rid of the man who’s tormented her for all these years.”

“So we have to bring them both in. Quietly.” Morgan said. “We can’t just go in there shooting. If your theory is correct, then she could use him as a human shield.” 

Hotch nodded. “Fine. No tactical swat. Prentiss, you take the lead.” 

“Yeah, and I’m taking Reid with me.” Prentiss told him sharply. “Somebody with a little compassion around here.” 

Prentiss nodded and scoffed, walking past Hotch, gently whispering ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ on her way to get in the car with Reid. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

When JJ let out a harsh sigh, Emily turned to her, swiveling in the borrowed office chair with a creak. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Don’t you feel that?” JJ replied. Emily shrugged, waiting a moment for her to finish the thought. “That… overwhelming feeling of dread?” 

Of course, it was obvious. No leads. No breaks in the case. 

It was hopeless. 

“Come on, I thought you were the hopeful one.” Rossi pointed out, tossing his empty paper coffee cup into a nearby trash can. 

“How can I be hopeful when one of my best friends is caught up in all this?” JJ fired back. “If she-” 

Before she could finish that thought, Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

You knew that it was cruel, but you couldn’t help but to enjoy his groans of pain. 

There had been so many others - so many monsters to take down. So many men that you had gotten rid of without a second thought. Men you had put bullets in that didn’t mean as much to you as this. So many others you had easily forgotten about. But he had taunted your soul in a special way. And you knew that you were enjoying this too much. 

“Tell me you like it!” 

You screamed, taking another downward swing with the piece of wood - a leg broken off from the chair he had bound you to. He had been convinced that you wouldn’t break free. Laughable. He should have known better.  

When he didn’t respond, you took another swing. 

You could have stopped. You could have ended it. But you didn’t. 

“Come on, tell me you like it!” 

You screamed in his face, sputtering blood across him. At one point, he had punched you in the mouth. You weren’t exactly sure where the blood was coming from. You didn’t exactly care.

That would be your excuse.  

He had hit you too. You were battered. You were just a fragile woman, after all. 

“You’re a fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He coughed, sputtering out some blood himself. “I… I always liked that about you. It was one of the reasons I fell in love.” 

He grinned - bright red spread out across his teeth, and it gave you the intense desire to see those teeth missing. To make him swallow them. 

“You don’t love me.” You told him firmly. “You just get an adrenaline rush from being around me because I’m not afraid of you.” You explained. “Unlike the other whores, I fight.” 

While you were preoccupied with the words, he flipped onto his stomach and began crawling across the floor. 

He thought you were too stupid to notice, but he was inching his way toward the hunting knife that had been thrown out of his hand during the scuffle. It was a slow, sluggish crawl. You had broken a few of his ribs, his kneecap. It was nice to see him so slow. You had probably severely damaged his internal organs with how hard you had been beating him with the makeshift baton. 

It was worse than last time. You stood above him like a menace - watching and waiting. You hated that you knew you would take an odd kind of joy in removing his hope when you stole the knife from his grip. 

Just as he grazed his fingers across it, you brought another harsh swing down across his achilles tendon, causing him to scream out in pain. 

You still had a lot of strength left in you. He was tiring out. 

He was losing the game. 

“Come on baby, tell me how you like it.” You continued to mock him. “Tell me how good I am.” 

“Fuck you.” He moaned out. 

You felt satisfaction bloom inside of you - those were the words. 

He had finally given up hope. He had finally realized that maybe: he wasn’t going to beat you. Maybe he wasn’t above you on the playing field anymore. He was fucking around with a fellow predator, not toying with his prey.  

“Oh baby. You know I’m only doing this because I love you.” You said, repeating his own words back to him in a cruel mockery. 

That was when he realized: this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. This was a culling. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Just Outside of Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:04AM.

Reid needed some air. 

Working on the case so diligently, not coming up with any leads. It was intensely difficult. Letting the balmy summer Southern air flow over him, getting a good gulp of the fresh air into his lungs - it was a bit more awakening than drinking his sixth cup of coffee for that day. 

He was surprised when he rounded a corner, trying to go for a short walk to stretch his legs, and he saw a very recognizable face hovering near a gray Honda. 

“Mrs. L/N?” He posed, approaching her gently. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

JJ had promised to call her if there were any updates. Reid didn’t want to disappoint her by telling her that there were none. 

“It’s Miss L/N.” She said quietly. “I never married.” 

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.” 

She looked deeply troubled. 

Reid waited patiently for her to reply to his initial question - for her to tell him whatever was burdening her. If he was lucky, it could help with the case. It was always the families who could help put those final puzzle pieces into place. That was something Gideon taught him, so he took it as sacred advice. 

“You’re Doctor Reid, aren’t you?” She posed, stepping forward to approach him slightly - still stiff, still stand-off-ish. He easily understood why. He nodded in response. “My daughter speaks very fondly of you.” 

Reid cracked a small smile at this. 

His attention was then brought to a small box - a shoe box as she held it out to him. 

“I don’t mean to bother you at this late hour, but… you said to let you know if I thought of anything that might help you.” She reminded him. He nodded again. “And I - well, the reason I didn’t bring these up the first time… you can understand that I have a need to protect my daughter?” 

“Of course.” He affirmed. “It’s every parent’s natural instinct to protect their child.” 

She looked solemn at his words. 

“I had no idea that… that what happened to her could potentially be connected to these… these murders in any possible way.” She told him, shuddering as the word passed through her lips. “I was just trying to shield her, you have to understand.” 

She handed him the shoebox, and when he took it and lifted off the lid, it took him only a moment to understand. He would need to find a quiet place to fully inspect the contents, but it was all being pieced together in his mind now. 

“Thank you for bringing me this.” He told her quietly. 

“Doctor Reid, you have to promise me that you’ll bring my daughter home unharmed.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. “She’s a good girl. Please, just bring her home.” 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise her that. Not under the circumstances. 

“Ma’am… I will try my best. That is all I can promise you.” He told her. 

She nodded in quiet understanding before Reid turned and marched back inside. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 11:03PM.

The flint of the lighter flicking seemed to be the loudest thing in the room in that moment - even with the low hum of the eleven o’clock news playing in the background. 

It was so odd. Everything was exactly like you remembered it. Withered - but the same. 

Even the chair you were sitting in. The old wooden chair that had been lugged up from the kitchen, one that you used to sit in for hours and do homework - it was rickety, but somehow the same. 

You took a sharp drag off the cigarette after it was lit for you, continuing to listen to the feminine voice on the radio as the news played. 

“I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Madison Police Department. Tonight, we are making an urgent appeal to the public for information. Earlier this evening, a woman went missing in the area of-” 

“I never took you for a smoker.” He said, his voice sharp and confident in the words. 

You tapped your cigarette into the ashtray with your free hand before raising it up to your lips to take another drag. Right now, the smoke heavy in your lungs was the only thing keeping you sane. 

“I never smelled it on you back then.” He added on when you didn’t respond to him. “Bitches who smoke always smell like dirtbags. You just… smelled nice.” 

“I didn’t smoke back then.” You quietly replied. 

He had driven you to take up the habit. 

You took another drag of your cigarette - you wanted to enjoy it. The longer you could drag it out, literally, the longer you could delay the inevitable. 

“-The suspect was last seen driving a blue and white, 1970s Ford truck. If you see the vehicle, please-” 

“They’re lookin’ for ya.” He said casually, nodding toward the radio. 

You wished they weren’t. 

You directed the conversation elsewhere. 

“Tell me how this is gonna end.” You urged him quietly, ashing your cigarette again. 

“You and I both know… this was only ever gonna end one way.” He told you, his voice irritably cocky. 

He had you now. He had won. 

“-We believe that this abduction is connected to a string of recent murders in the area. It is critical that if you have any information, you call our tip line at-” 

He rose from his spot then, and turned off the radio. 

The silence was gutting. 

He moved toward the door, but you abruptly caught his attention. 

“Remember,” You told him. “You made me a promise.” You said quietly. “No more. No more girls.” 

He chuckled at this. “Of course, darlin’. No more.” 

It felt like a lie. 

“But only because I love you.” He gave a filthy grin along with these words, and your insides shuddered. 

You knew that he wasn’t actually capable of love. You had known that from the moment you first laid eyes on him. 

You didn’t bother to muster any words in return. 

He crossed the room back toward you and leaned down, planting a kiss on your forehead. Your body stiffened, entirely stony toward it. It was selfish on his part - loving on you like a doll, rather than trying to bring you any comfort. 

He moved back to the door silently. 

You worried about what would happen the moment he went out the door. He turned to you just before he left. 

“Don’t run off now.” He said with a wink. Ego. Sarcasm. 

“Where am I gonna go, Dan?” You sighed. 

You lifted your tethered hand up to drive the point home, and the clink of handcuffs was now apparent in the otherwise silent room. 

He shut the door with a chuckle. You put out your cigarette in the ashtray, reaching for the loose spoke in the back of the chair. This was a chair that you used to sit in for hours while studying. That loose spoke used to bug you all the time. 

It came free after only a few tugs. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 10:24PM.

The previously dark parking lot of the secluded, back country convenience store was now entirely lit up with red and blue. Four police cars had crowded into the area, surrounding the place where you had last been seen. 

Inside, under the harsh white fluorescent lights of the store, Hotchner and Prentiss were interviewing the store clerk - a young man who had supposedly been the last person to speak to you before the abduction. 

“So, you’re sure that you didn’t see anything?” Hotch pressed the young man - someone who seemed so entirely nervous under his harsh, unmoving gaze. 

“I swear, man, I didn’t see anything.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “She was parked in the back of the parking lot, and once you walk around the corner, there’s no way to see someone through the doors. It’s like - like a total blind spot, man.” 

“The UnSub had to have known that.” Hotch noted quietly, turning to Prentiss. “He approached her knowing that he wouldn’t be seen.” 

“Do you think he was waiting out there?” Prentiss wondered aloud. 

Then she turned back to the clerk. 

“Was there a man in here before she came in? He would have been in his 30s. Very cold, he wouldn’t have said anything. Just paid quietly and left. He might not have even bought anything - he might have just walked around, checking the blind spots. And if you asked him what he was looking for, he would have given you a glare rather than speaking. This man is not sociable. He’s very distant. He likely wouldn’t have looked you in the eye.” 

The clerk shook his head. 

“No, nobody like that.” He explained. “That lady - she was my first customer in, like, hours. She just bought her ciggies and left. And I thought it was weird cause she bought a lighter too. Most smokers already have a lighter on them.” 

“I didn’t know Y/N smoked.” Prentiss said quietly. 

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed. 

Hotch’s attention was captured by a screen behind the counter - surveillance feed, showing several different places inside the store. There was one camera just outside the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, that camera was pointed at that ‘blind spot’ in the parking lot. 

Without asking permission, he raised the partition and walked around the counter, his eyes hyper-focused on the screen. 

“Can you get me this footage from a few hours ago?” He prompted toward the clerk. “The view of the parking lot. We need to see what L/N did after she left the store.” 

The clerk nodded and began typing things onto the keyboard, and Hotch prompted him to stop when he saw you appear on the footage. Prentiss came around the counter as well, leaving the three of them crowded in close to the small screen as they watched the past version of you. 

You walked across the parking lot - toward your car, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You were making determined steps - until something stopped you. 

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted. 

Then - something entirely strange happened. While staring at the man off screen, you leaned against your car, and began ashing your cigarette, as if chatting idly with him. 

“He’s not using force.” Hotch thought aloud. “Do you think he’s got a gun trained on her?” 

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly. 

He was out of the frame, so it was only a guess. 

Then, after a few moments of this - you simply walked off. You walked in the direction he had been standing. 

“Did - did she just go with him willingly?” Prentiss gaped, entirely in shock. 

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone. 

He stormed out into the parking lot, frantically gazing around. Prentiss followed him, chasing his chaotic energy. 

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!” 

“We need more camera angles! We need-” 

“Calm down.” She urged, grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He rasped. “Why would she go with him willingly? Why - why? Why would she?” He was frantic. “He must have threatened her. He must have-” 

They both didn’t want to think of the obvious. 

That you didn’t fear him. That - it hadn’t even been an abduction. 

“He must have threatened her.” Prentiss easily agreed. “She wouldn’t have gone with him otherwise.” 

They didn’t bring up the fact that you had a gun and plenty of training on how to use it. They didn’t bring up the fact that the profile said the UnSub couldn’t easily charm - he would have kidnapped you by force. 

Unless you were special. Unless he thought he could talk to you specifically for some reason. 

“Guys, what’s the news?” JJ asked, finally walking onto the scene. 

She hated the grave looks on Prentiss and Hotch’s faces. 

“I want you to put a press conference together.” Hotch said, straightening himself out and turning to her. “Make an appeal for witnesses. Tell them that there’s been a woman abducted in the area, but don’t tell them that L/N a Federal Agent. It could set the UnSub off if he believes that this abduction is being treated with a higher priority. If he feels a higher pressure from law enforcement, he might-” 

“Right.” JJ nodded. Hotch didn’t need to say the words in order for her to understand. “So: release her name and her photo, but act like she’s just a regular civilian?” 

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.” 

“If I get going now, I think I could still make the eleven o’clock news.” JJ said, rushing off with her cell pressed to her ear. 

“Let’s just hope that it brings Y/N home safely.” 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 8:03PM.

You felt an odd amount of relief having nicotine in your system again. 

This was the first time you had smoked a cigarette in years. You had quit the habit shortly after you joined the FBI Academy when one of your advisers warned you that it might cause you to fail the fitness test. And you felt like you should just knock the habit, seeing as the only reason you had taken it up was because of… him. 

But - all of this was so triggering. Being back in your same small shitty town. Feeling it suffocating you like a plastic bag. 

The murders. 

You sucked on the cigarette for dear life as you walked back to your car, and just as you were about to get in - the windows of the car open, inviting in the sweet summer air, the keys still inside because you did feel an odd amount of trust in your hometown - something captured your attention. 

“Y/N.” 

Hearing your name in that voice made you freeze on the spot. The warm breeze felt like ice against your skin as you took your hand off the door handle, turning toward him. 

“You’re lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’.” 

“You.” You ground out the word with as much disdain as possible, hot rage boiling in your blood as you looked at him. “I should have known it was you.” 

He let out a sharp chuckle - a sound that made your throat tighten up. He flicked his tongue out across his teeth, grinning his terrible Cheshire grin at you. 

A hand instinctively went for your gun, and your palm hit an empty section of your belt. He let out another sharp chuckle when his eyes followed yours, making the same realization that you did. 

You had left it sitting on the passenger’s seat of the car. Right beside your phone. 

You wondered if you could dive through the open window before he could get to you. When he made a posturing move, brushing his unbuttoned plaid shirt away and revealing the gun he had strapped to his belt underneath - you realized he would shoot you if you moved too quickly. 

You were stuck. 

“Of course it’s me, baby.” He said, casually replying to your earlier words. “You had to know that I did all this for you. For us.” 

Giving into your fate, you propped yourself against the side of the car - trying desperately to steady your wobbling legs without making it look like you were doing so. You tapped your cigarette, spilling some of the ash before you brought it to your lips once again. 

“I missed you like hell.” He told you with a snakeskin grin. 

“I didn’t miss you.” You bitterly fired back. “Not for a fucking second.” 

“Guess I made it difficult to miss me, huh?” He said, cocky as ever. “With my frequent correspondence and all?” 

“You know what I meant.” You fired back.

You glared at him sharply but didn’t say anything more, afraid that he would whip the gun out and shoot you. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, something that sounded utterly sarcastic. 

“Ooh, darlin’ that’s harsh.” He said. “That would almost hurt. If I didn’t know the truth.” 

You wanted to argue. You took in another large drag to help hold your tongue. You knew the results of arguing with him - it wasn’t worth it. 

“So… I think you know how this goes.” He announced. “You can come with me now. Or… I can go get another girl.” 

“No more girls.” You told him. “I’m here now. You won. Whatever business you have - it’s with me.” 

You stamped out your cigarette as you walked toward him, and your phone began to ring on the front seat as his truck rumbled to life and pulled out of the parking lot. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 7:26PM.

“Hello! Everyone, listen up.” Hotch called everyone to attention as the local police continued to filter in, most of them standing around with cups of coffee in hand or notebooks out, ready to take notes. “We’re ready to give the profile.” 

“Yes, and please keep in mind that this is just a general set of guidelines describing the suspect.” Rossi said. “This is not a concrete list of things you should be looking for. A profile is more useful in the elimination of suspects, rather than the inclusion of them.” 

He then turned to Derek, who began reciting the profile that the team had put together so far. 

“This UnSub, or Unknown Subject, is most likely a white male in his thirties to forties.” Morgan explained. “He drives an American made vehicle, something large enough to conceal and transport victims, and something that has off-road capability in order to get to the more secluded areas where some of the bodies were found. So think trucks, heavy duty vans, anything with thick treads on the tires and a large payload. And his vehicle will most likely be in a more discreet color. This guy won’t be driving around in something flashy. He’ll be in something that blends into the background, like a beige or black truck.” 

“So what?” One of the local cops piped up. “We put out an APB for every single heavy duty black truck in the area? This is the south, do you have any idea how many people around here drive a truck? Especially ones driven by men in their forties.” 

“There’s more.” Hotch noted, looking toward you. 

“This UnSub likely believes that he is dating these women in some capacity before he kills them.” You explained. “He has left scraps of poetry at the scenes, pages of romance novels - several of the victims had wine in their stomachs or burns from candle wax on their skin. And it’s highly likely that he turns violent when the women reject his advances, or don’t live up to the fictionalized relationship he has made up about them in his mind.” 

“How does that help us?” Someone asked. 

“Well, it’s very likely that he frequents the same hunting grounds.” Rossi explained. “We encourage you to go to local bars, and nightclubs, even gyms or cafes and pass out the profile to women who fit this type.” He said, motioning toward the pictures of the other victims. “He will be on the hunt again soon, and he has a very narrow hunting ground, living in such a lowly populated area. So we might be able to catch him off guard if his potential victims have the profile as well.” 

“This man is romantic, but he’s not charming.” You added on. “He isn’t sociable. He’s very cocky, very self-centered. He believes that he is God’s gift to women, and he has a very fractured sense of reality in general. If women reject him in everyday interactions, he will get noticeably irritated, and even violent. So he will be remembered as an unpleasant person in most women’s stories.” 

“This UnSub most likely has an inside knowledge of law enforcement.” Reid stated. “But, because he has a very antisocial personality, he wouldn’t do well working with the public. We currently have our analyst combing through files of those who flunked out of the police academy or live in the area and are retired from the military in some capacity. We believe that he might have even been in prison for an unrelated crime or institutionalized at some point, giving him a close look at the inner workings of law enforcement, and also attributing to the large break between the first two crimes.” 

Reid took a breath, and then continued on. 

“He was knowledgeable enough to purposefully dump one of the bodies across state lines in order to get the FBI involved in this case, but it was just one of the bodies, and it was dumped in a very well trackied area where it would be found. So that leaves a heavy insistence that he was fed-up with the local police not giving his case enough attention or - simply not being smart enough to keep up with him.” He explained. 

“He is very cocky.” Prentiss added on. “Incredibly over-confident. He is a narcissist to his core, and he believes that he will never be caught unless he wants to be. He thinks that he has an intricate cat-and-mouse game with law enforcement, and he can go off the grid and disappear at any time that he wants.” 

“Well… isn’t that true?” One of the cops asked. “I mean, the guy’s been at it for years and we still haven’t caught him. There’s no DNA, no real leads.” 

Hotch hummed, nodding. And then he walked over to the evidence board and motioned to the pictures of the two most recent victims - barely recognizable compared to the shining, smiling photos their families had provided. 

“We believe that he’s decompensating.” Hotch explained. “He is growing more violent toward each victim, which means that he is getting more sloppy - eventually, he will go off-book. He will break his routine in some way, and that will be the moment he’ll give us something to catch him with.” 

“So… you’re just waiting for him to kill again so you can actually catch the guy?” Someone asked sharply. 

“No.” You easily replied. “We’re praying it doesn’t come to that.” 

“Thank you everyone.” Hotch said, clearing his throat, giving an unconscious signal for everyone to disperse. “That’ll be all for now.” 

Everyone easily fell under his authority, and meandered back to what they had been doing before, now armed with the profile and ready to distribute it to members of the public, to the potential victims. 

You had a harshly, sickly feeling in your stomach as you gathered some of your files. It was the same feeling that had been turning your guts into knots since you had arrived back in Madison for the first time in years. Your eye accidentally caught the evidence board - the tall, intimidating wall lined with the gruesome photos of all the women. 

Women who looked strangely like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, same body type. All of them horribly brutalized and left for dead. All of them terrorized, tortured right up until their last moments.  

“Hey.” 

JJ’s voice snapped you out of your swirling dark cloud of thoughts, drawing your eyes away from the evidence board with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You huffed out a harsh breath as you let her guide you, turning around to face the blonde woman as she stared you down with a distinct look of concern knit across her features. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.” 

She had a point. You had been doing this job for some time. You had gone to the FBI Academy straight out of college, after getting a degree in criminal forensics. And none of it ever bothered you. You had learned about the study of blood spatter and the decomposition of bodies on live body farms, and you never flinched. 

But this case - it was getting to you. 

It was likely the first time anybody on the team had ever seen you so disturbed. 

“I’m fine.” You lied, trying to shrug off her touch. 

“Come on.” JJ sighed in return. “I don’t need to be a profiler to figure out that was a big fat lie.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. 

“You’re so brilliant.” You let out a sigh of your own, and put down your files on the nearby conference room table. You stretched out your back, deciding that you would give her an inch, hoping that she wouldn’t take a mile. “I’m freaked out. So what? Doesn’t everybody have room for a bad day?” 

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course, you can have a bad day.” Her lips pursed, and you knew there was more coming. “Is - is it anything more than that?” 

“I’m tired.” You lied again, hoping she wouldn’t call you out on it this time. “It’s been - what? More than twenty hours since we landed. For these guys it’s been years, searching for this bastard. I wanna catch him.” 

“We will.” JJ assured you, sounding rather dull in her declaration. 

“I’m gonna drive down the street and grab an energy drink or something.” You announced, grabbing your blazer off a nearby chair and putting it on. Not that you would need a jacket with the southern weather - but your cash and your keys were in the pockets. 

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled. 

“It’s been one of those days.” You replied, shaking your head as you walked out of the room. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 5:13PM.

“There’s still one thing that’s buggin’ the hell out of me.” Morgan announced as he walked back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

“That is?” You posed, looking up from the stack of personal files - potential suspects - that you were reading in order to engage him in the conversation. 

“What is with the two year hiatus from this guy?” He said, motioning to the board. 

The first victim had been abducted and killed all the way back in the summer of ‘99, but none of the other victims matched up until a missing person from September of 2001. And from there, the killings picked up in frequency - and the killer had taken over twenty six victims in and around Madison up until now. 

“It is weird.” You commented. “Usually after the first kill is when an UnSub is the most hungry for more. After that first taste for violence.” 

Morgan raised a brow at your strange choice of words and you shrugged it off. 

“Maybe he was hospitalized.” Reid said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to make this comment, studying the board with his own intense expression. “Institutionalized? Maybe he was arrested for something completely unrelated, like - drugs, outstanding traffic violations?” 

“That’s helpful.” You sighed. 

“It could be.” Reid replied, sipping his own coffee. “I mean, we theorized that this UnSub has pre-existing knowledge of law enforcement - if he was in prison, maybe he was reading up on the law while he was in there? Who has closer knowledge of the law than ex-cons?” 

“Good point.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll call Garcia and have her widen the search.” 

“She is gonna love that.” You mumbled under your breath, already frustrated with the large pile of potential suspects you had to go through. 

Morgan took out his cell and walked into the other room, and you heard a distant ‘hey mama!’ as he chirped to Garcia on the other end. 

Then, you heard another voice that was all too familiar to you. 

“See, you’ve all just been working so hard, I thought you could use some sustenance!” 

It was your mother. 

You rushed out of your seat to find her in the middle of the bullpen, handing out muffins from a large basket that she had in her hand. 

It wasn’t entirely surprising to you, but it made your stomach sink. She was too much of a social butterfly for your liking. She knew about the last time you had been in this police station, she talked too much. No. You couldn’t risk her telling anyone. 

“See, that one’s blueberry, you like blueberry?” She was chatting idly, being her usual overly social self. 

“Yes, thank you so much Ms. L/N,” Prentiss smiled as your mother pushed more food into her hands. 

“Oh please, call me-” 

You knew that you must have looked like a storm, walking toward her with a scowl on your face. 

“Ma!” You barked, much harsher than you meant to, causing her to look up at you abruptly. “Ma? What are you doing here?” 

“Well see, you’ve been here all day, and you’ve been working so hard, so I made dinner for you and your friends,” She grinned, motioning toward a large tinfoil tray filled with mac and cheese that she had placed onto one of the desks next to a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Naturally, a chunk of it was already missing. 

You wanted to scream when Reid walked over and began scooping out a portion for himself. 

“Ma, they’re not my friends, they’re my co-workers.” You said, exasperation ripe in your voice. 

You knew that this, too, ended up sounding much harsher than you had intended. As if you didn’t think of these people as friends. But you couldn’t stand the woman babying you. It’s not like she did much of that when you were an actual baby. 

“I’m an adult now, and-” You continued on, and she cut you off. 

“Oh yes, yes.” She nodded, reaching out to pinch your cheek in an utterly frustrating way. “Your co-workers.” 

“Please, Ma.” You sighed. “You can’t be here right now. This is a police station, not a bake sale.” 

“She can stay for a few minutes, can’t she?” Prentiss grinned, peeling the wrapper off her muffin. “We can take a break for dinner. I wanna hear some childhood stories about you.” 

Reid looked up eagerly at this, and you glared at both of them. 

“Oh, you should hear about the time she painted her face blue with the paint from-” Your mother began to tell a delightful embarrassing story, but you cut her off. 

“No.” You said sharply. “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. Important work. Once we actually catch the guy, I’ll bring everyone by the house for tea and cookies and you can show everyone my naked baby pictures, the whole nine yards. Just - not now.” 

You unceremoniously ripped the basket of muffins out of her hands and placed them on the desk beside the tray of mac and cheese, and she began to argue with you, calling you rude, telling you that she had raised you with better manners while you ushered her out the door. 

Prentiss and Reid exchanged a particular, concerned look as they watched you and your mother argue through the glass doors of the precinct. 

“Now what do you think that was all about?” Emily asked quietly. 

“For once, I have no idea.” Spencer mumbled in return. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Georgia Highway 72 - Madison, GA. 1:32PM.

“This is new.” Morgan noted as the two of you walked away from the SVU, approaching the dumpsite where the latest victim’s body had been found. “This guy doesn’t usually dump bodies out in the open. You think he was in a rush?” 

The two of you had been sent to check it out while Hotch and Prentiss spoke to the family, and the others went over evidence from the many pre-existing cases at the station. 

“Not likely.” You replied. “Preliminary report says there’s still no DNA, no skid marks from his tires, no shoe prints. He’s not getting sloppy.” You felt a sickly wave of vomit splash up as you looked at the woman - her ankles sticking out of the tall grass just off the edge of the highway, where she had been left, entirely visible for anybody passing by to see. “This was a present. Like a fuckin’ cat leaving a dead mouse on the porch. He wanted us to find her. And he wanted us to find her quickly.” 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Morgan noted, tentatively stepping into the grass and gently moving the long spokes of greenery back to get a better look at the victim. “He’s definitely escalating.” 

You crouched down to get a better look yourself, and you had to agree. 

Her face was almost entirely caved in, but it appeared to be from a series of blunt hits, and not from a singular swing with a heavy object. Between the pre-mortem swelling and the post-mortem rage, where he had continued to mutilate her even after her death, she was practically unrecognizable from the photo that her family had provided you with. The only reason the team had been able to confirm her identity for sure was that she had been reported missing, and she had been found wearing a unique custom charm bracelet that her parents could confirm belonged to her. 

You wished that you could guarantee they would never see her body in this state. 

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud. 

You hummed back in confusion. 

Before you could wonder any further about what he meant, he reached out and gently pried open the victim’s mouth, fishing out a small piece of plastic that he had seen sticking out from the corner of her swollen, bruised lips. He had to fight to get it out of her stiff, death rigored body, but when he was able to - a small plastic bag came out of her mouth. 

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper. 

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly. 

Naturally, he opened the bag and took out the paper, and you looked on with nervous curiosity as he read what was on the note. 

“You are the stars hidden by clouds.” He read aloud. “I know you’re there even when I can’t see you. Your shine peeks out and reaches me in the depths of my soul. Tell me your arms are long enough to reach me across oceans. Tell me someday we will be together, somehow, some way. Tell me that this love we have can survive being together as well as we’ve survived being apart. Tell me we are more than the chasm of our divide.” 

Bile splashed up in your throat. 

You hated that the quote was distinctly familiar to you. You hated how you knew it. 

You could still hear his voice in your head, and it made your bones quake. 

“Hmm.” Morgan looked over the paper thoughtfully. “It’s another page ripped out of a book. Just like the other one. I’ll call Garcia and have her look it up, maybe-” 

“You don’t have to.” You said, hoping that your throat wasn’t too painfully constricted around your words. “It’s Jacqueline Simon Gunn.” 

Morgan easily saw the haunted look behind your eyes - the years old terror that you were having a much harder time suppressing now. 

Oddly enough, it was a feeling that he knew well. Perhaps that’s why he saw it in you so easily. 

“You alright?” He bothered to ask, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’. 

“I’m fine.” You lied. “We should bring this back to everyone else.” 

You rushed away from the crime scene like a bat out of hell, and even though he knew he should have pressed further - he let you. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 10:08AM.

“Good morning, y’all.” 

The BAU was greeted by Chief Dalton, the Madison County Chief of Police, as you all filed into the small police department. 

“You can set up in the conference room over there, I hope we got y’all everything you need.” He said, flashing a warm, welcoming smile. 

“This looks fine, thank you.” JJ said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” She pointed to him, and he nodded in return - of course, rather than shaking hands. “This is Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and Agent L/N. Our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Morgan will be here later - they wanted to go and interview some of the families of the victims, get some more background information.” 

“L/N?” He motioned toward you, his eyes becoming fixated on you as you set down your bag and lifted one of the lids off the boxes to get a glance at some of the files. “That name sounds awful familiar to me - are you from Madison?” 

“Oh yes, I am,” You grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a handshake, to which he grinned back widely. “I grew up here. This is actually my first time back in years.” 

“Well, welcome home.” He said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” 

“Me too.” You easily agreed. 

You thought that would be the end of it, until: 

“You know I hardly recognized you. Such a pretty face, but the last time I saw you, you was beat to a darn pulp.” He remarked, giving a pained chuckle. 

Your stomach swelled with anxiety, and it felt like a pure balloon of concrete sitting inside of you. You felt all the eyes in the room on you - Rossi, JJ, Emily, Spencer - all of them staring you down as this man aired your dirty laundry like it was as casual as the weather report. 

“You came through here - what was it, the summer of ‘99? I’ll never forget that assault report. I’m surprised you can still see out of that right eye of yours, with the way-” 

“Coffee?” You cut him off when you managed to find your voice, rushing to change the subject and praying he would get the hint. “Where can I get a coffee around here? Long flight. And we’ve had an early morning. Long flight, going over the case.” 

You didn’t even realize you were tripping over your own words, repeating yourself in a rush to fill the air so he wouldn’t speak about the past anymore. 

“Oh, it’s right through there. In the break room.” He said, motioning vaguely behind him. 

“Would you mind showing me, please?” 

You knew it was cowardly, but you were now desperate to escape your colleagues, and wanted to drag the Chief away before he spilled anything else from his loose lips. 

He escorted you out of the room and it was only a mere moment before conversation ensued about the strange thing that had just happened. 

“Am I gonna be the first person to say ‘what the hell’?” Rossi asked, looking around to his teammates, who all had equally shocked and confused expressions. 

“It’s a small town. These people don’t exactly understand secrecy. Or tact.” JJ sighed. 

“Yeah, but why would Y/N keep that a secret from us?” Spencer asked, frowning. “If she was assaulted-” 

“Yeah, in the summer of ‘99.” Emily pressed. “That was a long time ago. Have you told everyone on the team every little detail about your life from ten years ago?” 

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her. 

“Whatever.” Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to profile her. We’re here to catch another scumbag and leave.” 

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

“If she wants to tell us about what happened, she will.” Rossi added on.  

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Outskirts of Madison - Madison, GA. 9:52AM.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” 

He had a perfect view of you through the scope of his gun. 

Of course, he would never hurt you. There was no bullet in that gun that was intended for you. This was just the perfect way to see you. Up close and personal. Just the way he liked it. 

This was the first time he had seen you in so long. You wore your makeup differently now - your hair was a bit different. But you were still his girl. 

“You’re gonna love the present I left for ya.” 

You spoke his language - violence. 

You wrote your life in blood, just like he did. 

You were perfect. His perfect girl. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Inside the BAU Jet - Somewhere Above America. 7:12AM.

“So, the ME dates eight of these victims from within the last year alone?” Prentiss questioned, looking over some of the files on the table in front of her. 

“Well, it’s difficult to tell with the soil erosion and the heavy rain that the area had recently, but they are significantly less decomposed than the others.” JJ explained. 

“What I don’t understand,” Morgan noted. “Why would he give up his gig now? I mean, twenty four victims in a mass grave in the middle of the woods, and he leaves a twenty-fifth victim in the middle of the road, clearly intending for police to find it. With a damn note attached, giving up the exact coordinates of his mass dumpsite. Why?”

“It is strange.” Reid agreed. “Typically, whenever killers have contact with the police, it is to taunt them for their inability to get caught, believing that the police are stupid and they as killers are invincible.” He said. Naturally, this rolled into a rant as more facts came to mind about the subject. 

“Serial killer Dennis Rader, also known as the BTK killer, standing for Blind, Torture, Kill - he taunted police with letters over a period of three decades, between 1974 and 1991, each one that he sent to the local police simply saying ‘good luck hunting’.” Reid explained. “Occasionally, he would send them graphic descriptions of how he had posed the bodies at each crime scene. And he was only caught when a floppy disc he sent to a local television station was traced back to a computer that he had used at his church.” 

Reid laughed at this revelation, finding it amusing. With all eyes staring at him, he reached the realization that this wasn’t helpful to the case at hand - and then he easily clammed up. 

“So, this UnSub gives up the dumpsite because… he’s feeling remorseful? He wants to get caught?” Rossi theorized. 

“The level of violence across these recent victims has no indication of remorse.” You replied. “One of the bodies found at the dumpsite was missing over half her teeth, and had all ten of her fingers broken in multiple places. Seemingly pre-mortem.” 

There was a heavy silence at this. 

“Perhaps he’s feeling ignored,” Hotch posed. “He feels like his crimes aren’t being well covered by the media and he wants glory. He finally wants recognition for what he’s done.” 

“Well, wouldn’t he have sent some kind of manifesto or another letter to the police?” Morgan posed. “And it seems like the guy went through a whole lot of trouble for a long time, trying not to get caught. He buried them out in the woods, secluded. Wrapped them in plastic, scrubbed the bodies clean so there’s absolutely no DNA. Doesn’t seem like someone looking for glory to me.”  

“Not to mention that he wrote the coordinates for the dumpsite on the back of a page ripped out of a novel.” Rossi said, squinting down at one of the files - a close up forensic photo that had been sent over by the local police department. 

Prentiss held out her hand, and Rossi handed over the photo, and then she began reading the words off the page aloud. 

“-I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy, but-” 

“-but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” You finished the quote before she could, the words flashing through your mind with a sickly twist in your gut. It was all too familiar to you, in the worst way. “It’s Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austin.” 

Everyone fixated on you with a strange gaze, wondering how you knew this off the top of your head. Especially when usually this would only be something that Reid would be able to recite so perfectly by heart. 

“Maybe he thinks that he’s romancing these women?” Prentiss theorized, trying to move on from the strange moment. 

“That’s plausible.” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Morgan and I will go interview some of the families. JJ, get us their contacts. I want to know if any of these women had problems with an ex boyfriend or even a bad date whom they rejected. It could be someone they once viewed as a potential romantic partner that went horribly wrong.” 

JJ nodded at this, going to look through her files for the information. 

“This level of torture - it’s likely a substitute for sexual gratification.” Morgan theorized, looking at the crime scene photos one again. “Maybe he is romancing these women, but in his mind, this is the ultimate form of romance? Having all of his conquests together in death - it’s a declaration of what a casanova he is. In his fractured world.” 

“It still doesn’t explain why he gave up the dumpsite to the police.” Prentiss argued. 

“Men like to brag about their sexual exploits.” Rossi said, nodding toward Morgan. “If these women are his conquests, in his mind, then he wants his manliness, his accomplishments, to be appreciated by other men.” 

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this. 

“Well, at least we know our UnSub’s not a woman.” She remarked sharply. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:15AM.

JJ stood at the front of the room, ready to present the newest case to everyone. 

“Last night, a body was discovered on the backroads of South Carolina, about five miles outside of the town of Delph. She was found naked, mutilated. Heavy bruising all over her body that insinuates the killer kept her and tortured her for days. Final cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma from multiple hits to the head, but she also had several shallow stab wounds across her body, seemingly from some kind of hunting knife with a rough blade.” 

JJ explained, beginning to present the case as she clicked the small remote, causing images of the crime scene to pop up on the large screen in the room. 

“The victim - now identified as Ashley Prembrooke, hadn’t even been reported missing. She left her parents house in Madison, Georgia, about three days ago to drive back to her dorm at the University of South Carolina. When she didn’t show up on time, her roommate assumed that she was staying at home for a few extra days. Her father has cancer, so she wanted to be there for him.” 

There seemed to be a particularly dark aura in the room at this news. 

“Did the killer know that she wouldn’t be reported missing, or did he just snatch her up by chance?” Morgan asked. 

“Her car was found abandoned at a rest stop a few miles from the border of Georgia.” JJ explained. “So… it seems to be random.” 

“Well, I hate to ask this,” Rossi said. “But why are we being called out for just one body?” 

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed. 

She clicked the clicker again, and several close-up photos appeared. Photos of the victim’s mutilated body - among the harsh bruising on her torso, there was a piece of white paper, partially stained with blood. It had been folded and stapled into her flesh. 

“The victim was found with this page… stapled into her skin.” JJ said, clearly finding the words disturbing to speak aloud. “Written on the back, was a set of coordinates. Local police discovered that these coordinates lead to a random patch of woods, about ten miles outside of Madison, Georgia.” 

JJ queued more pictures onto the screen. It was those very woods - overturned dirt. And more than a dozen bodies, wrapped in plastic among the soil. 

“It was the site of a mass grave with twenty-four other victims - all women around the same age, with the most recent ones all having the same body type, the same hair color, same general makeup as Ashley Prembrooke.” 

“He has a type.” Hotch stated the obvious. 

“And for some reason, he tipped the police off to his hiding place.” JJ reminded them all. 

“Twenty four victims?” Prentiss questioned, clearly shocked by this number. 

“That’s what they’ve found so far. The decomposition on some of the bodies seems to go back as far as a decade, but it’s difficult to date them exactly.” JJ replied. 

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed. 

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied. 

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized. 

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.” 

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened. 

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster. 

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend. 

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone. 

And they were from your hometown. 

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but… 

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you. 

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?” 

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.” 

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves. 

“Y/N.” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety. 

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh. 

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question. 

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top. 

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed. 

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest. 

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him. 

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return. 

You hated it. 

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you. 

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid. 

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done. 

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?” 

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently. 

“I’m human. So what?” 

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home. 

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now. 

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-” 

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home. 

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?” 

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair. 

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.” 

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.” 

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog. 

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this. 

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile. 

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired. 

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn. 

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile. 

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you. 

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope. 

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut. 

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name. 

The way he had written it. 

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Nothing.” You quickly replied. 

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you. 

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now? 

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow. 

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much. 

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor. 

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes. 

Lover, 

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon. 

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell. 

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me. 

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” 

-Daniel 

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page. 

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant. 

It was from that night. He had kept it. 

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work. 

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open. 

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?” 

You didn’t answer. 

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in. 

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it. 

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.” 

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?” 

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit. 

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door. 

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile. 

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?” 

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist. 

“Can I see?” 

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down. 

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.” 

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes. 

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.” 

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it. 

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth. 

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again. 

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue. 

You truly considered just coming out with it. 

But then- 

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence. 

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.” 

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused. 

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked. 

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door. 

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation. 

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.” 

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together. 

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.” 

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?” 

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off. 

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said. 

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands. 

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.” 

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained. 

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you. 

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.” 

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.” 

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind. 

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process. 

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?” 

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?” 

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked. 

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.” 

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared. 

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked. 

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open. 

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside. 

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away. 

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer. 

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ. 

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up. 

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?” 

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on. 

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-” 

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting. 

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.” 

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her. 

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you. 

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.” 

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked. 

“Oh. Ugh.” 

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask. 

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number. 

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her. 

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.” 

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked. 

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.” 

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked. 

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.” 

“What?” Derek prompted her. 

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained. 

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed. 

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked. 

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?” 

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.” 

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table. 

Battered. Bruised. Broken. 

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once. 

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-” 

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you. 

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?” 

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked. 

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…” 

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud. 

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained. 

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.” 

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.” 

It all fit together now. 

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you. 

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius. 

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-” 

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit. 

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.” 

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action. 

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident. 

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of confronting your life’s biggest monster. 

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you. 

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process. 

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill. 

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.” 

“Reid-!” 

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over. 

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting. 

“Y/N,” 

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest. 

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you. 

But you still couldn’t escape him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Your hand shook as you held the knife. 

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would. 

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen. 

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point. 

Spencer just didn’t understand. 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

You couldn’t give up. 

You had come too far to let Daniel win now. 

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.” 

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone. 

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it. 

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.” 

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing? 

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it. 

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.” 

You didn’t look up at him. 

You knew that you couldn’t. 

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away. 

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.” 

You let out another sob at this. 

You had been so alone. 

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?” 

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true. 

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.” 

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears. 

It wasn’t pity. 

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago. 

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you. 

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in. 

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders. 

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret of it all more palpable in your lungs. 

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life. 

You should have killed Daniel. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. You should have sliced his throat. 

Ten more minutes. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would be resigned to a cage. 

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives. 

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing. 

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body? 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid asked you sharply. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you. 

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.” 

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid. 

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?” 

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting. 

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips. 

It caused you to flare with anger. 

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him. 

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him. 

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.” 

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time. 

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!” 

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it. 

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice. 

But you couldn’t stop. 

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it. 

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you. 

Pity. 

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long. 

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.” 

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.” 

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?” 

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.” 

Hotch nodded at this. 

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.” 

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly. 

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.” 

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own. 

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed. 

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

no problem at all love!! you’re an amazing writer and i may or may not be stalking all of your writings!! definite inspo for my future fics ❤️

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” -Friedrich Nietzsche 

Summary:

Since you joined the BAU, you have been keeping a terrible secret from the team.

When the team takes a case in your hometown - your festering secret comes to be known with a vengeance.

Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Criminal Minds Season 3.

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a general casefic - there is no romantic pairings in this fic, it is more about the mystery of the case and how the reader character fits into it (if this were a real Criminal Minds episode, this would be the episode named after the reader) - with that being said, the main relationship focuses are between Emily and the reader and Spencer and the reader (because I am biased and I love them) but there isn’t any romantic threads or romantic tones, it is all platonic; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and is described as a woman, but I went out of my way to make sure that there is no descriptions of the readers looks or body type; there is use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); mentions of the reader being from Georgia (because the case takes place in her hometown); smoking/cigarettes - mentions of the reader character smoking tobacco; mentions of the reader character being injured (severely in a past incident, and minor injuries during the course of the fic); mentions of vomit/mentions of the reader character throwing up; lots of warnings for general Criminal Minds topics; murder, killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, guns/gun violence, mentions of rape and sexual violence, mentions of systematic violence towards women; there is no graphic depictions of rape/no rape scenes in the fic, but there is mentions of the event of rape happening to certain characters, references to rape culture, and the shame/guilt/self blame a rape victim feels; mentions of stalking/stalking behaviors - including the delusion mindset of a stalker, obsessiveness, sending someone unwanted letters, mentions of a ‘one sided’ relationship; mentions of trauma/PTSD; descriptions of symptoms of PTSD; themes surrounding the cycle of violence; I did kind of purposefully make the warnings a bit more vague than I usually do, because I really don’t want to spoil the plot of this fic. But as lot as you are okay with the maturity of all these themes, you should be okay with this fic!!

A/N: This is pretty much 100% inspired by the music video for Figure It Out by Royal Blood - which the fic is named after. I highly recommend watching the music video, because it is fucking art in my opinion, but I have taken such heavy inspiration from it in terms of the style, tone, and even storyline - so the music video kind of spoils this fic. So probably watch it after you read the fic lmao. I also feel like the instrumental version of the song goes very well with this fic. This fic is not at all typical and I am terrified that people won't like it, or that they won't 'get it'. But I am very proud of it, so I am going to put it out there and hope that people enjoy it. So - please enjoy!! I really love writing Criminal Minds casefics and coming up with the details of a case, and writing it in this style was so, so exciting and interesting for me, and I really do hope that you can enjoy reading it.

...

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche 

...

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret more palpable in your lungs. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would soon be resigned to a cage. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. 

Ten more minutes. 

“I just want to talk.” 

So caught up in your thoughts, your mind so foggy from the hectic night - you had almost forgotten that there was someone sitting in front of you. 

He looked so entirely stiff - wearing his cookie cutter suit and his carved-in scowl. He did nothing to shift your mood. 

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.” 

He continued on, using a monotone, would-be soothing voice when you didn’t say anything. 

The metal chair felt stiffer underneath you, and you felt further suffocated within that small, concrete box. 

You felt inclined to call it an interrogation, but you wouldn’t be so quick to tell him that. It’s not like you were going to tell him what he wanted to hear. 

“You can smoke in here if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He added on, pushing something from the middle of the table toward you. 

A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was also an ashtray. A collection of things that someone had put there, knowing that you would be resigned to this tiny, tiny room. 

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Hotch.” You huffed, saying his name, using the same technique that he would likely be using on you. You could mirror him, get ahead on the mind games. “I’m not as crazy and detached from reality as you think I am.” 

Perhaps that was a false statement. You weren’t even sure how crazy he thought you were. Perhaps, that in itself made you detached from reality. You couldn’t be sure. 

Nonetheless, you took him up on the offer. You reached out and eagerly picked up the pack of smokes, ripping off the outer plastic before you took one out, shoving the tip between your lips and lighting it up. 

You took a heavy draw, and the nicotine throbbed through you. Seemingly adding to the headache you already had from the large gash on your forehead that they had hastily bandaged before bringing you in here, rather than relieving it. Still, you sucked on the cigarette like it was your only lifeline - taking a moment to tap some of the ash into the small ashtray while you stared at Hotch carefully. 

You wondered if you should really tell him all the gory details. 

“Just tell me what happened. Tell me your side of the story.” Hotch said, trying his best to sound warm and convincing. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Just like you are.” 

Perhaps your biggest regret was that you were here, cooped up in this hole - and he was in the hospital somewhere, laying in a soft bed, being attended to by nurses, being comforted. The fact that he was still breathing - even with the assistance of a tube down his throat, and not in a body bag.

“You’ll never look at me the same if I do tell you.” You managed to find these words, and these words only. Ominous, almost threatening - more so than you intended. 

“I won’t.” He returned. Shallow, fallible. 

Suddenly, a crash from the hallway broke the tense silence that was brewing between the two of you. The door was thick, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the ruckus coming from outside. 

“No! No! You have to let me through! I have to be in there!” 

The voice was familiar, but that tone of desperation certainly was not. 

“Reid, he specifically told us to sit this one out-” 

“Sit this one out?!” Reid repeated the words back, his voice warping with pure shock, the inability to conceptualize such a thing. “You expect me to just sit out?” He scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me, two more people would be dead, and there wouldn’t even be a ‘this one’! Now let. Me. Through.” 

“Reid-” 

With all his bolstering stubbornness, he shoved past whoever had been trying to stop him, and as you took another heavy puff off your cigarette, the interrogation room door came flying open. 

Hotch stood up, rushing to block the door, but you smiled. Though you were numb from the day’s events - it was your natural instinct upon seeing him. 

“Reid-” Hotch choked out, trying to block the gangly man from even entering the room. 

“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” You greeted him gently. 

Upon seeing your reaction - so much more open and warm - Hotch allowed him in. This was the wedge that he needed to pry you open. Reid closed the door behind himself with an indigent huff and a glare toward his superior. 

Reid crossed his arms, hovering near the door as he turned his stiff-jawed glare toward you now. Your cigarette turned to a hot cherry in your hands - sucked to death already, and you stubbed it out in the tray before starting a new one. You knew chain-smoking was an even filthier habit than the occasional ciggy, but you had one hell of a day under your belt. If there was ever a time, it was now. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Reid asked, his voice stiff and oppositional. 

“Oh, so many things.” You said, your tone clever and unphased. Hotch let out a sigh as he sat back down in his chair. He was glad that you were talking openly now, at least. “Shall we go in alphabetical order, or start at my birth and work or way back from there?” 

Reid let out another nasal thick sound. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for banter. 

You were met with nothing but a stony wall of silence, and cold glares of disapproval. It almost made you feel guilty. Almost. 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid corrected you. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

Prentiss led the team as they searched through the house. It was the only solid lead they had as to where you might be. It was a house that your parents used to own - a place of significance because you had lived there the summer when it first happened. 

“Clear!” 

She went through the living room, the kitchen, the entire first floor, leading the team with Reid at her side, guns drawn. 

“Clear!” 

As she crested the top of the stairs, she heard sobbing. 

It was distinct - something that tugged harshly on her heartstrings. 

Even though it was against protocol not to clear the rooms in order, she rushed toward it. Reid continued to flank her - obviously he had heard the noise too. 

Prentiss landed a sharp kick on the door’s handle, causing it to fling open. 

The picture on display in front of her almost caused her to drop her gun. 

Hotch had been right. 

You were on top of the man, straddling him. Both you and the man were badly beaten - but right off the bat, Prentiss could tell that he was far worse off. Clearly, you had bested him in the fight this time. 

The contents of the room strewn about; broken glass, busted furniture, the curtain rod torn down. It looked like the remnants of a bad WWE brawl. You were the picture of desperation - heavy, hot tears coming from your eyes, blood smearing down your face from a gash on your forehead as you stared down the man beneath you with fiery madness in your eyes. 

You had a knife to his throat. A large hunting knife - the same kind that all the other victims had been stabbed with. 

You had the tip of it poised to his throat, just barely touching his skin. If you put any amount of pressure on the blade - if you bared down, then you would slice right through his esophagus. It would take almost no effort from you at all to end his life. 

From what Prentiss could see, the man was unconscious. He was completely slack, his body still on the ground. He was bleeding from a small head wound. His life was entirely in your hands. He couldn’t fight back. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of the confrontation with your life’s biggest monster. 

Though it went against everything inside of her, Emily kept her gun raised. She kept her arms stiff, keeping her gun pointed at you. As much as she detested that man, knowing what he had done - it was her job to shoot you if you tried to kill him. Right now, she hated that job. 

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply. 

You didn’t move. 

Naturally, Reid, in all of his softness and empathy, slackened his arms and holstered his gun before anyone could blink. 

“Come on, put it down.” She tried again. 

You ignored Prentiss entirely, your hands still shaking, making no moves to lift the knife away from the man’s throat. 

Reid moved to step into the room, and from his view at the top of the stairs, arms stiff and gun pointed in your general direction - Hotch called out to him. 

“Reid-!” He tried to warn Reid against doing this. Of course, he didn’t listen. 

Reid knelt down beside you, posturing in surrender with his arms. Of course, he wasn’t even on your radar at the moment. Your entire gaze, your entire focus was on the unconscious man underneath you - the true target of your agony. 

“Y/N,” Reid said your name calmly, trying to capture your attention. “You don’t have to do this.” 

You hesitated for a moment, and Prentiss worried that even his gentle voice wouldn’t be able to get through to you. 

“I have to.” You sobbed out. More heavy tears slid down your face, and you began to shake more visibly, shockwaves moving throughout your entire body. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

It made Prentiss’ heart jump inside of her chest. If it wasn’t protocol, she would have dropped her gun and run over to comfort you with a hug. But she knew that you weren’t in the most stable place. You might have tried to stab her with the knife. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, trampling over his quiet voice. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her. 

If you didn’t move off of the unconscious man soon, then she would have to take you down. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. She had faith in Reid. 

“We both know that’s not true.” Reid told you. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t mean for this to happen-” 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

At this point he was doing some pleading of his own - but your hands were unsteady and you still refused to look at him. 

You weren’t going to give up the fight that easily. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Somewhere On The Country Backroads - Madison, GA. 2:11AM.

“I want two squad cars down the road, I want state police cutting off all the possible exits to the major highways.” Agent Hotchner was on the scene, doing what he did best - giving orders. “I want to cut off any chance of possible escape incase the suspect tries to flee-” 

“Hotch, do you really think that’s necessary?” Morgan asked. “We’ve got the house. Thermal cam’s got two bodies on the second floor. There’s nowhere to run from here. We’ve got spike strips on all the dirt roads. No car is getting past any of that. It should function as a hard extraction from here.” 

Hotch glared at Morgan as he fastened the straps on his bulletproof vest. The glare of the red and blue lights from the squad cars only made the deep frown lines on his face look firmer. 

“I am not taking any chances.” Hotch said. “We both know this is an incredibly delicate matter. We found one of the victims across state lines. We know this suspect has mobility. I’m not risking finding another body.” 

The air became tense as everyone realized what he meant by ‘another body’. 

“I want tactical swat to go in first-” Hotch began, and was quickly cut off by Morgan. 

“You’re sending in swat when there’s a hostage in there?” Morgan questioned harshly. 

“Even if we go in there blazing, showing force, she might not come in quietly.” Hotch explained.

“You’re serious?” Prentiss replied, hooking the wire of her earpiece around her ear in order to tuck the mic in. “She’s the one you’re worried about? She’s a victim in all this.” 

“You saw the incident report.” Hotch reminded her. “The amount of defensive wounds she had… the first time he attacked her, she fought back hard. She’s desperate, she’s feeling cornered, she-” 

“She’s terrified right now.” Prentiss pressed harshly. “She doesn’t need a bunch of men going in there waving guns in her face.” 

“She could sacrifice him.” Hotch theorized, further trying to prove his point. “This could be her chance to finally get justice. Finally getting rid of the man who’s tormented her for all these years.”

“So we have to bring them both in. Quietly.” Morgan said. “We can’t just go in there shooting. If your theory is correct, then she could use him as a human shield.” 

Hotch nodded. “Fine. No tactical swat. Prentiss, you take the lead.” 

“Yeah, and I’m taking Reid with me.” Prentiss told him sharply. “Somebody with a little compassion around here.” 

Prentiss nodded and scoffed, walking past Hotch, gently whispering ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ on her way to get in the car with Reid. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

When JJ let out a harsh sigh, Emily turned to her, swiveling in the borrowed office chair with a creak. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Don’t you feel that?” JJ replied. Emily shrugged, waiting a moment for her to finish the thought. “That… overwhelming feeling of dread?” 

Of course, it was obvious. No leads. No breaks in the case. 

It was hopeless. 

“Come on, I thought you were the hopeful one.” Rossi pointed out, tossing his empty paper coffee cup into a nearby trash can. 

“How can I be hopeful when one of my best friends is caught up in all this?” JJ fired back. “If she-” 

Before she could finish that thought, Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

You knew that it was cruel, but you couldn’t help but to enjoy his groans of pain. 

There had been so many others - so many monsters to take down. So many men that you had gotten rid of without a second thought. Men you had put bullets in that didn’t mean as much to you as this. So many others you had easily forgotten about. But he had taunted your soul in a special way. And you knew that you were enjoying this too much. 

“Tell me you like it!” 

You screamed, taking another downward swing with the piece of wood - a leg broken off from the chair he had bound you to. He had been convinced that you wouldn’t break free. Laughable. He should have known better.  

When he didn’t respond, you took another swing. 

You could have stopped. You could have ended it. But you didn’t. 

“Come on, tell me you like it!” 

You screamed in his face, sputtering blood across him. At one point, he had punched you in the mouth. You weren’t exactly sure where the blood was coming from. You didn’t exactly care.

That would be your excuse.  

He had hit you too. You were battered. You were just a fragile woman, after all. 

“You’re a fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He coughed, sputtering out some blood himself. “I… I always liked that about you. It was one of the reasons I fell in love.” 

He grinned - bright red spread out across his teeth, and it gave you the intense desire to see those teeth missing. To make him swallow them. 

“You don’t love me.” You told him firmly. “You just get an adrenaline rush from being around me because I’m not afraid of you.” You explained. “Unlike the other whores, I fight.” 

While you were preoccupied with the words, he flipped onto his stomach and began crawling across the floor. 

He thought you were too stupid to notice, but he was inching his way toward the hunting knife that had been thrown out of his hand during the scuffle. It was a slow, sluggish crawl. You had broken a few of his ribs, his kneecap. It was nice to see him so slow. You had probably severely damaged his internal organs with how hard you had been beating him with the makeshift baton. 

It was worse than last time. You stood above him like a menace - watching and waiting. You hated that you knew you would take an odd kind of joy in removing his hope when you stole the knife from his grip. 

Just as he grazed his fingers across it, you brought another harsh swing down across his achilles tendon, causing him to scream out in pain. 

You still had a lot of strength left in you. He was tiring out. 

He was losing the game. 

“Come on baby, tell me how you like it.” You continued to mock him. “Tell me how good I am.” 

“Fuck you.” He moaned out. 

You felt satisfaction bloom inside of you - those were the words. 

He had finally given up hope. He had finally realized that maybe: he wasn’t going to beat you. Maybe he wasn’t above you on the playing field anymore. He was fucking around with a fellow predator, not toying with his prey.  

“Oh baby. You know I’m only doing this because I love you.” You said, repeating his own words back to him in a cruel mockery. 

That was when he realized: this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. This was a culling. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Just Outside of Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:04AM.

Reid needed some air. 

Working on the case so diligently, not coming up with any leads. It was intensely difficult. Letting the balmy summer Southern air flow over him, getting a good gulp of the fresh air into his lungs - it was a bit more awakening than drinking his sixth cup of coffee for that day. 

He was surprised when he rounded a corner, trying to go for a short walk to stretch his legs, and he saw a very recognizable face hovering near a gray Honda. 

“Mrs. L/N?” He posed, approaching her gently. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

JJ had promised to call her if there were any updates. Reid didn’t want to disappoint her by telling her that there were none. 

“It’s Miss L/N.” She said quietly. “I never married.” 

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.” 

She looked deeply troubled. 

Reid waited patiently for her to reply to his initial question - for her to tell him whatever was burdening her. If he was lucky, it could help with the case. It was always the families who could help put those final puzzle pieces into place. That was something Gideon taught him, so he took it as sacred advice. 

“You’re Doctor Reid, aren’t you?” She posed, stepping forward to approach him slightly - still stiff, still stand-off-ish. He easily understood why. He nodded in response. “My daughter speaks very fondly of you.” 

Reid cracked a small smile at this. 

His attention was then brought to a small box - a shoe box as she held it out to him. 

“I don’t mean to bother you at this late hour, but… you said to let you know if I thought of anything that might help you.” She reminded him. He nodded again. “And I - well, the reason I didn’t bring these up the first time… you can understand that I have a need to protect my daughter?” 

“Of course.” He affirmed. “It’s every parent’s natural instinct to protect their child.” 

She looked solemn at his words. 

“I had no idea that… that what happened to her could potentially be connected to these… these murders in any possible way.” She told him, shuddering as the word passed through her lips. “I was just trying to shield her, you have to understand.” 

She handed him the shoebox, and when he took it and lifted off the lid, it took him only a moment to understand. He would need to find a quiet place to fully inspect the contents, but it was all being pieced together in his mind now. 

“Thank you for bringing me this.” He told her quietly. 

“Doctor Reid, you have to promise me that you’ll bring my daughter home unharmed.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. “She’s a good girl. Please, just bring her home.” 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise her that. Not under the circumstances. 

“Ma’am… I will try my best. That is all I can promise you.” He told her. 

She nodded in quiet understanding before Reid turned and marched back inside. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 11:03PM.

The flint of the lighter flicking seemed to be the loudest thing in the room in that moment - even with the low hum of the eleven o’clock news playing in the background. 

It was so odd. Everything was exactly like you remembered it. Withered - but the same. 

Even the chair you were sitting in. The old wooden chair that had been lugged up from the kitchen, one that you used to sit in for hours and do homework - it was rickety, but somehow the same. 

You took a sharp drag off the cigarette after it was lit for you, continuing to listen to the feminine voice on the radio as the news played. 

“I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Madison Police Department. Tonight, we are making an urgent appeal to the public for information. Earlier this evening, a woman went missing in the area of-” 

“I never took you for a smoker.” He said, his voice sharp and confident in the words. 

You tapped your cigarette into the ashtray with your free hand before raising it up to your lips to take another drag. Right now, the smoke heavy in your lungs was the only thing keeping you sane. 

“I never smelled it on you back then.” He added on when you didn’t respond to him. “Bitches who smoke always smell like dirtbags. You just… smelled nice.” 

“I didn’t smoke back then.” You quietly replied. 

He had driven you to take up the habit. 

You took another drag of your cigarette - you wanted to enjoy it. The longer you could drag it out, literally, the longer you could delay the inevitable. 

“-The suspect was last seen driving a blue and white, 1970s Ford truck. If you see the vehicle, please-” 

“They’re lookin’ for ya.” He said casually, nodding toward the radio. 

You wished they weren’t. 

You directed the conversation elsewhere. 

“Tell me how this is gonna end.” You urged him quietly, ashing your cigarette again. 

“You and I both know… this was only ever gonna end one way.” He told you, his voice irritably cocky. 

He had you now. He had won. 

“-We believe that this abduction is connected to a string of recent murders in the area. It is critical that if you have any information, you call our tip line at-” 

He rose from his spot then, and turned off the radio. 

The silence was gutting. 

He moved toward the door, but you abruptly caught his attention. 

“Remember,” You told him. “You made me a promise.” You said quietly. “No more. No more girls.” 

He chuckled at this. “Of course, darlin’. No more.” 

It felt like a lie. 

“But only because I love you.” He gave a filthy grin along with these words, and your insides shuddered. 

You knew that he wasn’t actually capable of love. You had known that from the moment you first laid eyes on him. 

You didn’t bother to muster any words in return. 

He crossed the room back toward you and leaned down, planting a kiss on your forehead. Your body stiffened, entirely stony toward it. It was selfish on his part - loving on you like a doll, rather than trying to bring you any comfort. 

He moved back to the door silently. 

You worried about what would happen the moment he went out the door. He turned to you just before he left. 

“Don’t run off now.” He said with a wink. Ego. Sarcasm. 

“Where am I gonna go, Dan?” You sighed. 

You lifted your tethered hand up to drive the point home, and the clink of handcuffs was now apparent in the otherwise silent room. 

He shut the door with a chuckle. You put out your cigarette in the ashtray, reaching for the loose spoke in the back of the chair. This was a chair that you used to sit in for hours while studying. That loose spoke used to bug you all the time. 

It came free after only a few tugs. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 10:24PM.

The previously dark parking lot of the secluded, back country convenience store was now entirely lit up with red and blue. Four police cars had crowded into the area, surrounding the place where you had last been seen. 

Inside, under the harsh white fluorescent lights of the store, Hotchner and Prentiss were interviewing the store clerk - a young man who had supposedly been the last person to speak to you before the abduction. 

“So, you’re sure that you didn’t see anything?” Hotch pressed the young man - someone who seemed so entirely nervous under his harsh, unmoving gaze. 

“I swear, man, I didn’t see anything.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “She was parked in the back of the parking lot, and once you walk around the corner, there’s no way to see someone through the doors. It’s like - like a total blind spot, man.” 

“The UnSub had to have known that.” Hotch noted quietly, turning to Prentiss. “He approached her knowing that he wouldn’t be seen.” 

“Do you think he was waiting out there?” Prentiss wondered aloud. 

Then she turned back to the clerk. 

“Was there a man in here before she came in? He would have been in his 30s. Very cold, he wouldn’t have said anything. Just paid quietly and left. He might not have even bought anything - he might have just walked around, checking the blind spots. And if you asked him what he was looking for, he would have given you a glare rather than speaking. This man is not sociable. He’s very distant. He likely wouldn’t have looked you in the eye.” 

The clerk shook his head. 

“No, nobody like that.” He explained. “That lady - she was my first customer in, like, hours. She just bought her ciggies and left. And I thought it was weird cause she bought a lighter too. Most smokers already have a lighter on them.” 

“I didn’t know Y/N smoked.” Prentiss said quietly. 

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed. 

Hotch’s attention was captured by a screen behind the counter - surveillance feed, showing several different places inside the store. There was one camera just outside the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, that camera was pointed at that ‘blind spot’ in the parking lot. 

Without asking permission, he raised the partition and walked around the counter, his eyes hyper-focused on the screen. 

“Can you get me this footage from a few hours ago?” He prompted toward the clerk. “The view of the parking lot. We need to see what L/N did after she left the store.” 

The clerk nodded and began typing things onto the keyboard, and Hotch prompted him to stop when he saw you appear on the footage. Prentiss came around the counter as well, leaving the three of them crowded in close to the small screen as they watched the past version of you. 

You walked across the parking lot - toward your car, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You were making determined steps - until something stopped you. 

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted. 

Then - something entirely strange happened. While staring at the man off screen, you leaned against your car, and began ashing your cigarette, as if chatting idly with him. 

“He’s not using force.” Hotch thought aloud. “Do you think he’s got a gun trained on her?” 

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly. 

He was out of the frame, so it was only a guess. 

Then, after a few moments of this - you simply walked off. You walked in the direction he had been standing. 

“Did - did she just go with him willingly?” Prentiss gaped, entirely in shock. 

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone. 

He stormed out into the parking lot, frantically gazing around. Prentiss followed him, chasing his chaotic energy. 

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!” 

“We need more camera angles! We need-” 

“Calm down.” She urged, grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He rasped. “Why would she go with him willingly? Why - why? Why would she?” He was frantic. “He must have threatened her. He must have-” 

They both didn’t want to think of the obvious. 

That you didn’t fear him. That - it hadn’t even been an abduction. 

“He must have threatened her.” Prentiss easily agreed. “She wouldn’t have gone with him otherwise.” 

They didn’t bring up the fact that you had a gun and plenty of training on how to use it. They didn’t bring up the fact that the profile said the UnSub couldn’t easily charm - he would have kidnapped you by force. 

Unless you were special. Unless he thought he could talk to you specifically for some reason. 

“Guys, what’s the news?” JJ asked, finally walking onto the scene. 

She hated the grave looks on Prentiss and Hotch’s faces. 

“I want you to put a press conference together.” Hotch said, straightening himself out and turning to her. “Make an appeal for witnesses. Tell them that there’s been a woman abducted in the area, but don’t tell them that L/N a Federal Agent. It could set the UnSub off if he believes that this abduction is being treated with a higher priority. If he feels a higher pressure from law enforcement, he might-” 

“Right.” JJ nodded. Hotch didn’t need to say the words in order for her to understand. “So: release her name and her photo, but act like she’s just a regular civilian?” 

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.” 

“If I get going now, I think I could still make the eleven o’clock news.” JJ said, rushing off with her cell pressed to her ear. 

“Let’s just hope that it brings Y/N home safely.” 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 8:03PM.

You felt an odd amount of relief having nicotine in your system again. 

This was the first time you had smoked a cigarette in years. You had quit the habit shortly after you joined the FBI Academy when one of your advisers warned you that it might cause you to fail the fitness test. And you felt like you should just knock the habit, seeing as the only reason you had taken it up was because of… him. 

But - all of this was so triggering. Being back in your same small shitty town. Feeling it suffocating you like a plastic bag. 

The murders. 

You sucked on the cigarette for dear life as you walked back to your car, and just as you were about to get in - the windows of the car open, inviting in the sweet summer air, the keys still inside because you did feel an odd amount of trust in your hometown - something captured your attention. 

“Y/N.” 

Hearing your name in that voice made you freeze on the spot. The warm breeze felt like ice against your skin as you took your hand off the door handle, turning toward him. 

“You’re lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’.” 

“You.” You ground out the word with as much disdain as possible, hot rage boiling in your blood as you looked at him. “I should have known it was you.” 

He let out a sharp chuckle - a sound that made your throat tighten up. He flicked his tongue out across his teeth, grinning his terrible Cheshire grin at you. 

A hand instinctively went for your gun, and your palm hit an empty section of your belt. He let out another sharp chuckle when his eyes followed yours, making the same realization that you did. 

You had left it sitting on the passenger’s seat of the car. Right beside your phone. 

You wondered if you could dive through the open window before he could get to you. When he made a posturing move, brushing his unbuttoned plaid shirt away and revealing the gun he had strapped to his belt underneath - you realized he would shoot you if you moved too quickly. 

You were stuck. 

“Of course it’s me, baby.” He said, casually replying to your earlier words. “You had to know that I did all this for you. For us.” 

Giving into your fate, you propped yourself against the side of the car - trying desperately to steady your wobbling legs without making it look like you were doing so. You tapped your cigarette, spilling some of the ash before you brought it to your lips once again. 

“I missed you like hell.” He told you with a snakeskin grin. 

“I didn’t miss you.” You bitterly fired back. “Not for a fucking second.” 

“Guess I made it difficult to miss me, huh?” He said, cocky as ever. “With my frequent correspondence and all?” 

“You know what I meant.” You fired back.

You glared at him sharply but didn’t say anything more, afraid that he would whip the gun out and shoot you. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, something that sounded utterly sarcastic. 

“Ooh, darlin’ that’s harsh.” He said. “That would almost hurt. If I didn’t know the truth.” 

You wanted to argue. You took in another large drag to help hold your tongue. You knew the results of arguing with him - it wasn’t worth it. 

“So… I think you know how this goes.” He announced. “You can come with me now. Or… I can go get another girl.” 

“No more girls.” You told him. “I’m here now. You won. Whatever business you have - it’s with me.” 

You stamped out your cigarette as you walked toward him, and your phone began to ring on the front seat as his truck rumbled to life and pulled out of the parking lot. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 7:26PM.

“Hello! Everyone, listen up.” Hotch called everyone to attention as the local police continued to filter in, most of them standing around with cups of coffee in hand or notebooks out, ready to take notes. “We’re ready to give the profile.” 

“Yes, and please keep in mind that this is just a general set of guidelines describing the suspect.” Rossi said. “This is not a concrete list of things you should be looking for. A profile is more useful in the elimination of suspects, rather than the inclusion of them.” 

He then turned to Derek, who began reciting the profile that the team had put together so far. 

“This UnSub, or Unknown Subject, is most likely a white male in his thirties to forties.” Morgan explained. “He drives an American made vehicle, something large enough to conceal and transport victims, and something that has off-road capability in order to get to the more secluded areas where some of the bodies were found. So think trucks, heavy duty vans, anything with thick treads on the tires and a large payload. And his vehicle will most likely be in a more discreet color. This guy won’t be driving around in something flashy. He’ll be in something that blends into the background, like a beige or black truck.” 

“So what?” One of the local cops piped up. “We put out an APB for every single heavy duty black truck in the area? This is the south, do you have any idea how many people around here drive a truck? Especially ones driven by men in their forties.” 

“There’s more.” Hotch noted, looking toward you. 

“This UnSub likely believes that he is dating these women in some capacity before he kills them.” You explained. “He has left scraps of poetry at the scenes, pages of romance novels - several of the victims had wine in their stomachs or burns from candle wax on their skin. And it’s highly likely that he turns violent when the women reject his advances, or don’t live up to the fictionalized relationship he has made up about them in his mind.” 

“How does that help us?” Someone asked. 

“Well, it’s very likely that he frequents the same hunting grounds.” Rossi explained. “We encourage you to go to local bars, and nightclubs, even gyms or cafes and pass out the profile to women who fit this type.” He said, motioning toward the pictures of the other victims. “He will be on the hunt again soon, and he has a very narrow hunting ground, living in such a lowly populated area. So we might be able to catch him off guard if his potential victims have the profile as well.” 

“This man is romantic, but he’s not charming.” You added on. “He isn’t sociable. He’s very cocky, very self-centered. He believes that he is God’s gift to women, and he has a very fractured sense of reality in general. If women reject him in everyday interactions, he will get noticeably irritated, and even violent. So he will be remembered as an unpleasant person in most women’s stories.” 

“This UnSub most likely has an inside knowledge of law enforcement.” Reid stated. “But, because he has a very antisocial personality, he wouldn’t do well working with the public. We currently have our analyst combing through files of those who flunked out of the police academy or live in the area and are retired from the military in some capacity. We believe that he might have even been in prison for an unrelated crime or institutionalized at some point, giving him a close look at the inner workings of law enforcement, and also attributing to the large break between the first two crimes.” 

Reid took a breath, and then continued on. 

“He was knowledgeable enough to purposefully dump one of the bodies across state lines in order to get the FBI involved in this case, but it was just one of the bodies, and it was dumped in a very well trackied area where it would be found. So that leaves a heavy insistence that he was fed-up with the local police not giving his case enough attention or - simply not being smart enough to keep up with him.” He explained. 

“He is very cocky.” Prentiss added on. “Incredibly over-confident. He is a narcissist to his core, and he believes that he will never be caught unless he wants to be. He thinks that he has an intricate cat-and-mouse game with law enforcement, and he can go off the grid and disappear at any time that he wants.” 

“Well… isn’t that true?” One of the cops asked. “I mean, the guy’s been at it for years and we still haven’t caught him. There’s no DNA, no real leads.” 

Hotch hummed, nodding. And then he walked over to the evidence board and motioned to the pictures of the two most recent victims - barely recognizable compared to the shining, smiling photos their families had provided. 

“We believe that he’s decompensating.” Hotch explained. “He is growing more violent toward each victim, which means that he is getting more sloppy - eventually, he will go off-book. He will break his routine in some way, and that will be the moment he’ll give us something to catch him with.” 

“So… you’re just waiting for him to kill again so you can actually catch the guy?” Someone asked sharply. 

“No.” You easily replied. “We’re praying it doesn’t come to that.” 

“Thank you everyone.” Hotch said, clearing his throat, giving an unconscious signal for everyone to disperse. “That’ll be all for now.” 

Everyone easily fell under his authority, and meandered back to what they had been doing before, now armed with the profile and ready to distribute it to members of the public, to the potential victims. 

You had a harshly, sickly feeling in your stomach as you gathered some of your files. It was the same feeling that had been turning your guts into knots since you had arrived back in Madison for the first time in years. Your eye accidentally caught the evidence board - the tall, intimidating wall lined with the gruesome photos of all the women. 

Women who looked strangely like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, same body type. All of them horribly brutalized and left for dead. All of them terrorized, tortured right up until their last moments.  

“Hey.” 

JJ’s voice snapped you out of your swirling dark cloud of thoughts, drawing your eyes away from the evidence board with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You huffed out a harsh breath as you let her guide you, turning around to face the blonde woman as she stared you down with a distinct look of concern knit across her features. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.” 

She had a point. You had been doing this job for some time. You had gone to the FBI Academy straight out of college, after getting a degree in criminal forensics. And none of it ever bothered you. You had learned about the study of blood spatter and the decomposition of bodies on live body farms, and you never flinched. 

But this case - it was getting to you. 

It was likely the first time anybody on the team had ever seen you so disturbed. 

“I’m fine.” You lied, trying to shrug off her touch. 

“Come on.” JJ sighed in return. “I don’t need to be a profiler to figure out that was a big fat lie.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. 

“You’re so brilliant.” You let out a sigh of your own, and put down your files on the nearby conference room table. You stretched out your back, deciding that you would give her an inch, hoping that she wouldn’t take a mile. “I’m freaked out. So what? Doesn’t everybody have room for a bad day?” 

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course, you can have a bad day.” Her lips pursed, and you knew there was more coming. “Is - is it anything more than that?” 

“I’m tired.” You lied again, hoping she wouldn’t call you out on it this time. “It’s been - what? More than twenty hours since we landed. For these guys it’s been years, searching for this bastard. I wanna catch him.” 

“We will.” JJ assured you, sounding rather dull in her declaration. 

“I’m gonna drive down the street and grab an energy drink or something.” You announced, grabbing your blazer off a nearby chair and putting it on. Not that you would need a jacket with the southern weather - but your cash and your keys were in the pockets. 

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled. 

“It’s been one of those days.” You replied, shaking your head as you walked out of the room. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 5:13PM.

“There’s still one thing that’s buggin’ the hell out of me.” Morgan announced as he walked back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. 

“That is?” You posed, looking up from the stack of personal files - potential suspects - that you were reading in order to engage him in the conversation. 

“What is with the two year hiatus from this guy?” He said, motioning to the board. 

The first victim had been abducted and killed all the way back in the summer of ‘99, but none of the other victims matched up until a missing person from September of 2001. And from there, the killings picked up in frequency - and the killer had taken over twenty six victims in and around Madison up until now. 

“It is weird.” You commented. “Usually after the first kill is when an UnSub is the most hungry for more. After that first taste for violence.” 

Morgan raised a brow at your strange choice of words and you shrugged it off. 

“Maybe he was hospitalized.” Reid said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to make this comment, studying the board with his own intense expression. “Institutionalized? Maybe he was arrested for something completely unrelated, like - drugs, outstanding traffic violations?” 

“That’s helpful.” You sighed. 

“It could be.” Reid replied, sipping his own coffee. “I mean, we theorized that this UnSub has pre-existing knowledge of law enforcement - if he was in prison, maybe he was reading up on the law while he was in there? Who has closer knowledge of the law than ex-cons?” 

“Good point.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll call Garcia and have her widen the search.” 

“She is gonna love that.” You mumbled under your breath, already frustrated with the large pile of potential suspects you had to go through. 

Morgan took out his cell and walked into the other room, and you heard a distant ‘hey mama!’ as he chirped to Garcia on the other end. 

Then, you heard another voice that was all too familiar to you. 

“See, you’ve all just been working so hard, I thought you could use some sustenance!” 

It was your mother. 

You rushed out of your seat to find her in the middle of the bullpen, handing out muffins from a large basket that she had in her hand. 

It wasn’t entirely surprising to you, but it made your stomach sink. She was too much of a social butterfly for your liking. She knew about the last time you had been in this police station, she talked too much. No. You couldn’t risk her telling anyone. 

“See, that one’s blueberry, you like blueberry?” She was chatting idly, being her usual overly social self. 

“Yes, thank you so much Ms. L/N,” Prentiss smiled as your mother pushed more food into her hands. 

“Oh please, call me-” 

You knew that you must have looked like a storm, walking toward her with a scowl on your face. 

“Ma!” You barked, much harsher than you meant to, causing her to look up at you abruptly. “Ma? What are you doing here?” 

“Well see, you’ve been here all day, and you’ve been working so hard, so I made dinner for you and your friends,” She grinned, motioning toward a large tinfoil tray filled with mac and cheese that she had placed onto one of the desks next to a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Naturally, a chunk of it was already missing. 

You wanted to scream when Reid walked over and began scooping out a portion for himself. 

“Ma, they’re not my friends, they’re my co-workers.” You said, exasperation ripe in your voice. 

You knew that this, too, ended up sounding much harsher than you had intended. As if you didn’t think of these people as friends. But you couldn’t stand the woman babying you. It’s not like she did much of that when you were an actual baby. 

“I’m an adult now, and-” You continued on, and she cut you off. 

“Oh yes, yes.” She nodded, reaching out to pinch your cheek in an utterly frustrating way. “Your co-workers.” 

“Please, Ma.” You sighed. “You can’t be here right now. This is a police station, not a bake sale.” 

“She can stay for a few minutes, can’t she?” Prentiss grinned, peeling the wrapper off her muffin. “We can take a break for dinner. I wanna hear some childhood stories about you.” 

Reid looked up eagerly at this, and you glared at both of them. 

“Oh, you should hear about the time she painted her face blue with the paint from-” Your mother began to tell a delightful embarrassing story, but you cut her off. 

“No.” You said sharply. “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. Important work. Once we actually catch the guy, I’ll bring everyone by the house for tea and cookies and you can show everyone my naked baby pictures, the whole nine yards. Just - not now.” 

You unceremoniously ripped the basket of muffins out of her hands and placed them on the desk beside the tray of mac and cheese, and she began to argue with you, calling you rude, telling you that she had raised you with better manners while you ushered her out the door. 

Prentiss and Reid exchanged a particular, concerned look as they watched you and your mother argue through the glass doors of the precinct. 

“Now what do you think that was all about?” Emily asked quietly. 

“For once, I have no idea.” Spencer mumbled in return. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Georgia Highway 72 - Madison, GA. 1:32PM.

“This is new.” Morgan noted as the two of you walked away from the SVU, approaching the dumpsite where the latest victim’s body had been found. “This guy doesn’t usually dump bodies out in the open. You think he was in a rush?” 

The two of you had been sent to check it out while Hotch and Prentiss spoke to the family, and the others went over evidence from the many pre-existing cases at the station. 

“Not likely.” You replied. “Preliminary report says there’s still no DNA, no skid marks from his tires, no shoe prints. He’s not getting sloppy.” You felt a sickly wave of vomit splash up as you looked at the woman - her ankles sticking out of the tall grass just off the edge of the highway, where she had been left, entirely visible for anybody passing by to see. “This was a present. Like a fuckin’ cat leaving a dead mouse on the porch. He wanted us to find her. And he wanted us to find her quickly.” 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Morgan noted, tentatively stepping into the grass and gently moving the long spokes of greenery back to get a better look at the victim. “He’s definitely escalating.” 

You crouched down to get a better look yourself, and you had to agree. 

Her face was almost entirely caved in, but it appeared to be from a series of blunt hits, and not from a singular swing with a heavy object. Between the pre-mortem swelling and the post-mortem rage, where he had continued to mutilate her even after her death, she was practically unrecognizable from the photo that her family had provided you with. The only reason the team had been able to confirm her identity for sure was that she had been reported missing, and she had been found wearing a unique custom charm bracelet that her parents could confirm belonged to her. 

You wished that you could guarantee they would never see her body in this state. 

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud. 

You hummed back in confusion. 

Before you could wonder any further about what he meant, he reached out and gently pried open the victim’s mouth, fishing out a small piece of plastic that he had seen sticking out from the corner of her swollen, bruised lips. He had to fight to get it out of her stiff, death rigored body, but when he was able to - a small plastic bag came out of her mouth. 

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper. 

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly. 

Naturally, he opened the bag and took out the paper, and you looked on with nervous curiosity as he read what was on the note. 

“You are the stars hidden by clouds.” He read aloud. “I know you’re there even when I can’t see you. Your shine peeks out and reaches me in the depths of my soul. Tell me your arms are long enough to reach me across oceans. Tell me someday we will be together, somehow, some way. Tell me that this love we have can survive being together as well as we’ve survived being apart. Tell me we are more than the chasm of our divide.” 

Bile splashed up in your throat. 

You hated that the quote was distinctly familiar to you. You hated how you knew it. 

You could still hear his voice in your head, and it made your bones quake. 

“Hmm.” Morgan looked over the paper thoughtfully. “It’s another page ripped out of a book. Just like the other one. I’ll call Garcia and have her look it up, maybe-” 

“You don’t have to.” You said, hoping that your throat wasn’t too painfully constricted around your words. “It’s Jacqueline Simon Gunn.” 

Morgan easily saw the haunted look behind your eyes - the years old terror that you were having a much harder time suppressing now. 

Oddly enough, it was a feeling that he knew well. Perhaps that’s why he saw it in you so easily. 

“You alright?” He bothered to ask, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’. 

“I’m fine.” You lied. “We should bring this back to everyone else.” 

You rushed away from the crime scene like a bat out of hell, and even though he knew he should have pressed further - he let you. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 10:08AM.

“Good morning, y’all.” 

The BAU was greeted by Chief Dalton, the Madison County Chief of Police, as you all filed into the small police department. 

“You can set up in the conference room over there, I hope we got y’all everything you need.” He said, flashing a warm, welcoming smile. 

“This looks fine, thank you.” JJ said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” She pointed to him, and he nodded in return - of course, rather than shaking hands. “This is Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and Agent L/N. Our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Morgan will be here later - they wanted to go and interview some of the families of the victims, get some more background information.” 

“L/N?” He motioned toward you, his eyes becoming fixated on you as you set down your bag and lifted one of the lids off the boxes to get a glance at some of the files. “That name sounds awful familiar to me - are you from Madison?” 

“Oh yes, I am,” You grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a handshake, to which he grinned back widely. “I grew up here. This is actually my first time back in years.” 

“Well, welcome home.” He said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” 

“Me too.” You easily agreed. 

You thought that would be the end of it, until: 

“You know I hardly recognized you. Such a pretty face, but the last time I saw you, you was beat to a darn pulp.” He remarked, giving a pained chuckle. 

Your stomach swelled with anxiety, and it felt like a pure balloon of concrete sitting inside of you. You felt all the eyes in the room on you - Rossi, JJ, Emily, Spencer - all of them staring you down as this man aired your dirty laundry like it was as casual as the weather report. 

“You came through here - what was it, the summer of ‘99? I’ll never forget that assault report. I’m surprised you can still see out of that right eye of yours, with the way-” 

“Coffee?” You cut him off when you managed to find your voice, rushing to change the subject and praying he would get the hint. “Where can I get a coffee around here? Long flight. And we’ve had an early morning. Long flight, going over the case.” 

You didn’t even realize you were tripping over your own words, repeating yourself in a rush to fill the air so he wouldn’t speak about the past anymore. 

“Oh, it’s right through there. In the break room.” He said, motioning vaguely behind him. 

“Would you mind showing me, please?” 

You knew it was cowardly, but you were now desperate to escape your colleagues, and wanted to drag the Chief away before he spilled anything else from his loose lips. 

He escorted you out of the room and it was only a mere moment before conversation ensued about the strange thing that had just happened. 

“Am I gonna be the first person to say ‘what the hell’?” Rossi asked, looking around to his teammates, who all had equally shocked and confused expressions. 

“It’s a small town. These people don’t exactly understand secrecy. Or tact.” JJ sighed. 

“Yeah, but why would Y/N keep that a secret from us?” Spencer asked, frowning. “If she was assaulted-” 

“Yeah, in the summer of ‘99.” Emily pressed. “That was a long time ago. Have you told everyone on the team every little detail about your life from ten years ago?” 

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her. 

“Whatever.” Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to profile her. We’re here to catch another scumbag and leave.” 

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

“If she wants to tell us about what happened, she will.” Rossi added on.  

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Outskirts of Madison - Madison, GA. 9:52AM.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” 

He had a perfect view of you through the scope of his gun. 

Of course, he would never hurt you. There was no bullet in that gun that was intended for you. This was just the perfect way to see you. Up close and personal. Just the way he liked it. 

This was the first time he had seen you in so long. You wore your makeup differently now - your hair was a bit different. But you were still his girl. 

“You’re gonna love the present I left for ya.” 

You spoke his language - violence. 

You wrote your life in blood, just like he did. 

You were perfect. His perfect girl. 

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Inside the BAU Jet - Somewhere Above America. 7:12AM.

“So, the ME dates eight of these victims from within the last year alone?” Prentiss questioned, looking over some of the files on the table in front of her. 

“Well, it’s difficult to tell with the soil erosion and the heavy rain that the area had recently, but they are significantly less decomposed than the others.” JJ explained. 

“What I don’t understand,” Morgan noted. “Why would he give up his gig now? I mean, twenty four victims in a mass grave in the middle of the woods, and he leaves a twenty-fifth victim in the middle of the road, clearly intending for police to find it. With a damn note attached, giving up the exact coordinates of his mass dumpsite. Why?”

“It is strange.” Reid agreed. “Typically, whenever killers have contact with the police, it is to taunt them for their inability to get caught, believing that the police are stupid and they as killers are invincible.” He said. Naturally, this rolled into a rant as more facts came to mind about the subject. 

“Serial killer Dennis Rader, also known as the BTK killer, standing for Blind, Torture, Kill - he taunted police with letters over a period of three decades, between 1974 and 1991, each one that he sent to the local police simply saying ‘good luck hunting’.” Reid explained. “Occasionally, he would send them graphic descriptions of how he had posed the bodies at each crime scene. And he was only caught when a floppy disc he sent to a local television station was traced back to a computer that he had used at his church.” 

Reid laughed at this revelation, finding it amusing. With all eyes staring at him, he reached the realization that this wasn’t helpful to the case at hand - and then he easily clammed up. 

“So, this UnSub gives up the dumpsite because… he’s feeling remorseful? He wants to get caught?” Rossi theorized. 

“The level of violence across these recent victims has no indication of remorse.” You replied. “One of the bodies found at the dumpsite was missing over half her teeth, and had all ten of her fingers broken in multiple places. Seemingly pre-mortem.” 

There was a heavy silence at this. 

“Perhaps he’s feeling ignored,” Hotch posed. “He feels like his crimes aren’t being well covered by the media and he wants glory. He finally wants recognition for what he’s done.” 

“Well, wouldn’t he have sent some kind of manifesto or another letter to the police?” Morgan posed. “And it seems like the guy went through a whole lot of trouble for a long time, trying not to get caught. He buried them out in the woods, secluded. Wrapped them in plastic, scrubbed the bodies clean so there’s absolutely no DNA. Doesn’t seem like someone looking for glory to me.”  

“Not to mention that he wrote the coordinates for the dumpsite on the back of a page ripped out of a novel.” Rossi said, squinting down at one of the files - a close up forensic photo that had been sent over by the local police department. 

Prentiss held out her hand, and Rossi handed over the photo, and then she began reading the words off the page aloud. 

“-I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy, but-” 

“-but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” You finished the quote before she could, the words flashing through your mind with a sickly twist in your gut. It was all too familiar to you, in the worst way. “It’s Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austin.” 

Everyone fixated on you with a strange gaze, wondering how you knew this off the top of your head. Especially when usually this would only be something that Reid would be able to recite so perfectly by heart. 

“Maybe he thinks that he’s romancing these women?” Prentiss theorized, trying to move on from the strange moment. 

“That’s plausible.” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Morgan and I will go interview some of the families. JJ, get us their contacts. I want to know if any of these women had problems with an ex boyfriend or even a bad date whom they rejected. It could be someone they once viewed as a potential romantic partner that went horribly wrong.” 

JJ nodded at this, going to look through her files for the information. 

“This level of torture - it’s likely a substitute for sexual gratification.” Morgan theorized, looking at the crime scene photos one again. “Maybe he is romancing these women, but in his mind, this is the ultimate form of romance? Having all of his conquests together in death - it’s a declaration of what a casanova he is. In his fractured world.” 

“It still doesn’t explain why he gave up the dumpsite to the police.” Prentiss argued. 

“Men like to brag about their sexual exploits.” Rossi said, nodding toward Morgan. “If these women are his conquests, in his mind, then he wants his manliness, his accomplishments, to be appreciated by other men.” 

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this. 

“Well, at least we know our UnSub’s not a woman.” She remarked sharply. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:15AM.

JJ stood at the front of the room, ready to present the newest case to everyone. 

“Last night, a body was discovered on the backroads of South Carolina, about five miles outside of the town of Delph. She was found naked, mutilated. Heavy bruising all over her body that insinuates the killer kept her and tortured her for days. Final cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma from multiple hits to the head, but she also had several shallow stab wounds across her body, seemingly from some kind of hunting knife with a rough blade.” 

JJ explained, beginning to present the case as she clicked the small remote, causing images of the crime scene to pop up on the large screen in the room. 

“The victim - now identified as Ashley Prembrooke, hadn’t even been reported missing. She left her parents house in Madison, Georgia, about three days ago to drive back to her dorm at the University of South Carolina. When she didn’t show up on time, her roommate assumed that she was staying at home for a few extra days. Her father has cancer, so she wanted to be there for him.” 

There seemed to be a particularly dark aura in the room at this news. 

“Did the killer know that she wouldn’t be reported missing, or did he just snatch her up by chance?” Morgan asked. 

“Her car was found abandoned at a rest stop a few miles from the border of Georgia.” JJ explained. “So… it seems to be random.” 

“Well, I hate to ask this,” Rossi said. “But why are we being called out for just one body?” 

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed. 

She clicked the clicker again, and several close-up photos appeared. Photos of the victim’s mutilated body - among the harsh bruising on her torso, there was a piece of white paper, partially stained with blood. It had been folded and stapled into her flesh. 

“The victim was found with this page… stapled into her skin.” JJ said, clearly finding the words disturbing to speak aloud. “Written on the back, was a set of coordinates. Local police discovered that these coordinates lead to a random patch of woods, about ten miles outside of Madison, Georgia.” 

JJ queued more pictures onto the screen. It was those very woods - overturned dirt. And more than a dozen bodies, wrapped in plastic among the soil. 

“It was the site of a mass grave with twenty-four other victims - all women around the same age, with the most recent ones all having the same body type, the same hair color, same general makeup as Ashley Prembrooke.” 

“He has a type.” Hotch stated the obvious. 

“And for some reason, he tipped the police off to his hiding place.” JJ reminded them all. 

“Twenty four victims?” Prentiss questioned, clearly shocked by this number. 

“That’s what they’ve found so far. The decomposition on some of the bodies seems to go back as far as a decade, but it’s difficult to date them exactly.” JJ replied. 

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed. 

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied. 

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized. 

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.” 

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened. 

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster. 

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend. 

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone. 

And they were from your hometown. 

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but… 

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you. 

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?” 

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.” 

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves. 

“Y/N.” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety. 

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh. 

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question. 

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top. 

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed. 

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest. 

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him. 

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return. 

You hated it. 

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you. 

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid. 

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done. 

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?” 

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently. 

“I’m human. So what?” 

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home. 

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now. 

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-” 

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself. 

… 

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home. 

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?” 

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair. 

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.” 

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.” 

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog. 

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this. 

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile. 

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired. 

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn. 

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile. 

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you. 

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope. 

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut. 

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name. 

The way he had written it. 

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong. 

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Nothing.” You quickly replied. 

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you. 

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now? 

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow. 

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much. 

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor. 

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes. 

Lover, 

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon. 

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell. 

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me. 

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” 

-Daniel 

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page. 

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant. 

It was from that night. He had kept it. 

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work. 

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open. 

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?” 

You didn’t answer. 

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in. 

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it. 

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.” 

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?” 

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit. 

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door. 

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile. 

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?” 

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist. 

“Can I see?” 

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down. 

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.” 

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes. 

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.” 

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it. 

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth. 

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again. 

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue. 

You truly considered just coming out with it. 

But then- 

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence. 

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.” 

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs. 

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.” 

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused. 

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked. 

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door. 

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation. 

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.” 

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together. 

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.” 

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?” 

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off. 

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said. 

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands. 

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.” 

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained. 

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you. 

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.” 

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.” 

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind. 

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process. 

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?” 

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?” 

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked. 

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.” 

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared. 

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked. 

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open. 

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside. 

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away. 

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer. 

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ. 

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up. 

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?” 

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on. 

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-” 

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting. 

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.” 

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her. 

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you. 

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.” 

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked. 

“Oh. Ugh.” 

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask. 

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number. 

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her. 

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.” 

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked. 

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.” 

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked. 

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.” 

“What?” Derek prompted her. 

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained. 

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed. 

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked. 

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?” 

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.” 

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table. 

Battered. Bruised. Broken. 

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once. 

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-” 

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you. 

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?” 

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked. 

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…” 

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud. 

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained. 

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.” 

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.” 

It all fit together now. 

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you. 

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius. 

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-” 

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit. 

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.” 

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action. 

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident. 

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control. 

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of confronting your life’s biggest monster. 

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you. 

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process. 

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill. 

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.” 

“Reid-!” 

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over. 

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting. 

“Y/N,” 

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest. 

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you. 

But you still couldn’t escape him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Your hand shook as you held the knife. 

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet. 

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.” 

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls. 

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would. 

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen. 

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then. 

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-” 

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point. 

Spencer just didn’t understand. 

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!” 

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears. 

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. 

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.” 

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

You couldn’t give up. 

You had come too far to let Daniel win now. 

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.” 

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone. 

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it. 

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.” 

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing? 

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it. 

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.” 

You didn’t look up at him. 

You knew that you couldn’t. 

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away. 

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.” 

You let out another sob at this. 

You had been so alone. 

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?” 

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true. 

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.” 

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears. 

It wasn’t pity. 

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago. 

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you. 

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in. 

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders. 

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night. 

… 

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret of it all more palpable in your lungs. 

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life. 

You should have killed Daniel. 

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand. You should have sliced his throat. 

Ten more minutes. 

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would be resigned to a cage. 

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives. 

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing. 

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body? 

“Let’s start with this,” Reid asked you sharply. “Why?” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself. 

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.” 

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you. 

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.” 

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid. 

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?” 

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting. 

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips. 

It caused you to flare with anger. 

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him. 

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him. 

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.” 

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time. 

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!” 

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it. 

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice. 

But you couldn’t stop. 

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it. 

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you. 

Pity. 

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long. 

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.” 

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.” 

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?” 

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.” 

Hotch nodded at this. 

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.” 

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly. 

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.” 

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own. 

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed. 

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

hey love!

i haven’t read the fic yet but all i can say is who cares. people are always going to have opinions, the only one worth it’s weight is yours. i love your writing and all that matters is what you think.

and i’m sure the fic is absolutely lovely but some people need to realise life isn’t a rainbows and sunshine. so why would fiction be any different?? actual grown up problems are always around and add depth in my opinion. don’t ever delete your amazing works because of other people.

- love, kira

Woke up to another whiny comment criticizing the reader character in Careful for being stupid, overly emotional, and being mean to poor little Spencer uwu

My finger is hovering over the delete button for every single chapter of that fic because I am just so fucking sick of people commenting on it like it's a CinemaSins episode and not like it's something that I put careful thought into at every single turn - and as with all my fics, the characters and the plot are emotionally driven, so of course things are not gonna be 100% logical at all times (go read No Place Like Home, go read You Shook Me All Night Long, go read Burn The Witch, go read Glitter & Crimson - all of those conflicts are emotionally driven and the reader character is "stupid" and "bitchy" because THAT'S HOW HUMAN BEINGS ARE)

People act fucking entitled to fanfiction and when it's not just pure fluff they complain about it having realistic, thought-out conflict

Like PLEASE - if you don't like a fic, just click out of it. Don't whine in the comments as if those comments are your personal Twitter. Idk how the thought doesn't occur in your little brain, but the author sees every single half baked, passive aggressive thing that you write when you're pissed off with the characters' actions. So take five and actually think about what you're writing before you fucking write it.

blue shirt

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke wears one of his new shirts and you love it.

warnings; none? it's literally just me being a whore for luke

notes; this is literally just like a 600 word brain dump of me being an absolute SIMP FOR THIS MAN, it's like midnight, i'm watching 14x02 for the first time and LUKE IS WEARING THIS GODDAMN CHEQUERED BLUE SHIRT AND IM GOING FERAL. HE LOOKS SO PRETTY. so, here's a screenshot from the episode so you know what blue shirt i'm talking about and then there's a little one-shot/drabble of me losing my mind, please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were halfway through your pancakes when Luke walked in and your jaw fell slack. Your mind literally short-circuited as you stared at him. He was adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them up past his elbows. He hadn’t even noticed you gawking. He looked so pretty.

He was wearing a light-blue chequered shirt, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and the top three buttons of the shirt were undone. He looked so casual and yet gorgeous, and the colour complimented his skin in a way you had never seen. He looked breathtaking. The fit was a little loose but it framed his arms perfectly. The fabric showed off his muscles and the fact that the sleeves were rolled up meant you had the perfect view of his forearms and how his muscles flexed as he adjusted the fit. You had never seen him look so hot.

“What?” Luke’s voice snapped you back to reality. You were practically drooling, all thoughts of finishing the pancakes gone from your mind as you stared at him. He looked at you and then down at himself.

“Is that a new shirt?” You finally managed to choke out. His eyebrows furrowed and he nodded his head.

“Yeah?” He paused for a moment, your jaw still on the floor as your eyes roved over his chest. The fact the top was unbuttoned meant you could see just a bit of his chest and the marks that you had left there the previous night. Fuck, this man would be the death of you, “Oh, oh(!) okay,” His tone changed to one of playful understanding. You snapped your gaze back up to his face. A grin spread across his lips while you were floundering on what to say to him.

He walked over to where you were sitting at the breakfast bar and turned your stool around so he could slide himself between your thighs. His hand moved to your chin and pushed it up so your mouth was closed.

“You really like me in this, don’t you?” He teased as you looked up at him. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked across his body again. That shirt, honest to God, was doing something for you and you didn’t have a clue why. Your hand moved from your lap and up to his chest.

“Yeah,” You admitted. He chuckled and you dug your nails into his chest through the fabric, “Please wear this more often.” He couldn’t help how he was grinning. It was practically a smirk. He loved how easy it was to get you riled up sometimes and this hadn’t even been intentional but he found it endearing. He leant down, your faces inches apart.

“I will. Just for you,” He whispered against your lips before he pressed them together. It was such a soft kiss. He could taste the maple syrup on your lips as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him down. He chuckled against your lips while his hands moved to rest against your hips, “Later,” He whispered as he pulled back. You groaned, pouting playfully.

“Is that a promise?” You asked. He hummed back in response noncommittally. You didn’t bother to argue against it. Instead, you returned to your pancakes while he made the two of you coffees to-go.

<3

I think Luke is low-key a little possessive. Not in like a jealous you can't talk to anyone way but like marking you up and wanting you to tell him you're his during sex. He also enjoys seeing you in his clothes

yours

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke wants to give you all the pleasure he can but maybe he gives a little too much

warnings; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+, smut, pure smut, breeding kink (if you squint), overstimulation (so much overstimulation), a lot of talk of fluids, reader squirts once, luke marks reader up, hurt/comfort but not really hurt (reader is just overstimulated and pleasure drunk), little bit of crying because of said overstimulation, just really horny, dom!luke, sub!reader

notes; i feel like the actual fic may have veered away from the ask a bit but i kind of took luke being possessive and fucking ran with it, like RAN with it, uhm, yeah, a 3k one-shot of just luke and reader being horny, i've shared like horny one-shots before but this feels like a new level so uhm, i hope you enjoy and any feedback is helpful since i literally never share my smutty writings!

masterlist

Luke’s arms were caging you in as he slowly thrusted into you. He had already pulled two or three orgasms from just slowly fucking into you and your mind was drunk on pleasure. He was kissing you as you moaned and whined into his mouth. His tongue licking into your mouth as your nails dug into his chest, scratching at his tanned skin. Every sensation was maddening.

And then his lips slipped from yours and down to your neck. He nipped at your skin and you threw your head back, giving him access to every inch of skin on your throat. He had already left hickeys that you knew weren’t gonna fade for days but you really didn’t care. You loved when he marked you up. You also knew that he loved doing it.

“My pretty carina,” He mumbled against your throat and you whined. His thrusts were still slow, dragging everything out as you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt like you were being slowly torn apart and it was like nothing you’d ever experienced, even with him. He had come back from a case desperate and needy and he hadn’t even cum yet. Instead, he was trying to draw as many orgasms from you as he could.

“Luke,” You whined, feeling the familiar pressure in your gut. Your walls contracted around him and he groaned against your neck. His head fell forward, his forehead resting against your throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. You were whining and kneening, digging your fingers into any part of him that you could, “Oh God,” You moaned as your back arched. He was desperately trying to hold back blowing his load as his teeth sunk into your neck. The way you felt around him only made it harder to control and everything shunted forward as you gushed around him. It was dripping down your ass and thighs, coating every part of you in sticky slick. But Luke didn’t let up.

“Luke,” You whined, throwing your head back as he continued his slow, even thrusts. Your walls were so sensitive and your legs were shaking, “Please,” You continued, not even entirely sure what you were begging for. Luke smirked against your skin before he lifted his head up so he could look at you. He rested his hand against your cheek as he continued his measured thrusts.

“What is it, baby?” He asked, somehow still put together despite everything. Your cunt was wet, warm and he was slipping in and out so easily. You didn’t understand how he was able to hold on for this long. You felt your sanity beginning to slip as he continued to thrust into you, your mind so drunk on pleasure that you couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t even respond to his question which made him smirk, “Am I making you feel good?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his tone. You tried desperately to nod, moaning as he adjusted his hips to get a better angle. His cock hit your cervix with every thrust and you could barely think straight, “Who’s making you feel good?” He continued as he rested his forehead against yours. Your breaths were mingling as you whined and keened, chest pressed against his as your fingers moved to drag down his chest.

“You, you are,” You moaned out as he shoved into you particularly harshly. Your eyes fell closed as you dug your nails into his back, “Just you, only you, oh God, Luke,” You devolved into mindlessly whining and panting as you felt another orgasm already begin to make itself known. Your walls were contracting around him and he squeezed his eyes shut again. It was getting harder and harder to hold himself back.

“Am I gonna make you cum again? Cum for me, baby.” His voice was in your ear and it sent you over the edge. Your nails dug into his back, leaving crescent shaped marks on his shoulders as you gushed around him. Your legs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as you convulsed, desperately trying to work through the orgasm but it was getting harder. Especially when he was still slowly thrusting into you, your walls were so oversensitive, you felt like you were losing your mind. Eyes squeezed shut, panting, whining and your back arched while your nails dug into his back. It was probably painful but he made no indication that it bothered him as your head was thrown back. It was impossible to even think.

And he was still thrusting into you. Every single one sent pleasure tickling up your spine and it was toeing the fine line between pleasure and pain and you could feel yourself slipping away. You weren’t even sure how long he had been thrusting into you and you knew that you were whining and moaning his name but you weren’t sure what you were saying. You were babbling as he continued to suck hickeys into your neck and mumble about how you were his and only his. It was maddening.

“Fuck,” Luke whined, goddamn whined against your throat as he felt your tightening around him again. You were panting, breathless and dazed as you felt yourself cumming again. Tears were dripping down your face, your pleasure-addled mind completely lost in itself as he thrusted again and again. But it was getting too much and he abruptly pulled out just as you came.

You squirted, goddamn squirted but without his cock to squeeze around, you had nothing to latch onto. You damn near sobbed as you clawed at his back, trying to work through your orgasm without anything. Luke was panting against your throat, hands digging into the mattress as he tried to calm himself down.

“Luke,” You whined, your orgasm finally having passed and your hand lazily moved to tug at his hair. Every movement was sluggish and slow and your grip was weak but he lifted his head up anyway. Your eyes were barely able to focus on him, tears of pleasure still streaming down your face as you tried to tug him to you, “Please, cum in me, please,” You begged. You rested your forehead against his, pressing soft kisses to his lips between whimpers of ‘please’. Luke’s eyes fell closed as his hand moved to cup your jaw.

“You want me to fill you up?” He asked. You nodded your head as you tugged at his hair with a weak grip. “Please, I’m yours. Want you to show me how much you love me. Want you. Just you, please. Please, I need to feel it,” You were begging breathlessly, not even entirely sure what you were saying. It was just endless babble as you told him that you belonged to him and that you needed him. Luke groaned against your lips before he looked down to line himself back up before he slipped in. You let out a high-pitched whine. Your walls were so sensitive but you didn’t care. You just wanted him to cum, you needed him to.

“Tell me who you belong to,” He whispered against your lips as he began to fuck into you again. His thrusts started off slow and he watched your mouth fall open. Your body gave in to him again as your legs fell from around his waist.

“You, just you. Always belonged to you, Luke,” You rambled. It was almost like a mantra, a chant and you couldn’t think of saying anything else. His name was the only thing your pleasure-addled mind could come out with and his thrusts began to speed up. It wasn’t slow anymore, it was rough and you were being fucked back into the headboard as you whined. Your head was thrown back and his lips attached to your collarbones, biting and sucking at the skin between his groans and pants. Your walls were squeezing around him involuntarily as he thrusted harder and faster, chasing his orgasm. They became less rhythmic and you knew he was going to cum.

“Please, wanna feel you,” You begged as he moved, “I belong to you. Wanna feel you dripping inside me all day.” Luke moaned against your chest, your words making his hips stutter before he buried into you and painted your walls white with his cum. He panted against your collarbone as he thrusted once or twice more before he settled against you. His dick was still buried in you as he collapsed against your body.

His head rested above your heart and he could hear how fast it was beating as he panted, desperately trying to get his breath back.

“Fuck, Luke,” You mumbled softly. He chuckled, his chest rumbling and you whined softly, feeling his dick change positions inside of you, “I can’t- I can’t take anymore,” You muttered after a moment. Your voice was so quiet and fragile. Luke understood what you meant and though he felt boneless from his own orgasm, he lifted up enough to support himself.

“Just breathe, I’m gonna pull out,” He warned you. One hand rested against your face as he slowly pulled his softening dick from you. You whined at the loss, your eyes squeezing shut to prevent tears from falling before you pressed your thighs together. The sticky wetness of your cunt and thighs was something that you were both incredibly familiar with and it made Luke pout when you closed your legs.

“Give me a- give me a minute,” You mumbled, voice cracking. Luke nodded and he moved up so that he was cupping your face.

“It’s okay,” He whispered softly against your lips. You hummed out in response before you let out a ragged breath, “You did so well. You were perfect,” He added. Your shoulders sagged at the praise, the feelings of euphoria somehow becoming even better with his soft praise. His lips moved to kiss your forehead, “You need to get cleaned up though,” He reminded. You whined and shook your head side-to-side, thinking about how overstimulating it would be on your poor abused cunt. You didn’t even want to think about it.

“No, no, no. Let me just. I wanna stay here, let me stay here,” You begged, hands moving to cover your face as the tears began to blur your vision all over again. The very thought of getting out of bed made you want to start crying. Your emotions were all out of whack after the mind-blowing number of orgasms that he had given you. You could feel the lump forming in your throat at even the thought of anything touching your cunt right now.

“Hey, hey,” Luke’s voice softened as he took a gentle hold of your wrist. He had never seen you so emotionally wrecked from him fucking you. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. It twinged at his gut but he did his best to ignore it so he could take care of you, “I’m right here. Baby, look at me.” His voice was so soft yet commanding. It was hard not to listen to him as you forced your eyes open and let him take your wrists away. Tears were blurring your vision and a few of them began to fall as he admired you with such love, “What’s wrong?” He asked. You let out a choked sob at his question and your hands moved to tug at his neck, wanting to hold him.

“Too sensitive, don’t, can’t touch it,” You rambled. Luke let you drag him into a hug, letting you hold his hand as he did his best to keep any pressure off your lower half.

“Okay, what about a bath? Nobody has to touch it,” He suggested from where you had forced him onto your chest. You nodded and he smiled softly. He took a hold of your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before he moved to sit up on his knees, “I’ll run a bath. Just stay here,” He said. You nodded but your lip was quivering. It was clear that you didn’t want him to leave but he knew that he needed to get you both cleaned up in whatever way he could. His own thighs and dick were covered in your slick and as much as he loved the feeling, he also knew that he needed to clean it up at some point.

Once Luke had disappeared into the bathroom, you curled up on your side. Your cunt was still so sensitive and the only way you could stop feeling the twinge was by relaxing your thighs. It took everything in you to concentrate on that so your emotions were going haywire.

You wanted Luke back with you in bed, you needed his touch and even though he was only the room over, you began to cry. It was soft at first, little hiccuping sobs before they got louder. You needed to be with Luke and so, you pushed yourself off the bed.

Your legs were shaky, like jelly, from the way he’d fucked you and you were barely able to keep yourself upright but you used the dresser and the walls of your bedroom to get to the ensuite. You were still sobbing, they were soft but ugly noises as you pushed the door open. Luke’s head snapped up and his face broke into a frown when he saw your disheveled state.

“What, what happened? Are you okay?” He asked quickly. You stumbled over to him before wrapping your arms around him.

“Just needed you,” You managed between soft hiccuping sobs. He was still frowning as he wrapped you up in a hug. He had never seen you like this after sex. It honestly terrified him and the guilt was wrapping him up. You were sobbing, covered in marks and he knew that you liked it. He knew that it didn’t bother you and you would have used the safe word if something went too far that you didn’t like but you hadn’t. He didn’t know what to think.

“Did I hurt you?” Luke asked as he wrapped you up in his arms. You shook your head.

“Felt so good,” You mumbled between hiccups. His hand ran soothing circles across your back and it was calming the tears down, “Felt so good but wanted to be with you. I didn’t want to be without you. Just needed your arms around me.” You were rambling, your emotions really were haywire. Luke didn’t know what to think and so he just caressed your hair and rubbed your back until your sobs had subsided.

The bath was also drawn and so he switched the taps off before he let you towards it. He insisted that you get in first and so, you slipped into the water. It was warm and you instantly felt so much better. It soothed your frayed nerves but when you looked at Luke, he seemed hesitant to join you. His mouth was set into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly. Your eyes were still red and puffy and your cheeks were tear-streaked but Luke made you feel better. He had made everything so much better. You reached out for his hand but he seemed hesitant to touch it, “Please, get in the bath,” You mumbled, feeling your eyes get teary again. You were beginning to think that you had done something wrong and the terror gripped you, “Please,” Your voice cracked. Luke was quick to kneel down on the bathroom floor so he was on the same level as you. His hand held you.

“Did I cross a line?” He asked, voice serious. You shook your head. Your mind was so scrambled but that was one thing you were sure of, “I need words.” Your head fell forward and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I would have said something. You didn’t, you didn’t cross a line. Please, I want you here. Please,” You were practically begging for him and even if you were still an emotional wreck, he noted that it was the most put together you had sounded since he had cum.

With a reluctant nod of his head, he got up to his feet and slipped into the bath behind you. Within seconds, you had curled up on his chest and you rested your head against his pec. You were just glad that he was here.

The two of you stayed in the bath until the water was cold, sitting in comfortable silence apart from when you mumbled to each other about cleaning up. Luke had done his best to be gentle as he washed your thighs and your cunt was less sensitive which meant he was able to gently wipe across it. Your clit twitched but otherwise, you felt fine.

You were then able to turn your attention to him and as you came back from the emotional wreck that Luke’s fucking had made you, you cleaned him up. You started with his thighs before you spread water across his chest and arms. You kissed his face, showing him all that love that he wanted and as the bath went on, the rigidness of his shoulders began to relax.

Once you had both gotten out, he seemed to have fully relaxed again. You were also feeling more sober and sane than you had all night. Luke helped you dry off and then he gave you his shirt to wear to bed. You didn’t argue, you never would. You loved his shirts and when you slipped it on, you felt at ease. Luke also loved to see you in his shirts. It made him grin and when you looked at him with those adoring features, he couldn’t help the smile that overtook him.

The two of you slipped into bed after Luke changed the sheets and when you were safely snuggled up to him, he broached the question again. It was clear that Luke was a little surprised by just how fucked out you had been and when he asked if what he did was okay, you once again reassured him that you loved it. 

You also confessed that you had never felt so turned on and he had pulled more orgasms from you than any man ever had. That did boost Luke’s ego a little but he was still concerned. You had been so emotional and you told him that you were only crying because you missed him and wanted to hug him. You reassured him over and over again that you had never been in pain and even let it slip that you wouldn’t mind him doing that again.

That was probably what surprised Luke the most. Considering how sensitive and upset you had been and how desperate you were for nobody to touch your cunt, you wanted to feel it again. That’s what finally soothed Luke’s guilty conscience. It was the way that you smirked over it, giggling to yourself at the thought of him fucking you like that again.

“I hope it wasn’t a one time thing,” You muttered as you traced shapes across his abdomen. You were tracing stars and squares and triangles and swirly patterns, trying not to think too much about how good it felt. If you thought too much, you’d be wet again and you’d wanna beg Luke to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight again. But considering how freaked out it made Luke, you didn’t want to put him through that again. Not until he was ready, “You can do that again whenever you want,” You added, “But if you never want to do it again, I understand.” Luke’s hand moved to your chin and he lifted up your jaw. “If you want me to do it again, I’m more than happy but not tonight,” He responded before he pressed a soft, slow, long kiss to your lips. He pulled back and you whined softly, wishing that maybe it could have lasted longer.

“Maybe not tonight,” You muttered. He hummed out in response before pressing a kiss to your temple and settling back into bed. You were exhausted, it was beginning to seep back in and the conversation continued until you fell asleep curled against his side.

<3

Reader who has an oral fixation and Luke is all to happy to help her with it.

fixation

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke likes to help you out whenever he can ;)

warnings; MINORS DO NO INTERACT 18+, oral sex (m recieving), brief mention of f recieving oral, reader has an oral fixation, brief mention of p in v, dom!luke, sub!reader, kind of self-indulgent

notes; i saw this ask and uhm, immediately had to do it. i was gonna try and downplay it but i literally have an oral fixation and it's honestly so annoying to deal with but i feel like luke as a bf would make it so much better <3 this is a short and sweet like fluffy/smutty one-shot so please enjoy <3

masterlist

(yes... i'm using this gif, shut up)

From the moment that you joined the BAU, Luke suspected you had an oral fixation. There was hardly a time where you weren’t eating, chewing gum or a pen or drinking something and chewing on the end of a straw. But nobody commented on it.

Well, except once, after too many glasses of wine at Rossi’s house, Spencer had called you out on it after you made a joke about biting. You often liked to mumble that you ‘were gonna bite someone’ if you were in a bad mood or something had pissed you off. It was like a reflex phrase for you and when Reid called you out on it, you had gone rigid.

He noticed that you tried to curb your tendencies for a few weeks after that incident before you returned back to always having something to bite on. It wasn’t a bad thing. At least, Luke didn’t think so and so, when your relationship became romantic, he was always more than happy to help you out in whatever way he could.

He kept gum for you in the car or his bag. He kept mints or Jolly Ranchers or any sort of hard candy in his jacket pockets so that he could give them to you at a moment’s notice. It was an unspoken thing between the two of you and you were incredibly appreciative of him. And well, the oral fixation bled into other aspects of your life that Luke was more than willing to help you with.

Like, right now, he had had his head between your legs, pulling orgasms from you while you whined and keened. Your hands had gripped his arm as he made it hard to think straight but after pulling two or three orgasms from you, he let his lips trail back up your stomach. You were breathing heavily, hands clawing to hold any part of him and after watching him between your legs, you wanted to get between his.

“Luke,” You begged softly, tugging at him to come closer to you. He shifted, his hard cock resting heavy on your stomach as he rested his forehead against yours. Your hands moved to rest against his face, fingers scritching his stubble as you let out a breathy whine.

“Tell me what you want,” He said as his hand moved to brush down your cheeks. Your eyes reopened, hazy from the bliss but you knew what you wanted.

“Need you in my mouth, please,” You began and Luke seemed a little hesitant. You didn’t give him a chance to speak again though, “I can- I can pull away before you cum but I just need you in my mouth, please, baby. Please, I just- I want you in my mouth. That’s all I want. Just for a little bit, wanna make you feel good too, please, please,” You quickly devolved into senseless begging as you looked up at him. He groaned softly, finding it so hard to deny when your voice was so high-pitched and whiny like that.

“Okay, okay.” He gave in and the grin that spread across your face was worth it. He knew that your mind was pleasure-addled but he also knew that there was hardly a time where you didn’t desperately want to take him into your mouth. He slipped off the top of you and you clambered off the bed. Your legs were wobbly but you managed to control both yourself and him. You reached out for him and tugged him to the edge of the bed. His cock was hard and pre-cum dripped from the head and you couldn’t help the way you bit your lip.

You sank to your knees and let your kisses trail up from the crook of his knee. They were sloppy and wet, all teeth and lips as you nipped at the skin the closer you got. His thigh muscles were so strong and you loved kissing and gently biting against them. It made Luke squirm as he tried to keep his hands to himself. This was about you. Your lips trailed from his thigh up to his stomach before you pulled back, admiring his happy trail.

“Love you,” You mumbled before you took a gentle hold of his dick. You spat into the palm of your hand before wrapping it around him. You pumped once or twice and when you were sure that he was ready, you leant forward and kissed the tip of his cock. He let out a breathy groan at the sensation before you let your mouth take him in.

You hollowed your cheeks out and the way his cock stretched your mouth open, how he sat hot and heavy on your tongue. It short-circuited your brain and made it hard to concentrate but you were quick to get to work.

However, sucking his dick wasn’t the only way Luke satisfied your oral fixation. He’d be fucking you, nice and deep and slow and his hand would rest against your throat. He would never squeeze but the presence was enough to bring tantalizing pleasure up your spine. Just the power and control he had over you, did something to you. But he knew you liked to have something in your mouth and while he thrusted into you, he let his hand from your neck move up. His thumb would run across your bottom lip and gently pull your mouth open before he slipped his thumb past your lips and teeth. You would whine and keen at the sensation, sucking his thumb like you would his cock. It was embarrassing how messy you would get just from that action alone.

Luke loved it. He loved being able to fulfill that need in whatever way that you needed and it was hard to deny how gorgeous you looked with his cock - or fingers - in your mouth.

<3

Luke coming home one day (after moving in together) and finding reader in bed with a mountain of pillows in his spot so they won't feel lonely when he's gone (Roxy is there too somewhere)

pillow pal

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke comes home to you snuggled up to his pillows.

warnings; pure fluff, luke draws a gun bc he is worried but no danger, just pure fluff

notes; just a short little fluffy piece of luke coming home and finding reader asleep in bed. it's so cute, he's so cute, AHHHH

masterlist

It had been a long day and Luke could feel the exhaustion in his bones. He was used to being tired, he was used to being forced to be alert at all times but it was exhausting. So, when he returned home, all he wanted to do was crawl into your arms. When he was wrapped up with you, his mind finally slowed down and he was able to stop being so alert. He could just focus on you, in the present and that’s all his mind was craving.

When he walked into the house, it was quiet. The two of you had moved in together a few weeks ago and so, he had become used to the sounds of you cooking or baking or singing or just simply existing in the space. But it was quiet. His body - still on red alert - went straight to the worst case scenario especially when Roxy didn’t appear. He grabbed his gun from its holster and lifted it up, walking through the house.

He cleared every room but nothing looked out of place. At least not downstairs. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign and so, he headed upstairs. He took the stairs slowly, avoiding the steps that he knew would creak underneath his heavy feet. 

Once he was on the landing, he headed slowly towards the bedroom. He nudged the door open and in the mid-afternoon sun he saw you. You were curled up in your shared bed, your arms wrapped around the pile of pillows that you seemed to be using as a substitute for him. His heart melted and he slipped his gun back into its holster.

You were safe. You were fine. You were just tired. He didn’t blame you.

Roxy was lying on the end of the bed, snuggled up to your feet as the two of you slept contently. But when Luke closed the bedroom door, Roxy’s head shifted up. Her eyes blinked open and Luke smiled softly as he walked over to give her pets and scritches behind the ear.

“Hello, my sweet girl,” He mumbled as he scritched under her chin. Roxy was constantly pushing her head back into Luke’s hands, desperate for any sort of attention from him and when Luke drew his hands away so he could get changed, Roxy stood up.

She jumped off the bed and trotted up to Luke who couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips. He knelt down and while he gave her the proper attention she deserved, you woke up. Your eyes blinked open, barely remembering what century it was, let alone what was going on. Your head turned from side-to-side. The sun was still up but where was Roxy?  The familiar warmth was gone and in your daze, you looked to the end of the bed to see Luke knelt there, stroking her. 

You let out an involuntary gasp of excitement before you sleepily yet quickly clambered off the bed and threw yourself at Luke. He managed to stand up just in time to wrap you up in his arms and Roxy barked excitedly. You chuckled, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“You’re home. I missed you,” You mumbled against his skin as you held him tighter. Your arms wrapped around him so tightly that if it was anyone else, it would have been painful.

“I missed you too,” He muttered. You didn’t want to let him go but when Roxy was still barking and jumping up at the two of you, you pulled back and grinned down at her.

“Your daddy’s home, isn’t he? Are you happy? I’m very happy,” You said to her as you knelt and she pushed her face into your body, wanting attention too. You chuckled and hugged her, stroking her fur as you looked up at Luke. His shoulders had been rigid but they were relaxed now and an easy smile made its way across his face.

“Back with my best girls,” He mumbled. You grinned and nodded.

<3

Luke alvez gives the best hugs of the BAU team

i can do nothing but hard agree with this statement. it has been on my mind for days and i simply, merely, just want a hug from luke alvez of the BAU, that's all i want. my skin? clear. depression? cured. grades? flying high.

i think it would make me feel sane and so uhm, i wrote a couple of one-shots, they're like 300-500 words each but they have pulled me from the pits of the depression that was threatening to eat me up today.

so here they are

just a hug

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke gives the best hugs in the BAU <3

warnings; fluff, pure fluff, domestic fluff, brief mention of injuries, brief mention of reader having a bad day, luke being a mozzarella hater (disappointed in him)

masterlist

Some days were just worse than others and today was one of the days that was bad. You and Luke had been at work all day. It was paperwork day and luckily, you had managed to avoid going on a case. You were thankful for that, you knew that you might have had a breakdown if you had to go on a case. It was just one of those days and Luke noticed. He knew and the second that you got through the door into your house, he wrapped you up in a hug.

You didn’t expect it but the second that his arms tightened around you, all the tension released and you melted into him. Your arms snaked around him, nuzzling your face in his chest. He smelt like home and his strong arms grounded you to the earth as he rested his face against your hair. Your fingers dug into him as you just breathed.

“I’m proud of you,” He muttered. You let out a sob-chuckle before you lifted your head so that you could meet his gaze. You looked into his eyes and moved one hand to rest against his cheek. Then you connected your lips with a soft kiss.

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips. He grinned and kissed you again before letting you snuggle back into him.

“I love you too.” You never felt as safe as you did in Luke’s arms. It was the most soothing thing in the world for you.

-

The UnSub had managed to land a few punches on you as you had chased after him. Your face was bruised and bleeding but you were okay. You had caught the UnSub and he was at the PD but your face ached. The medic had cleared you but told you to ice your face which you couldn’t do until you had returned to the PD.

So, you decided to just sit in the car with a water bottle against your face, hoping that it would do something to stop the swelling. You watched from across the lot as the team discussed. Luke had caught your gaze a few minutes ago and sent you a sympathetic look. You tried to smile but it just hurt. He frowned.

You hadn’t expected him to come over but after he finished talking with the team, he appeared. He leant against the open car door and you looked up at him, annoyance written across your face but mainly cause you were in pain.

“How you feeling?” He asked. You gave him a look and he chuckled, “Okay, yeah, dumb question.” You rolled your eyes and placed the water bottle down onto the seat. It didn’t seem to be doing anything; all you wanted right now was comfort.

“Can I get a hug?” You asked. Luke’s hugs seemed always to make you feel a bit better. He and Garcia gave the best hugs in the BAU, hands down. So, they were your first port of call (and your closest friends) when you needed comfort. He chuckled and nodded. You stood up and wrapped your arms around Luke. He was still wearing the bullet-proof jacket but the hard material was somewhat comforting. He wrapped his arms around you, hand cupping the back of your head as you sighed.

“I’m impressed,” He stated. You scoffed and rolled your eyes but didn’t move from where you were nuzzled against him.

“Thanks,” You muttered, amused by his assertion.

-

You and Luke were sitting on Rossi’s couch. Everyone was a few drinks deep and drinks meant that you were touchy. Though, Luke didn’t seem to mind all that much when you cuddled into his side. You were talking about different types of cheeses and you were judging him hard for his dislike of Mozzarella. You honestly weren’t sure how you got onto the topic but it amused you. Tara joined into the conversation every few minutes but she was mostly distracted by Reid and Emily which left you and Luke blissfully alone to bicker about cheese.

His arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you in and hugging you from the side. Usually, you would never admit that you liked having him close but you did. You and Luke were strictly platonic but sometimes, rarely, you thought about being more and moments like this when Luke was hugging you made you wonder how perfect your life could be.

“Told you, Mozzarella isn’t that good,” He mumbled against your hair, taking your silence as defeat. You let out a defiant scoff and shoved him playfully, pulling back. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I was just thinking!” You bit back. He let out a teasing ‘uh-huh’ and you pouted. He rolled his eyes and gently tugged you back into him. There was only a moment of resistance before you let yourself fall back into him.

“You know I’m right.” You merely rolled your eyes at his assertion.

-

Luke - much to his dismay - woke up to an empty bed and he rolled over, rubbing his eyes as he tried his best to locate you. It took him a moment to hear you singing in the kitchen downstairs. Roxy was gone from the dog bed and relief filled his chest. You were still here and he let a smile spread across his face as he clambered out of bed. He slipped a pair of pajama pants on before padding downstairs and finding you making coffee in the kitchen.

You were singing your favorite song at the top of your lungs as you swayed your hips, waiting for the coffee to be done and filling up Roxy’s bowl. He couldn’t help but grin as he watched you from the doorway. You placed the bowl of dry biscuits down before you returned to the counter, not even realizing he was there.

It was adorable and he watched you for a moment longer before he decided to finally make his presence known. He said good morning as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You tensed for a moment before relaxing. You tilted your head back.

“Hi, baby,” You said before you leaned over and grabbed a mug for the two of you. His arms snaked around you as he buried his face in your neck. He pressed a kiss to your neck and you giggled, resting one of your hands over his, “You sleep okay?” You asked. He nodded. The warmth of his back pressed against you was a soothing feeling. It made you melt back into him.

“Slept great,” He mumbled. You reached out for the coffee pot and he let his hands slip away from you which made you groan in annoyance.

“Hey, I was enjoying that,” You muttered as you looked back at him. You then turned back and began to pour coffee for the two of you.

“Payback,” He retorted and you scoffed.

“For what?” You glanced at him before finishing with both coffees. Luke had creamer in his coffee while you just put some milk and sugar. 

“Making me wake up alone,” He stated as he opened the fridge and began to pull out the supplies for breakfast. You scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” You rolled your eyes and once Luke had placed down the supplies, you grabbed his arm and tugged him so you could look at him. Then, you pressed a kiss to his lips, peppering a few before you settled back, arms still wrapped around his neck loosely, “You looked so pretty and peaceful. I couldn’t disturb that,” You shrugged. Luke chuckled, smiling bashfully as he met your gaze. He then pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I’ll make us breakfast,” He said. You nodded and pressed another kiss to his lips before you stepped back. You missed the feeling of his arms around you when you were away from him but you tried not to think about it too much.

<3

Luke doesn't have many hoodies but somehow during cases they all disappear one at a time. He doesn't suspect you at first because he might forget one or two at a hotel but after catching you in the act of stealing his hoodies he confronts you

i was in such a fluffy mood so i wrote this little one-shot, i think it came out SO CUTE, luke is just such a softie when he is friends with someone and AGHHH, i just love this!!

thief

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; you steal all of luke's hoodies like the good friend you are.

warnings; fluff, pure fluff, just happy luke being cute, it's a goofy little fluffy one-shot

masterlist

You were not a kleptomaniac. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Then Luke started giving you his hoodies. At first, he was simply being a gentleman. If you were cold on a case and forgot a jacket, he’d give you a hoodie that he kept spare in his bag. Then you’d forget to give it back until you’d slip it back into his to-go bag after a few days.

You really tried not to be a klepto but it was hard when Luke’s hoodies were so soft. 

You often spent evenings in his hotel room, talking and theorizing about the current case and you’d inevitably put on one of his hoodies. He wouldn’t even notice you’d put it on and sometimes, you’d sneak into his room just to grab one if you were cold but didn’t pack anything warm enough. 

In your defense, you also tried to return them but at some point, Reid had clocked on to you sneaking hoodies back and you didn’t want him to blow your cover. So, you were growing a horde of Luke’s hoodies in your drawer at home. You weren’t complaining though because they were comfy, soft and you wore them constantly.

Little did you know, that you had left Luke perplexed because he didn’t understand where the fuck his hoodies vanished too. He preferred jackets over hoodies generally but as the months dragged on, he found himself constantly buying new ones because sometimes he just wanted a pull-over. They were comfortable and when he was taking Roxy on a walk and it was freezing, a hoodie was always the better choice.

But they were always gone.

At first, he didn’t suspect anything because even if they vanished for a few days or weeks, they’d suddenly reappear. Honestly, he just assumed that he wasn’t seeing it or he was being an idiot but then, he noticed it.

Whenever you stayed late, you were wearing a hoodie. You’d come out of your hotel room wearing a hoodie. Whenever you slept on the planes, you were in a hoodie. And not just any hoodie. His hoodies. He was sure of it. Though he had no proof.

That was until now. The team was heading out to the PD for another - no doubt - long day and you had said that you needed to grab something from your room (after Emily had commented about how cold it was outside). He decided to test his theory and he made up an excuse to head back to his own room - curious looks be damned.

And lo and behold, he watched as you walked into his hotel room. He couldn’t help but almost laugh at the absurdity. You both trusted each other with everything so he really didn’t care that you were going into his room but to steal his hoodies? He didn’t understand why you didn’t just ask.

He approached the hotel door but decided to wait. He heard you moving around and let out a soft ‘ah-hah’ when you discovered the hoodie he had been wearing last night on the armchair. You tugged it on and went back to the door, pulling it open.

Only to find an amused Luke Alvez on the other side. You stared at him, eyes wide and he tilted his head to the side slightly.

“Hi,” He said and you stared at him, the heat rushing to your cheeks. He had caught you in the act. How were you supposed to explain this? You were stealing your friend’s hoodies like a complete freak. You didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not what it looks like,” You were quick to splutter out. Luke chuckled as he looked at you with a curious gaze.

“It looks like you’re stealing my hoodies and not returning them,” He stated. You pouted, head tilting down slightly.

“Okay, maybe it is what it looks like but I can explain,” You attempted. Luke chuckled and he stepped back from the door.

“Go on,” He urged. He wanted to hear this and the grin on his face told you that at least he wasn’t mad at you. That was one positive.

“Your hoodies are really comfortable and you let me borrow them a few times. I always returned them and I want to return them but Reid started to notice me bringing in hoodies - that were not mine. So, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea and so I’ve just been amassing a pile of your hoodies and I wanted to give them back. I really did but I didn’t know how and it had gone so far that I have like 6 different hoodies from the past few months in a drawer in my house. And like I trust you with my life and you have been over to mine so many times but how was I supposed to tell you that I’ve been stealing your hoodies? And it got too awkward, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how you’d react and I didn’t think you’d notice and I just I’m sorry,” You muttered. Luke could see the way the anxiety sat heavy in your stomach and he shook his head in amused disbelief.

“If you wanted to borrow a hoodie, just ask,” He said. You looked up at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Can I borrow a hoodie?” You asked. Luke chuckled and nodded his head.

“Of course you can but we’re going back to yours after this case and I’m getting them back,” He stated. You nodded, resting your hands in the pocket of the hoodie. It was really comfortable and it smelt like him.

“They don’t smell like you anymore anyway,” you mumbled. Luke looked down at you, cocking an eyebrow and you just returned a sheepish smile to him. He had no words but he honestly just found it to be adorable. He had never known someone to steal hoodies but you had given him a lot of unexpected feelings and experiences so this just added to it.

“Come on, before they get suspicious,” Luke urged you to head back to the group in the lobby.

Luke sleeps like a starfish when he's alone. Taking up all the space in the bed without Roxy next to him but on a case you have to share a room with him. It only has one bed

okay, i wasn't entirely sure what ask to reply to since what i am about to give you is a combination of 4 (not 3 as i told you last night (whoops)) asks that you have sent in! i just kind of got carried away and this one-shot is just SO CUTE. i'm gonna leave the prompts i combined for this below and then there will be the one-shot

so please enjoy the chaos below

star-fishing

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; luke helps you clean up after a fight with an unsub.

warnings; fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, one-bed trope, description of injuries (and cleaning them up), reader is down-bad for luke, a little bit of teasing and kissing

“Ow,” You hissed softly as Luke gently ran the cotton swab across your forehead. The Unsub had got you pretty bad but you had insisted that the medics didn’t need to clean you up. Which meant that Luke was doing it now. He was wedged between your thighs as you sat up on the hotel bathroom sink. The first-aid kit was laid out next to you but he was focusing on cleaning the blood from your skin for now.

The hand holding the cotton swab rested against your head as he swiped away the blood while the other had a hold of your face, keeping your head level. Luke was so close to your face. You could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks as you tried to decide what to look at. The heat was creeping up your cheeks despite your best attempts to keep your bubbling feelings at bay.

“Sorry,” Luke muttered, “I’m nearly done,” He added, briefly meeting your gaze before he returned back to the wound. There wasn’t much blood left so now he was doing his best to disinfect the wound. It wasn’t as bad as it had looked at first which gave him a sense of relief.

“I could have done it myself,” You said after a beat of silence. You couldn’t tear your gaze off his face. His eyes were boring into you and his hand was so warm against your cheek. You were sure he could feel the heat that had rushed to them but you tried not to think about it. He didn’t even notice as you admired his face.

His stubble had grown in a little since he hadn’t had the chance to shave and it somehow made that rugged yet soft look more prominent. His lips were so full and kissable. Every part of you wanted to just grab his face and snog him, fulfil the urge that had been clawing its way to the forefront of your mind for weeks. The feeling of his stubble and his lips pressed against yours would make it so easy to forget everything, you were sure of it. But you had to fight the urge.

You and Luke were friends. That was all you had been and probably all you would be.

His cheeks were slightly red from the heat of the bathroom and his chest was resting so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His skin was so warm, you could have melted into him. Your hands always seemed to run cold and you desperately wanted to shove them underneath his hoodie to warm them up but you didn’t. It was unprofessional and he would complain about feeling cold himself.

You averted your gaze from his face, letting your eyes rove over his shoulders and down his arms. Even in the hoodie, you could see how built he was. But Luke wasn’t like the other muscular guys you had known. Usually, they were arrogant and the muscles were purely for vanity. Luke’s at least served a purpose outside of boosting his ego. 

But what confused you was how gentle he was despite the muscles. When you first met him, years ago, you had expected him to manhandle you. If you got hurt, you expected him to be frustrated but he was always so gentle. All the strength he held turned to softness and he held your face so gently as he took care of you. It was so disconcerting and it was far from what you were used to when it came to men but it made you feel safe.

Luke made you feel safe.

That was probably why you spent so much time around him. It was easy to be around him because he was such a teddy bear when he wasn’t trying to do his job. It made it easy to talk to him. He was so easy to talk to and you didn’t know how to deal with the feelings that he gave you. You had told yourself that you would never mix work life and your love life but Luke made that so hard.

You felt his gaze shift and his eyes traveled over your face. He could see how nervous you had suddenly become and he nudged your cheek with his thumb. Your eyes jumped up to meet his gaze and smiled at home.

Luke chuckled softly before he pulled back, a hand still rested against your face as he flipped the cotton bud. He dipped the clean end into the bottle of disinfectant before he returned to the wound on your forehead.

“Your hands haven’t stopped shaking since you punched him in the face,” Luke stated. It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about. The Unsub. You scoffed, balling your fists. He was right even if you didn’t want him to be. 

You dug your nails into your hand, hoping that maybe it would stop them, “I just-” He paused as he adjusted his hand so that he could tilt your face up to make sure everything was disinfected properly, “don’t want this to get infected.” You rolled your eyes before letting them close. It was sweet that he cared so much.

“I nearly had him,” You muttered after a moment. He chuckled, looking at you and tilting your head slightly. In the fluorescent lights of the hotel bathroom, it looked pretty clean and so he dropped the cotton bud into the bin. His hand left your face and his body moved from between your thighs as he searched for an appropriately sized plaster in the first-aid kit. You unclenched your fists but your hands were still shaky.

“We’ll get him,” Luke reaffirmed as he grabbed a couple of band-aid options. He then stepped back between your thighs.

“I know. We got lucky finding him the first day here,” You said after a moment. Luke nodded and he began to compare plasters for your forehead cut. He tilted your chin slightly to make sure it was the right size and once he was sure, he dropped the rest of the options before he ripped it open.

“Would have saved us sharing a bed,” Luke muttered, glancing at your face to gauge how you reacted. You pouted playfully, cocking an eyebrow.

“Don’t pretend you’re not gonna love it,” You stated, a teasing smile on your lips. Luke chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. 

“Uh-huh,” He muttered softly. He shifted the band-aid on your forehead before deciding on the position. He then pulled the backing off and stuck it down against your skin. He ran his thumb over it, smoothing it down before he stood back.

“It’s beginning to sound like you want to be in bed with me, The great Luke Alvez never ignores a teasing comment,” You continued to taunt him as he checked over the rest of your face. Aside from the bruises and busted lip, you seemed to be mostly okay. There were no immediate cuts and you didn’t have a concussion

“How’s your lip?” He asked, avoiding your comment. You shrugged, your finger coming up to gently press against the cut. It was busted, it wasn’t great but it wasn’t as painful as you had expected. The pain mostly just blended into the background.

“Could be worse,” You shrugged. Luke nodded, “Just for the record, we are having a pillow wall. I’m only teasing,” You said. Luke smiled up at you, he tilted his head slightly as he looked into your eyes. Your eyes kept shifting anxiously, you were picking at the nails on your hand without even realising it, “And before you get an ego boost, I am only doing this because I didn’t have another choice.” There was a teasing lilt to your tone, a smile on your lips which completely contrasted the anxious movements of your hands. 

He chuckled at your comment, it was a deep chuckle and it made a grin crawl onto your face. It was hard to resist despite the pain that it caused your busted lip. It was such an easy laugh from Luke, you wanted to hear it forever. His hands rested at his side, a green hoodie covering his usual button-up. He looked so soft and domestic, it was hard not to admire him.

“You could have shared a room with Rossi,” Luke suggested. You scoffed and shook your head vehemently.

“No. That man snores. I can hear him through the walls, if I was in the same room as him, I would commit a homicide.” Luke chuckled again and stepped back to help you down from the counter. You let out a soft sigh. You were so tired but you felt so dirty. Sweat, mud and the smell of the local PD was clinging to you and you wanted to shower it off so badly.

“I guess you’re stuck with me then,” He teased. You huffed out, pretending to be annoyed but you really didn’t mind. Part of you wondered if Emily had set it up so that you and Luke had to share a room. Her, JJ, Penelope and Spencer had already confronted you about your possible feelings for Luke at monthly pasta night. So, it wasn’t a hard leap to make but you didn’t want to assume - or make a fool of yourself.

“Yeah but you’re not watching me shower so get out,” You said, shaking yourself out of your thoughts, “I know you’d love it but not tonight mister.” You felt a little awkward and clunky teasing Luke the more your feelings rose to the surface but you tried to keep it up. Your relationship was built on teasing each other and if you stopped, Luke would be suspicious. You were not gonna let that happen.

“Not tonight?” He asked, a mischievous smile on his face, “So another night?” He asked. You scoffed and smacked his chest playfully.

“Play your cards right and maybe,” You stated before you urged him out of the bathroom. He chuckled as he threw his hands up in mock defense.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” You sent him a teasing smile before you closed the door behind him. Once you were sure it was locked, you stripped out of your work clothes and walked over to the full-length mirror. You had fallen pretty badly during your fight with the Unsub and there was already a pretty nasty (and massive) bruise blooming across your hip.

You gently prodded at it before you checked over the rest of your body. Except for a few bruises on your knees and arms from hitting the ground, you were fine. So, you switched the shower on and waited for it to heat up before getting under the spray. The warmth soothed your skin and you did your best to keep your hair and face out of the spray. You didn’t want the band-aid to peel off and by some miracle, you managed to not get it wet.

After scrubbing the grime of the day off your body, you got out of the shower and slipped a towel around your waist. The shower made you look a little more sane and you dragged your to-go bag from beside the door onto the counter so that you could change into your pajamas. 

Thankfully, you had packed the more modest pajama option for this trip so you were in long pajama pants and a comfy vest. You took your time going through your night-routine just so you could calm your anxiety. The thought of sharing a bed with Luke was obviously fine but it made you feel nervous and giddy. Nothing was going to happen but you hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since your last partner so it just felt strange. 

After taking a few deep breaths, you stepped out into the bedroom to find Luke star-fished on the hotel bed. His head was buried in the middle of the pillows and he seemed to be asleep. He wasn’t even under the covers so it was hard to tell if he had actually conked out or not. You also couldn’t see his face. He might just have been resting for all you knew. 

Either way, he was in his own pajamas. Well pajama pants. He had neglected to wear a top which you didn’t really mind; it was a good view.

“Move over,” You stated as you walked over to the bed. Luke’s shoulders shifted at the sound of your voice and he lifted his head, eyes opening groggily. Had he been asleep? You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Clearly the day had taken it out of him, “I’m sleeping in this bed too,” You added. Luke let out something incoherent before he reluctantly shuffled over. His head buried in the pillows again and you couldn’t help but smile softly. He was so sleepy, it was adorable, “Lights on or off?” You asked after a beat.

“Off,” Luke grumbled. His voice was thick with sleep which just made you smile even wider. You had never seen him like this before and your earlier assertion that he was like a teddy bear only seemed to be more accurate. 

Before taking your place in bed, you switched the big light off and trudged back over. The room was plunged into almost complete darkness but you could still navigate your way around relatively easily. You dropped into your side of the bed and tugged at the duvet.

Luke was still half-asleep on top of the covers and his hulking form was making it very difficult to move the covers comfortably around you. You let out a groan of annoyance as you tugged a few times with no avail.

“Luke,” You whined as you tugged again. He grumbled something incoherent and rolled over. Well, that was helpful, “Luke,” You complained again, tugging harder but it did nothing. You let out a soft huff and got up onto your knees. You leant over Luke and poked his cheek. He grunted in annoyance before attempting to swat whatever was poking him. But you evaded and did it again. He mumbled something incoherent again and you poked once more. His eyes reluctantly opened and you chuckled.

“You’re hogging the duvet,” You stated. Luke looked up at you, leaning over him and his eyes blinked closed for a moment before he let out a grumble. He then grabbed your waist and tugged you on top of him. You let out a yelp as you landed against his chest, “I’m cold,” You muttered. Luke wrapped his arms around you, tugging you closer.

“I’ll keep you warm,” He muttered as he snuggled up to you. Part of you just wanted to give in to this fate. It was comfortable and Luke was a human radiator but your toes were cold and Luke was half-asleep. It felt like you were taking advantage.

So, instead, you opted to poke at his chest and face a few times as you said his name softly, asking him to get off the covers. It took him a moment but eventually he opened his eyes again. It was a split second but when he realized what he was doing, his eyes popped open. All traces of sleep disappeared from his features and he let go of you immediately.

“I did not- I didn’t realize- I-” Luke began, stumbling over his words as he shuffled to sit up against the headboard. You giggled at his flustered reaction as you crawled over to your side of the bed again, “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-” He continued to try and excuse himself but when he realized that you were laughing. His eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“You really know how to woo a girl,” You teased. His eyebrows furrowed and you tugged the covers back, “I think you’re half-asleep self is better at flirting with me.” You knew that you were stepping into dangerous territory with that comment but you couldn’t help yourself. It was endearing to see him so sleepy and touchy and you were also exhausted which made you a little more bold than you would like to admit. Luke was stunned by your reaction, “Come on, let me get under the covers. I’m freezing and I’ll set up a pillow wall. Avoid any more half-asleep kidnappings.” Luke watched you for a moment before he finally moved, “But if you are gonna cuddle me in my sleep, I’m not gonna object.” You were acting so confident but your heart was thudding in your chest as you moved to grab a pillow.

But when you turned back, Luke was just looking at you. He didn’t seem to know what to say as he looked into your eyes. You tilted your head to the side slightly but just as you opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, he had tugged you towards him again.

“I want to kiss you,” He stated. You stared at him, your eyes widened as he looked at you, “Can I?” He asked. You nodded your head and he grabbed your face, pulling you to him. Your lips connected so softly. He was being so cautious of your busted lip and you melted into him. He only gave you a few soft short kisses before he pulled back a little. You reopened your eyes to look at him and he looked completely love-struck.

“Do it again,” You urged as you moved one hand to wrap around his neck. He grinned and tugged you into his lap before kissing you again. It was so soft and he let you take the lead as you adjusted your body to get a better angle, not disconnecting your lips for even a second. You were right. His lips were so soft and they made it impossible to think about anything but the two of you kissing in that moment.

Your head tilted to the side as you kissed him over and over again, his tongue ran across your bottom lip and you let him in without a second thought. His hands moved from your face to your hips and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you as close as he could. His tongue explored your mouth as you held his face, whining softly as your fingers ran through his hair. 

A groan escaped his lips when you tugged at his roots and you let out a breathless giggle. He smirked and opened his eyes briefly before he let them fall closed again. You tugged him closer, hand cupping his jaw as you continued to connect your lips. Your fingers scritched at the stubble and you felt how he melted underneath your touch.

It was exactly what you needed.

The two of you kissed till you were breathless and when you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled together as you panted, arms moving to wrap around his chest as you gently nudged your noses against each other.

“If I knew getting in the same bed with you would get me this, I would have done it ages ago,” You mumbled. Luke chuckled, his eyes closing as you moved your hand to rest against his chest, feeling the way that his chest rumbled with laughter, “Mhm, the wait was worth it though,” You said after a beat. Luke tugged you closer.

“More than worth it,” He muttered as he pressed a few kisses to your face and cheek and forehead. It was so sweet and you felt yourself melting into him.

“I think it’s time to sleep though,” You mumbled softly. Luke hummed in agreement and he shuffled back so that he could lie down. You were laying on top of him as he tugged the covers over the two of you, “My hands are cold,” You grumbled. Luke chuckled and he grabbed your wrists and tugged your hands underneath his back. The two of you shuffled to be comfortable before he wrapped his arms around your waist again.

“Better?” He asked. You hummed in agreement before cuddling up to his bare chest, eyes falling closed. You fell asleep, content against his chest with a sheepish smile on your face.

“Why Worry?”

This is a Fandom Insert as well as a reader one. I will be using Supernatural, Criminal Minds, and Marvel as examples, because they the ones I am currently obsessed with and I feel they fit the different fandoms well. (Sherlock? NCIS? Criminal Minds. Anything superheroes? Marvel. Buffy the Vampire, Teen Wolf, or anything of the sort? Supernatural.) This is a song-fic of the Set It Off’s Why Worry, and as in the music video, there are two of you.

Warnings: Don’t trust the narrative. Violence, battle gore, and such. Cursing.

Word Count - 1203

Dyed haired, freckled, dimpled, slight accent, and any skin-toned Reader. (Non-binary, interchanging pronouns with a realistic jiggly body)

Sorry, in advance, Blonde, blue-eyed, white chicks that are reading this.

As of late, you haven’t recognized yourself in the mirror. You’re slim, with a clean face, no marks anywhere. You’re exactly what you always dreamed to be. “Yeah, right.” Frick, that voice, it must exist to annoy you. Seriously. It was nothing like your previous demons, though. It seemed to almost be something else... Screw it. Let’s think of this another time. You finally get to go on a mission, a case, that they had never allowed you to go on before. The nerves “started” eating at you, harshly. You have been thinking about it all night, but you slept like a baby, probably looked like one too.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, the owner most likely predicting how you were feeling. People have been reading you like an open book. “They haven’t before.” “The sinking feeling sets.” You mumble, talking to shut up the sound from continuing. You almost started to proceed to, well, feel whole again as you kept talking, but not as sure as to why you are feeling this way. “It feels like a hole inside your chest.” The guy nods as you look up to them. It was exactly who you expect, the one person that you feel that you could confide in, (Your Favorite male Character).

Before he could try to ease your tenseness with his words, your team leader starts going over the plan.

Did you pay attention? The best you could, because your body started to feel, what is the termination... “Can’t find the correct words? Wow, you really are feeling out of it.” He is talking a lot more often- With that your ocean waves started to close, your body plagued with sudden fatigue, and 

black.

You arose without air, holding your big chest. You ran your hand through your natty hair, NATTY? How long were you out? “I know what you’re thinking.” Shut up. “No, no, no, no. I can’t have messy hair!” the voice mocked. Okay, ignore them, (Y/N), you got a job to do. Just join, I guess. “Easier said than done.” “Not helping,” You said out loud, annoyed. You grab your weapon, something that still felt foreign to you. Even before “everything changed.” You never felt like you needed it. “I know you hate me, but please, let me attest, on how you should go about this.” Never.

After a while, it didn’t take you that long but you were focused more on the argument in your head. You ran into so many things and even went in the wrong direction, however, your skin remained clear without any bruises. You managed your way into the compound, from a complete hidden entrance. At every camera, that you knew that wasn’t being looked at if your earpiece was anything to go off of, you winked. You were in your element, which you haven’t felt in a long time. You didn’t feel the stereotypical emotions, the reason why is beyond you, at the moment anyway. Found it, “It” being the Security Camera room, not the answer to any of your questions. You walk in and grabbed the woman, who was obviously the boss’s wife. “Relax.” (Skipping some lyrics, because of gees.) She didn’t but acted as calm as she could. She had her pistol aimed at you, but it was clear to anyone that she had never shot a gun before, let alone hold one. If that stance was anything to go off of. “Tell me,” You smirked, hitting the microphone button, “Why? Please, tell me, why do we worry? Huh, my dear?”

“I-I don’t-” 

“Why? When worry is never helping, tell me!” 

“I-I- What?” 

“Let’s take you to your mob wifey.”

You quickly link your earpiece to the intercoms.

“Let’s take these issues, step by step by step-“

Perks with being friends with nerds!

“To work it out. Day by day, by day, we’re falling down.“

What? No, we knew how to do that! That is basic programming.

“But life goes on!“

“Basic programming”? Who the fuck do you think you are? I didn’t know that.

You? I? What-

You kick down the door, with your arm around the mistress. “Hello~! We were feeling kind of left out, forgotten. We wanted some action too~!” Your voice teased your tied up comrades and sworn enemies. It sounded like you, but you wouldn’t say that- “I’ve got some questions.” 

“Questions, yes! Ask away!” the leader shouted, not liking the weapon near her wife. “Are you sick of feelin’ sorry?” you asked, accent and all. “People saying ‘Not to worry’?! Sick of hearin’ this hakuna matata motto crap from people who won the lottery?” “We’re not that lucky.” The mobster answered, honestly. You nodded, “Have you noticed that you’re breathing?” Your arm left the terrified woman, looking at both of the groups. “Look around! Count your blessings,” You started to yell at them, walking around every individual. “So, when you’re sick of all this stressin’ and guessin’, I’m suggesting!” You were going to leave it at that, but your mouth to seemed to start continuing on itself, “Chin up.” Your body moving on its own. You brought your best friend’s face up by his chin, “Quit actin’ like you’re half dead.” You winked, as you continue and walked over to your crush, that is a man- Yeah, no, that is a bad-ass woman with a beautiful smile. “Tears can only half fill how you’re feelin’. Baby, don’t worry, be happy.” You proceed to gesture to rest of your family to stand up, just to hear the leader join in, “Stand up, life is too damn short.” “That clock is ticking.” You added, as she finishes your verse, “Man up if ya feel me.” “Everyone sing it!”

As everyone starts to sing, you hear “Fine, you win.” You smirked and turned around to face the woman you used to see in the mirror. You wink as you started to ruffle your hair to make it fall in your own face, your dyed lock fell over your (e/c) eyes. Your smirk gets bigger as you saw your arms jiggly as you clapped along to your family and new friends’ music.

“You might’ve been considered perfect, but not to me. That guy in the mirror is me, this jiggly body could get insulted by people like you and I will still be the better person.“

“Now, you’re full of yourself, (Y/N)“

“That’s your Highness, because bitch, ‘m perfect.“

That you are.

Spencer Reid Masterlist:

Guide: Smut ●, Angst ☆, Fluff <3

Kissing in the office <3 by @reidalert

Sleepy Needy Spence ● by @nereidprinc3ss

Work call during the act ● by @nevvdrinksteaa

Pregnancy Announcement (sort of) , vol.2 <3

by @pathologicalreid

"I'm not sleeping with Reid" ● by @incognit0slut

Headcannons <3 by @rafesgfs

Well-kept secret ☆ < 3 by @astrophileous

Work place environment by @nereidprinc3ss

Glasses <3, vol. 2 <3 , vol.3 ● by @luveline, @atlabeth and @raekensluver

Falling asleep on his shoulder, vol.2 <3

by @inkdrinkerworld and @bklynsboys

Please don't have somebody waiting for you <3

by @cerisereids

Being a menace, vol.2 <3 (tho it is suggestive kinda) by @in-another-april and @incognit0slut

Comforting him <3 by @little-miss-dilf-lover

Sleep Deprivation <3 by @faunalune

I love this too much ● by @reiderwriter

Sneaking around ● by @nereidprinc3ss

First Time ● by @luveline

Between the books ● by @reidmotif

Whiny and Spoiled ● by @nereidprinc3ss

Hyper Independent <3 by @inkdrinkerworld

New haircut <3 by @inkdrinkerworld

Waking up with kisses <3 by @secretlovezz

No vacancy <3 @kiss-inthekitchen

Reuniting after prison (Hotch!reader) ☆<3

by @pathologicalreid

Being a munch ● by @lis-likes-fics

Me while watching CM ● by @an1t4k

High Heels <3 by @guiltyasreid

Decoy ● by @violetrainbow412-blog

Tech analyst reader <3 by @moonstruckme

Mixed Messages (series) by @easy-there-leftovers

Addicted to you ● @spencerreidenjoyer

Drunk confessions <3 by @nereidprinc3ss

Proposals <3 by @reidmania

Plastic Hearts (Gideon!reader) ☆ by @atlabeth

I might be in love (Prentiss!reader)

by @januaryembrs

This hurts but in a good way ☆

by @aliteralsemicolon

Heavenly sweet ● by @reidsfilm

His hands, vol.2 ● by @raekensluver and @t1red-twillight

Coming home late <3 by @fairysongs

Soft Intimacy <3 by @t1red-twilight

Missed Lunches (Gideon!reader)☆

by @mindfullycriminal

Grounded (Hotch!reader) <3 by @rreids

His kisses <3 ● by @inkdrinkerworld

50 shades <3 by @rumplereids

Dad!Spence:

Paternity leave <3 by @radiant-reid

Mini Doctor <3 by @reidsdaisies

Hard to say no <3 by @radiant-reid

Lamby goes to work <3 by @cerisereids

Everything in the world <3 by @lis-likes-fics

Daddy's girl <3 by @midniteluv

Toddlerus Interruptus <3 by @reid-fiction

Midnight Scaries <3 by @reid-fiction

Early labor <3 by @rumplereids

Other Masterlists:

Masterlist 1 by @pathologicalreid

Masterlist 2 by @radiant-reid

Masterlist 3 by @slowburningechoes

Note: sorry some of the tags may not work my Tumblr is acting up, also a Spencer Reid fic should be posted sometime soon

The five times you left Spencer speechless (or how I like to call it, in quiet awe)

Warnings: reader wears glasses but no biggie, reader can fight and use a gun because why not, bau!reader, smitten Spence, nothing happens just feelz, Spence's drug addiction... I think that it

1. The first meeting

It had been a long week. People were crowding the small space of the bullpen. It had been the first case after Gideon's return, and Spencer had been buzzing with excitement to work with his mentor again. The case hadn't been particularly easy, and almost one agent named Elle Greenaway had been lightly injured, who would from now on work with them. His eyes were burning, and he gave into the temptation to wear his glasses as he looked into the nearly filled report in front of him, containing at least seventeen pages worth of information. Madame Strauss claimed that his reports were unnecessarily detailed, how that was a problem he couldn't tell. The hours seemed to blur together as he continued writing his report, losing many minutes trying to form his handwriting into something more presentable.

That was the moment. The time he first laid eyes on her. He had read many romance novels, which he wasn't going to admit, that the moment someone met the one time seemed to slow to near non-existent and his reality at the moment seemed like something coming out of a book.

She was wearing a chunky white pullover with huge sleeves that strangely represented bells and a light brown plaited skirt that reached just at the middle of her thighs. Long legs that seemed to be going on for miles ended at a pair of black Mary Jane's. And sure, her appearance was incredible, but that was not what made him make a double take. He was sure he was hallucinating as he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in his life, looking as if it was something that came out of a Renaissance painting. Her hair was in a braid resting on her shoulder, and wire-framed glasses sat on her nose, making her eyes appear slightly bigger. A tattered pair of wired headphones framed her face, and for a second, Spencer forgot how to breathe, the most cognitive function, the one he had been able to do since he first entered this world. His ears were buzzing, and his brain was running in endless circles.

A hand was moving in front of him, and he stared at the angel that was standing in front of him. Her mouth was moving, probably talking to him, and he willed himself to pay attention.

“S-Sorry.”

“It's alright.” The angel answered him; maybe he had finally overdone it with the sugared coffee he was drinking as if it were his primary source of hydration. “ I am looking for Aaron Hotchner.”

“R-Right. Umm…”

“Good, you are here. Come with me.” Hotch's voice echoed in the empty room, and Spencer's cheeks flamed an angry red as the girl turned and kindly waved at him as she quickly climbed the stairs and entered the conference room. Spencer had half a mind not to turn his chair and stare at her. With an unnecessary loud cough, he turned back at his report and thanked his luck for Morgan's absence because if he had witnessed this, he was going to hear the end of this anytime

2. The lesson

A month had passed since he first saw her. And yet, he could recall her vividly, the deep-set eyes, the rosy lips. His birthday had been a blur as he celebrated them in the office and invited JJ in a lame attempt to ask her out which just resulted in a long evening where JJ and Penelope talked endlessly and he could comprehend the sport he was supposedly watching.

He was waiting in Hotch's office as a stand-in. He was teaching a young agent to join the unit and he was thrilled when he heard that the student was just a few months shy of his own age. At the moment, he was trying to move a huge board to the office when someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around way too fast and came face to face with the angel he saw, the one he thought he willed into existence.

“Do you need help with that?”

“No, no. I got it. Are you Hotch's student?” Ge asked and immediately regretted it. Of course, she was his student. Why did he have to lose half of his IQ around her? He gave one last hard shove to the board end and then aligned it with the desk. “So um… Hotch asked me to be your tutor for today if that is alright with you. Um… What material are you studying?”

“Mostly psychology. Which I am not very good at, by the way.” She retrieved a huge book from her bag and a small pencil case that was filled with just a pen and three markers, red, yellow, and green. Just as she opened the book, he could see that its majority was colored and that it had notes in the margins. His heart thudded louder in his chest.

“What do all those colors mean?” He asked curiously as he approached her.

“Well green means that I understand it; yellow means that I am working on it and red … I just have no clue. It's just mostly yellow at the moment, though the notes help.”

“What's red?” She looked at him in a strange way, and too late did he realize that she was studying him, his question had been earnest and probably too forward, and he rushed to explain himself. “ I just - I asked because I have a PhD in the subject.” He could see her eyebrows lifting before they settled in a scowl and whacked his brain to understand what he said wrong.

“You are Doctor Reid, right?” She asked quietly, and he stupidly nodded as an answer to her question. “Well there is … I don't understand some differences between some categories of killers; they have much in common, so why are they in a separate category?”

“The answer is actually way simpler I'd you think of it in a Venn diagram.” He rushed to the board, and drew a few circles, and he started writing on it as he explained its category separately. He talked for what seemed like hours, and he embarrassingly looked at his watch. He must have been talking for over an hour, and he turned to look at the girl only to find her writing on her book, still in the margins looking at him expectantly. The way she was staring at him almost had him stammering once again, and he felt his knees weaken for a strange reason. So he carried on.

When he was done, he turned to look at her; she was still writing something before she whispered. “You need to tuck your chest in when you are firing a gun.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Aaron said that he was having trouble with one of his agents' firearm training, and it must be you. You have a long torso, so your weight center is different from the diagrams in the training books you must have read. That's why you keep missing.” And just like that, she was gone again wishing him good night and a nice weekend.

His head was spinning as he walked towards the training room, and he wore his earmuffs and protective glasses. Tuck your chest in. And so he did before aiming and pressing the trigger three times. His shots were the best, but he hadn't missed. Pride swarmed his chest; he was going to do it.

The next day, he failed his exam. He had lost his gun.

3. The first case

Small-town cases were always the most thrilling in his humble opinion. And any time somehow a cult or demons were involved, he worked ten times harder to prove them wrong. Only this time, their team had a new member. Gideon did seem to take a liking to her, in contrast with Spencer, who was incredibly warm to her the moment she entered the room. Maybe it was because he had met her before, or maybe it was because whenever she was around him. Somehow, his conversation with Morgan had turned to the explanation of attraction in the neurotic sector.

“Chemicals, such as dopamine, may cause one to be giddy, euphoric, and even to experience suppressed hunger and sleep cues. You may recall a time when someone made your heart thud erratically in your chest, heat rise in your body making you blush, and the sensation of being tongue-tied or not able to form coherent thoughts. These are the characteristics of attraction.”

“Is that what you feel around her then? Because you don't act like yourself around her. I mean, come on, you are a germaphobe, and you were the first to shake her hand.”

He’s a germaphobe, he is, and that doesn’t just go away when you meet someone lovely, but he did shake her hand. She surprised him too quickly to think beyond taking her hand, letting it happen. Their formal meeting, the one where they acted as if they hadn't spent an evening together in this same room. Hotch gave him a funny look. Mostly impassive, but not quite, and he was definitely on to him. In the duration of the case, he tried to keep his distance, which didn't go that well when he found himself staring at the barrel of a gun that was aimed at him. Everything went by too quickly as she dove toward the UnSub, without a second thought tackling him to the ground and disarming him in a few short seconds. He wanted to be impressed, yet he had seen her in the training room with Morgan as they had hand-to-hand combat. She moved with agility, and her every move seemed calculated and strategic. He had felt his heart stutter in his chest as she helped him stand and checked him for injuries.

He was lovestruck as Penelope teased him. His silly crush on JJ had been entirely forgotten.

4. The Lila Archer incident

He was an idiot. It was the first time he would characterize himself in such a way. And hopefully the last.

When you guard a beautiful actress, Spencer, don't jump in the pool with her.

Love,

Spencer

He could identify the disappointment in his colleagues' faces from the very first second, yet the one that pierced him the most was hers. She barely spoke during the discussions about the possible type of the UnSub, no matter how much Elle or Hotch urged her on. She had been stuck with him for pretty much all of the cases and he had to admit that she was a brilliant young woman. The others interpreted her quietness as an inability to profile but her insights were what had helped him make some major breakthroughs on the last cases. When they congratulated him for that he simply smiled stating that he didn't work alone yet the others probably thought that he was just trying to cover his partner and not share mutual credit for their work. It unnerved him how she seemed incredibly distant and stoic always five paces away from the rest of the team.

Yet this time she seemed furious, it was the deathly kind of quiet, the one that sent a chill to his bones and left all the apologies that were spewing up in his brain die on his tongue.

Frustration was welling up on him and he tried to muster up the courage to talk to her, only to find her crying in Morgan's arms. He couldn't understand for the life of him what she was saying and a selfish, terrible part of him hoped that, maybe, she had been crying for him.

5. The drug addiction

Tobias Hankel was going to be a name that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sometimes deep into the night he was still at that cabin fighting for his life, the one time his intelligence wasn't enough. What drew him to steal those few bottles of Dilaud from his pocket, why he used them, why he formed his addiction. He didn't want to be a drug addict but it was his new reality. He desperately tried to stop it, tried to hide it and always felt ashamed when he relapsed to that horrible habit. He would sit in his bathroom sweating, crying and begging a higher force, a higher being to end his torment, despite never being a religious man, only for his phone to ring demanding his presence because of a new case and for him to fall back to his old routine.

It was a tough journey and he wanted to talk with his friends about that, he needed their help, yet they ignored his problem as if it didn't exist, even though the signs were clear. He was always lashing out, having terrible mood swings and when they tried to confort him about it he lashed out. He had met an old friend of his and he had been the only one he had been brutally honest about his … condition. Gideon knew, his mentor knew, he had the confirmation, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation. Everyone did, except from her.

Everyday she would bring him his extra sweet coffee filled to the brim with stevia and not sugar, because sugar was just as addictive. When he craved, he played with his fingers, tried to distract himself but to no avail, a long strip of hard licorice sweets would appear in front of his face, after research be learned that the flavourful of licorice was extremely distinctive and strong and its hard texture led a person to chew endlessly at just one piece. It was the best food to consume to distract yourself. Every night after a case she would show up at his place with Greek takeout, which was apparently the best cousine, and demand longtime marathons of a show or series of movies, which wasn't something unusual for the two of them. She visited him because she knew that he would never use in her vicinity. He had never known true love until that moment and he recalled a quote by Jane Austin.

To be loved is to be known.

words: 3.007

Warnings: this is short and not my best work but alas... thoughts of SH, reader being depressive, Spencer being a cutie patootie... I think that's it, I hope you enjoy it.

It is just another day. Just another day.

These were the words I kept repeating in my head since that blasted phone call woke me up.

We have a new case. Be in the office in twenty.

The stoic, monotone voice wasn't what she had been expecting to hear in the dead of the night. Maybe a surprise call from my friends with who, to be honest, I had recently lost touch. Because of work. Missing girls night and a few few meetings about an upcoming wedding apparently were enough to frost our close friendship. Maybe the voices of my parents would have been a nice welcome, but they had stopped all kinds of communication the moments I joined the BAU. Exactly five years.

I had stopped celebrating my birthdays the day I turned fifteen, in a rebellion claiming that birthdays were lame and were just another day. And truth be told I actually believed that, yet I still craved a special day to be pampered and celebrated.

Alas I found myself confided in the office, thank God for small miracles, such as local cases. Well, not that crimes were a good thing by any means, but I could not bring myself travel with such a sour mood. I found myself wanting to be the center of attention for once. Only for once. But of course a serial killer is more important than me. Everything is more important than me, these days.

"Hey, what's up with you?" Penny asks as she lowers herself next to me. Her eyes flitting on my face and the blond furrows her brows in a small frown.

"Nothing is the matter Pen. Everything is fine. I will go to grab a coffee, do you want one?" I ask before I rush away from her, not waiting for an answer, bumping into Spencer and cutting off his greeting.

By the time I am back the team is ready for the take down of the UnSub and I have never been more grateful for a new victim, because all of this will be over. I will head home, have a long bath, maybe fall into my old habits. It had been a year and two months since I last cut myself on my inner thighs, it was easier to hide and caused more pain. Because physical pain was more welcome than the emotional turmoil that ruled over me.

One year and two months.

Exactly the time Spencer and I had our first time together. The time he was kissing along my sternum heading south only to stop at the rough skin on my legs, rushing to turn on the lights and stare at the angry red and pale white lines. Tears had gathered in his eyes and quiet sobs racked his body as he drew me close and lathered my face in a million kisses, apologizing for missing the signs.

The thought only made her stomach churn, she was good, healthy, with a job and an amazing relationship, yet still she felt unappreciated by everyone, except from him. They were both battling their own wars every day, but made each other's life a bit easier. And just as she wasn't going to give up on him, she wasn't going to give up on herself, she was better than that, stronger than that.

Finally when the UnSub was in custody, Spencer was bouncing at the edges of his feet with excitement and he made a lame excuse about having to take care of something and flitting the office without another warning.

It was half past one in the morning when Hotch told them to head home. The subway ride wasn't long and the familiar route calmed my nerves. I was being stupid, just because someone didn't appreciate me that doesn't mean I should bring myself down.

The key fit neatly the hole and the door slightly creaked as I gave it a light push and I was greeted with candle lit hallways and a half asleep Spencer holding a cake in his arms. It was obviously homemade, you could tell by its round-ish shape and the crooked bright pink letters. It was perfect.

"Hey. Happy birthday. I know I am late, bit the surprise took longer than it was expected." I chuckled under my breath and kissed his pouty face leaving smudges of red lipstick behind and admiring his radiant smile. How was I even thinking to give this up?

"It the surprise... edible?" I teased and he lightly scowled at my comment, knowing that baking was not an art the young genius had mastered yet.

"Well, this one is. Cakes number one to five weren't for a variety of reasons." Laughter filled the room and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. This was the best gift I could have asked for. My Spencer was so endearing, he was willing to burn down kitchens just to make me smile.

And in a short three years that would be exactly what would happen, as he tried to make the perfect cake for our daughter's first birthday.

Which spencer reid bitch will write a fluffy fic for me in which no one ever remembers readers bday and no one gives a fuck about her except for spence?? And he makes it like super special for her and everything and he's just a perfect boyfriend??? Pls 😩😩😩

Emily: I’ve accidentally indulged in to much ‘me time’

Emily: Turns out, I’ve been reported missing for six months and presumed dead by most local and national authorities.

Emily: .......

Emily: I hope they make a Buzz Feed about me.

hii i saw your requests were open so here :)

could you write super fluffy tender love with spencer reid x reader

(also maybe a mention that she’s also in the bau)

no pressure at all, hope you have a good day <33

-Spencer Reid x reader

{Getting ready for work with Spencer Reid}

Sorry this took so long! I was kinda stumped with this but I Hope you enjoy nonetheless my lovelies!! 💕

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It’s criminal how early it is, the sun hasn’t even begun to rise and yet here you are brushing your teeth with sleepy eyes and you wouldn’t mind it so much if it wasn’t so cold, the autumn chill well and truly set in motion.

Spencer pops his head around the bathroom door as you finish up, his eyes meet yours through the mirror. “Do you know where my purple vest is?” He asks through a yawn and you can’t help but smile as you turn around, the sight of his curly bed hair and the remanence of sleep still very visible on his face.

“Yeah it’s folded up with the rest of the clean washing,” you tell him softly as you reach over to tuck his unruly hair behind his ear.

He whispers a small 'thank you', pressing a kiss to your palm as he leans into your touch before smirking to himself, noticing you’ve got a little toothpaste on your chin. Before you can even ask him why he’s smiling he responds, poking your chin as he speaks “You’ve got a little something… here”

With that he walks away, laughing to himself as you groan, washing your face before following him out into the kitchen. You stand behind him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist with your face pressed into his back as he continues to make two cups of coffee, adding one extra spoon of sugar into his cup.

“It’s gonna be so cold out today” you whine, shuffling away slightly as he turns around to face you. Spencer takes a moment to hold you, his chest blooming with warmth when your arms immediately wrap around him, once again, holding him closer to you in search of warmth.

His hand soothes the expanse of your back, drawing comforting circles into your hip as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mhm, I’ve already packed your hand warmers.” He whispers, knowing just how cold your hands can get.

It’s such a small thing but it means the world to you, how he picks up on the little things that none else ever did. You swear he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. “You’re the best” you mumble into the fabric of his vest, the soft material against your cheek only drives you closer to him.

“Yeah I know” he chuckles, pulling away from you when the kettle pings and the loss of warmth immediately hits you. He can feel you watching him as he goes back to making the coffee, he catches you from the corner of his eye, the way you watch his hands as he stirs the warm beverage.

“Go get dressed” he laughs, reaching over to push at your shoulder.

“Why can’t I just spend the day admiring you?” You ask, and you take pride in the way he looks away from you with a bashful smirk, trying to hide the way he blushes.

“Because we need your beautiful brain,” he says, looking over at you with love in his eyes. “And, I need you focused” his tone is quiet, and there’s a certain seriousness to his words that doesn’t go amiss.

He knows the difficulties that come with working in the bau and how they seemed to double when the pair of you got together and yet the two of you still pushed your way through all the challenges in fact Spencer would argue that it made your relationship stronger.

But that still doesn’t change the fact you’re both still human. You reach out to place a gentle hand against his arm, “Of course” and your soft words seem to calm his nerves for now. He leans to press a kiss on your cheek, and before he can move away, you pull him back, your hands cupping his warm cheeks as you pepper kisses all over his flushed face.

You bask in the raspy chuckle that leaves his lips as he tries to push you away. “Go get changed,” he gasps in between kisses. Placing his hands on your shoulders, he pulls you back gently with a loving smile. "Hotch will kill us" he says and you all but huff a dramatic, “Fine” dragging out the words as you make your way to the bedroom.

The sun has finally started to rise, casting a low light through the kitchen where Spencer waits for you, tapping his fingers against the table, but his attention soon shifts entirely to you when you walk through the door.

“Do you think we’ll have time to stop at the bakery?” You ask, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come as Spencer admires you. There’s something in his soft expression that makes you go giddy with love.

He walks over to you, and his hands immediately find your hips. “Is this new?” He asks, as his hands begin to soothe along your waist, feeling the soft knitted fabric of your sweater.

“Oh yeah, I got like the other day… hey, we’re kinda matching” You smile, noticing the same shade of purple that Spencer is wearing.

“Derek is going to have a field day with this” he tells you, already preparing himself for the day-long commentary, that he’s sure Emily will also chime in on.

“Do you me to go change?” You ask and without missing a beat Spencer shakes his head with a frown, almost offended you would even suggest such a thing. He pulls you closer to him.

“What? no, of course not, you look really good” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing along your cheek, “You’re beautiful” his tone is hushed, almost a whisper as he presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat, how he looks at you with nothing but love in his eyes and how that same love bleeds into his touch. “And yeah, we should have time to go to that bakery, if we leave now” he says, handing you your coffee in a to-go cup.

You nod with an excited gleam in your eyes as you grab the car keys from the glass bowl. Walking out of the apartment, Spencer follows closely behind you, his hand slipping into yours as you, make your way to the car, preparing yourself for the long day ahead.

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Spencer Reid is very ticklish, you first found this out wrapped up in a mess of limbs and soft blankets on his bed. His arm slinks around you as he holds you close to his chest. The pair of you are engrossed in some sci-fi movie that plays on Spencer's crappy TV that you need to hit in order to turn it on.

You trail your nails along his bicep unconsciously, completely taken away by the action on the TV screen. However, your attention is soon turned to Spencer when you feel his muscles tense underneath your fingertips, his skin breaking out in goosebumps and the breathy giggle that escapes his lips.

“Are you ticklish?” You can’t help but tease him, looking over at him with a playfulness that gleams through your eyes. Spencer shakes his head with an adamant 'no'.

“What? No, I’m not ticklish.” He says but you can tell by the way his voice wavers that it’s a clear as day lie. His eyes meet yours and he knows you don’t believe a word he’s saying. “I’m serious… I’m not ticklish.”

You’d test him again, later in the week when he’s reading Sherlock Holmes to you. Your head rests against his chest as you listen closely to the way he tells the story.

The warmth of his arms wrapped around you and the sound of his voice blankets you in a calmness that can only be found with him. You can’t help but nuzzle yourself closer to him, after-all Spencer is practically a human radiator.

You look up at him as he reads, watching the way his lips move with the words. That’s when the idea hits you, a sly smirk painting your face with mischief and Spencer is none the wiser.

Until he feels the feather-light kisses that you pepper along the underside of his jaw. His voice falters, quivering ever so slightly as he tries so hard to grasp at the last bits of his composure.

“You’re definitely ticklish…” you whisper, trailing your lips down his neck barely grazing the sensitive skin. He can’t help it, the giggle that bubbles up within his throat as you continue to kiss him.

The sound that escapes him is wonderful, something about it makes your chest ache with love and you can’t stop yourself from joining in. The pair of you giggling breathlessly as your lips map out the ticklish areas of his skin.

“Alright… okay… you win!” He breathes, succumbing to you as he abandons the book that was in his hands and gives in to you with a loving expression.

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raaah ticklish Spencer Reid… raaah

spencer loves when you run your fingers through his hair.

spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff warnings/tags: idiots in love, playful teasing word count: 180 a/n: this is all i want like PLS 😭😭

You’re not sure, but you think this might be heaven.

Spencer’s head rests in your lap as he reads one of his books, your fingers running through his hair. Every few seconds a soft hum escapes his lips, making you giggle.

“How’s the book, Spence?”

He places it facedown on his stomach. “Really good. Did you know that when it was published in 1969, Slaughterhouse-Five was on the New York Times bestseller list for sixteen weeks?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t. That’s incredible, though.”

“Also, its full title is actually Slaughterhouse-Five, or the Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance With Death.”

“Interesting,” you murmur.

You scratch gently at Spencer’s scalp, and his eyes flutter shut. “Feels good.”

“I can tell,” you laugh softly.

“If you keep this up, I’ll fall asleep before I can finish the book.”

“Haven’t you read it?”

He cracks an eye open, smiling. “I have. Ten times, actually.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

A playful gasp escapes Spencer’s lips. “Hey! Stop being mean.”

You roll your eyes. “A lovable nerd,” you correct, grinning.

He hums. “Much better.”