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promenadewithme · 26 days
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promenadewithme · 27 days
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The 2024 Beginners' Guide to F1 from Shunted Towers.
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promenadewithme · 28 days
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Oh, to go to the eras tour with Danny 🩷
ATTENDING THE ERAS TOUR WITH THE BOYS | F1 GRID
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★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)
lando suggests you wear matching outfits because he’s seen how everyone dress up so cool to go to the concert and he wants you both to experience what it means going to the eras tour, from start to finish. he blares all taylor’s albums while you get ready and in the car ride to the stadium, he knows probably half of the lyrics but his excitement is so cute you don’t tell him how he’s singing pretty like a devil instead of grinning like a devil.
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★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)
charles doesn’t consider himself as a huge swiftie, of course he knows a few of taylor’s songs but that’s it. however, when you asked him if he’d be your date for the concert, his high rate went up to the roof. seeing the taylor swift live? for the first time ever? and at the eras tour? he tried very hard not to show how happy and excited that made him feel and he was… not too successful. he sings with you during the concert, and happily listens to you talk about your favorite part while you drive back home.
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★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)
when oscar bought you the tickets, he was expecting you to go with one of your friends, not to hug him and kiss him and practically scream how excited you were to attend the concert with him. oscar knows nothing about taylor swift, he’s heard a few songs because who hasn’t? so a few days before the big day you sit him in front of the tv, a power point that reads ‘all you need to know about taylor swift’ on the screen. if by the end of the presentation he goes to spotify to listen to reputation, that’s his problem. he spends the entire concert looking at you, he knows taylor is a big deal to a lot of people but he couldn’t care less when he has you smiling and shouting and looking so happy by his side.
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★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)
you and max started dating thanks to a taylor swift song, so when he learnt about the eras tour he didn’t hesitate, not for a second, and bought the tickets. it was meant to be a surprise for your birthday but he couldn’t keep the secret and told you the same night. he’s not good at keeping secrets, okay. what’s he’s also not very good at: arts and crafts, so he simply sat down on the couch, pressed play to miss americana and watched you make some friendship bracelets. his favorite was the one you made for yourself with his racing number on it. he spent such a good time at the concert, and got to trade a bunch of friendship bracelets too.
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★ — ALEX ALBON (23)
alex is a swiftie thanks to you. one day he asked you who she was, the next one he was being introduced to the whole taylor swift lore. it was only fair that he stayed up all night trying to buy tickets to the eras tour with you. alex spent the weeks leading up to the concert listening to you talk about how excited you were. and if he’s honest, he was excited too. taylor is a big part of your life together and knowing that you two share it and can enjoy it together makes him feel pretty lucky.
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★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)
who was more excited to go to the eras tour… you or daniel? hard to say, really. he cries during all too well, even though he doesn’t admit it, he has something in his eyes right at that moment; believe him. daniel gets a lot of compliments for his outfit and goes viral, because what is a formula one driver doing at the eras tour wearing a sparkly suit? daniel doesn’t care about anything but to enjoy with you and kiss you when she sings lover. and love story. and enchanted.
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★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)
mick is like a puppy. if you tell him something, he’ll do it right away. he can’t say no to you, not when you have those big and pretty eyes looking at him with that look that has his heart melting. mick is very nervous the day of the concert but when you ask him what’s wrong he just tells you he’s excited. you don’t ask again because next thing you know taylor’s on stage and the whole stadium is going crazy. when taylor sings ‘he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring’ everyone around you goes crazy, and when you look to the left there he is, your boyfriend, kneeling on the ground with his pretty smile and a ring.
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© VERSTAPPEN-CULT ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
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promenadewithme · 1 month
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promenadewithme · 2 months
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Im just gonna say it. The lack of Hozier fan fiction out there is a god damn travesty. This man is everything any of us could ever want, he is doing everything right, he’s an activist, he’s a feminist, he has long curly hair and he’s 6’6 for fucks sake, and y’all are just WILLFULLY NEGLECTING your duty as writers to make beautiful art about this man. The hell is wrong with y’all.
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promenadewithme · 2 months
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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if you’re white and wanna write a poc character and feel awkward about it i implore you to ignore any twitblr stuff treating it as a massive ethical burden and instead come in more with the same mindset you’d have if you wanted to write about idk firefighters but didn’t know anything about firefighters so you do... research. Like fuck off with the weird kinda creepy calls for spiritual introspection you’re not writing about god damn space aliens you’re writing about humans and if you think you need more perspective of different life experiences just read?
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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I love this!!!!!
How to get to know your characters better?
(feel free to add your own thoughts to this list, hope it helps!) req by @miricalebabyy44 <3
what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?
is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?
do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr
do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.
ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?
does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)
will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?
what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?
will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?
around whom does your oc lets their guard down?
are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?
what type of music does ur oc like?
write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.
do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?
what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)
do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)
what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?
will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?
does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?
if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?
how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)
what's an ideal day for your oc?
lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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— masterlist.
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˒ ⌕ General!
protective gestures f1 boys do
attractive things f1 boys do
making out with f1 boys
f1 boys pulling you in their lap
things f1 boys do that make people think you’re dating
moments f1 boys realized they were in love
soft moments in the car with f1 boys
how f1 boys would act when crushing on someone
little moments of f1 boys yearning for their best friend
mundane little moments of love with f1 boys
moments that made you fall in love a little more with f1 boys
the ones you catch staring at you vs the ones that catch you staring at them
different ways to say ‘i love you’ with f1 boys
moments that made f1 boys look at you and go “damn, they’re so pretty”
the ones who’d kiss you to shut you up vs the ones you’d kiss to shut them up
whispering sweet nothings with f1 boys
f1 boys apologizing after a fight
things f1 boys do that give you butterflies
f1 boys giving you the partner privilege
f1 boys as your boyfriend
things you do that f1 boys think it’s attractive
little things about a relationship with f1 boys
moments that break f1 boys after the break up
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˒ ⌕ Lando Norris
lando falling in love with you
lando being a simp for you
soft moments with lando
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˒ ⌕ Daniel Ricciardo
daniel ricciardo being a simp for you
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˒ ⌕ Carlos Sainz
soft moments with carlos sainz
carlos being a simp for you
carlos falling in love with you
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˒ ⌕ Charles LeClerc
soft moments with charles leclerc
the 1 (angst)
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˒ ⌕ Lewis Hamilton
lewis as your boyfriend
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˒ ⌕ Oscar Piastri
champagne problems (angst)
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˒ ⌕ Max Verstappen
on the rooftop (fluff)
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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u and matthew adopting a little black cat and naming him poe
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Okay, maybe you were a bit too . . . hasty.
“This one, right here, I want this one,” you said. Quickly, to the attendant to your right. She took a step towards you, eyeing the kitten in front of you.
“Oh, this little guy,” she smiled. “Got attacked by a pack of dogs, lost his eye to it, but . . . he made it through. He deserves a happy home.”
You looked at the little kitty, pouted your lips at him. His paws hooked around your finger, lovingly, as you poked it through the hole of his enclosure. “ And I know someone who really deserves you,” you whispered to him.
You had to buy a carrier for him immediately. File the paperwork, get him some toys. You hauled out of there like a woman who’s never had a cat in her life. It was a little embarrassing, but, worth it.
You carried him into your home, up the stairs, into your bedroom, and you weren’t surprised to see that Matthew had not moved. He was curled up in a little ball, as little as he could be with his height. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked a little sad. Wore the same frown that he’s worn for weeks, and, at this point in time, you couldn’t take it anymore. Matthew Gray Gubler is not sad, and he should never be sad. While it may take a while for him to open up, to tell you what’s had him so down, at least you can do something to help. Right here, right now.
You crossed the room, kneeled over his sleeping frame with the kitten in your arms. “Matthew,” you called. “Matthew, babe, wake up. I have a surprise for you.”
His eyes fluttered open, as he felt you rocking him gently. “Love?” he mumbled.
“Yeah, it’s me, hey, wake up, c’mon,” you urged, bouncing on the bed in excitement.
His groggily, slowly, rested himself on his elbow, rubbing his face. It took his eyes some time to fix on you, to see you clearly, but when he saw you, he instantly looked at the animal against your chest.
���Is that a cat?”
“Yeah, it’s a cat!” You giggled.
“Uh . . .”
You laid down beside him, snuggled into his side, “His name is Poe, he’s only eight months old, and has one eye, we’re his parents now.”
“Wow, I . . .”
“Do you wanna hold him?”
“I . . .”
“Here,” you excitedly placed the kitten on his chest. Poe pawed around the hem of Matthew’s shirt, Matthew watching him, still tired and slightly confused. But there was a moment, when Poe settled in. Really settled in, and laid down on Matthew chest, just over his heart. And you watched as Matthew rested his hands on Poe’s body, almost hiding him completely.
“Do you like him?” you asked, anxiously fiddling with the bedsheet.
He inhaled, exhaled deeply, shakily, “Poe . . .”
“Yeah,” you grinned. “I thought of it on the way home, I — I . . . Matthew . . ?”
Looking over to your boyfriend, you leaned in, noticing a small tear rolling down his cheek. “Oh, oh, no, baby, no, what’s wrong?” You murmured, pulling him close, holding him to your chest.
He began to sob, quietly, against the top of Poe’s head. “No . . . no,” you whimpered. “This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen . . . Matthew, baby . . .”
“I’m o—okay,” he hiccuped, followed by another helpless sob. “I just . . . I love him . . .”
You gave him a sad smile, “You do?”
“Of course I do,” he looked up at you, let you wipe the tears from his face. “And I love you, [y/n], I love you so much.”
And as if the words were too much for his heart to bear, he leaned into you and cried some more. “Oh, baby,” you kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too . . . would you like some alone time with Poe?”
“No,” he shook his head. “No, stay . . . both of you.”
You pursed your lips, kissed his cheek, pulled him close and the blanket over both your bodies, “You got it, honey.”
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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buried alive | S.R.
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in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team
who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader
category: angsty
content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.
word count: 2.9k
a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.
part two part three
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You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”
“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.
It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.
“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.
Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”
You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”
Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.
“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.
“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.
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There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.
“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.
You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”
Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.
The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”
You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”
The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.
“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.
Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.
Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.
“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.
You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.
They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.
You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.
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Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.
“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.
Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”
Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”
“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.
Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”
“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.
After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.
Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”
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It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.
The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.
Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.
Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.
Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.
Your team would find you. They had to find you.
They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.
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Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”
“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.
He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.
Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”
But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.
They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”
Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.
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You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.
It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.
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The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.
“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”
Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”
“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.
What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.
Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.
Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.
He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.
“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.
What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.
Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.
It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.
Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.
The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.
“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”
Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.
Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”
He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.
Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”
To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.
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You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.
According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.
Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”
A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”
He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.
You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.
“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.
In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”
Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?
You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”
His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.
Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.
He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.
Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.
“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.
Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”
part two
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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You are doing God's work, ma'am
you’re on your own, kid
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pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader
summary: your new boyfriend, spencer, seems too good to be true. one day, you overhear something that may confirm your fears.
warnings: my blog/writings are 18+, fatphobia, insecurities, angst to fluff, spencer is the sweetest boyfriend, made up interns bc i didn’t wanna make anyone on the team a villain
a/n: spencer canonically talked to hotch the next day and got the interns fired btw cuz i said so
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your portable picnic basket dangles in the crook of your elbow as the elevator lifts you to the behavioral analysis unit. the doors slide open to reveal an empty bullpen, and your mouth quirks slightly downward. it’s not an unusual sight, spencer has told you how busy things can get down in quantico. but still, this is only your second visit to his office, and your pink sundress amidst the black power suits calls eyes to you like a sore thumb. you softly step out of the elevator and crane your neck in different directions. your stomach twists in knots as you resign yourself to making a solo journey to his desk.
you keep your head down as you make your way to spencer’s desk, doing your best to subdue the way you naturally stick out. you set the picnic basket down on his desk before starting off on your search. you don’t make it far, however, two blinding smiles and extended hands stop you in your tracks.
“hi! we’re some of spencer’s friends that didn’t get to meet you last time! i’m penelope,” the blonde eagerly shakes your hand, and the puzzle pieces of spencer’s team begin to click into place.
“oh! hi! nice to meet you penelope!” you reply, before moving on to the man next to her, “you must be derek,” you say before he can even open his mouth, “spencer’s told me a lot about you both, it’s so nice to finally meet you guys.”
after exchanging some more pleasantries, you finally ask where it is you might find your boyfriend. derek points to the conference room, the blinds half open and the door cracked, so you can only assume nothing extremely official is happening in there.
you don’t recognize the group of young women that are huddled behind the conference table, and you recall spencer telling you about a group of new interns that just started a few weeks ago. you also recall spencer whining about derek’s teasing, the new interns and their obvious crush on spencer quickly became the newest object of his ribbing affection, much to your boyfriend’s dismay.
it’s to your dismay, too, as you walk past the would-be models in the conference room. you can hear them whispering as their siren eyes stay trained on you, and the knot in your stomach swells like a balloon, taking over within you. you can’t help yourself- you hide on the other side of the conference room door, your nerves craving validation.
“oh my gosh, do you think that’s his new girlfriend?” you hear one of them whisper, her comment met with a chorus of giggles.
your stomach sinks. was the thought of someone like you dating someone like spencer really that unbelievable? your mind can’t help but conjure up memories of your last break up, in which your ex uttered those illicit words, ‘maybe if you lost a couple pounds.’ how long will it be until spencer says that to you?
“i think so,” a different girl whispers back, breaking your trance, “she doesn’t seem like she’d be his type.”
“how do you mean?” another replies.
“i mean, come on,” the girl chuckles before replying, “she’s like, twice the size of him. triple, probably!” she corrects herself, causing shrills of laughter to peel out of the others’ mouths, “i mean, she hasn’t been dating him very long, has she? maybe he’s doing a favor for a friend or something, dating her to make her feel better about herself. that’s literally the only logical explanation for that relationship.”
you didn’t need to hear anymore. you ran straight out of the bau, picnic basket still atop spencer’s desk.
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spencer’s feet pad over the threshold to your apartment a few hours later, where you’ve seemed to have ran from him once again. the lights are off, curtains drawn, no sign of life in your living area. he sighs as the strap of his bag falls off his shoulder, but he hangs it before it can touch the ground. his keys clink against yours in the dish you keep by the front door, so he knows you’re here. he takes his shoes off and promptly starts searching for you.
“angel, where are you?” he calls out, rounding the corner into your room.
upon entering, he’s met with a heap of pink silk chiffon at his feet, right next to your occupied bed.
“oh! spencer,” you sit up, wiping your cheeks. he looks back down at the dress on the floor, then back to you, teary eyed and clad in an oversized sweatshirt that completely swallows the form he loves so much, and his heart sinks.
“what happened today, love?” he asks, voice gentle as a cooing dove, “i was worried about you, are you okay?”
“oh-i’m so sorry about lunch today. i felt nauseous,” you lie through your teeth, “i couldn’t find you, i’m sorry i didn’t text, either. my phone’s been on silent,” you admit, meekly.
“yeah, morgan said he saw you run off. i was able to convince garcia to track your cell to make sure you made it home safely, though, so i assumed maybe you needed some time for yourself this afternoon,” spencer explains.
“you stalking me, spence?” you try to lighten the mood, to change the subject. maybe he’ll forget. maybe spencer reid will forget. your brain is split into two sides at war with each other, your insecurity desperately clinging to something your logical mind knows is fallible.
“anything to make sure you’re safe,” he says earnestly. his fingers start to dance along the buttons of his shirt, letting it fall off his shoulders as he stretched his muscles, sore from hunching over his desk all day.
“scoot,” he prods, after he discards his work clothes in the hamper, left in a white tank, his boxers, and two crazy socks.
you give him room on the bed and he wastes no time pulling you into him. you feel tears prick your eyes at the feel of his fingers, gently dancing along your back. you don’t want to cry, you can’t cry. if you cry, then he’ll know. he’ll see it too, then he’ll wake up, realize you’re not worth his time, and leave. you should know better than to try to hide anything from spencer, though.
“what’s wrong?” he murmurs into your temple, “please talk to me.” his fingers run delicately down your side, traveling up and down your curves, his eyes following. it makes you sick. you shrink into yourself, you turn away from him.
“what is it, princess?” he asks, more desperate now.
“don’t call me that,” you choke, unable to bear a title with such heavy implications.
“i’m sorry,” he frowns, “i thought you liked it.”
“i don’t want to hear it right now,” you shudder as he attempts to touch you again, fingers immediately jumping back up at your movement.
“if i did something, i’m sorry,” he whispers, heart beginning to race.
“it’s not you,” you muffle out, even if you’re upset, the last thing you want is for him to think he’s at fault.
“then what is it?” he pleads, “you can talk to me.”
you go silent, still. the tears don’t stop, you don’t move when you ask, “are you sure you’re happy with me?”
“what kind of question is that? of course i am,” he answers. his tone is logical, like all of these fears and emotions that have been swirling around your head is something that can be reduced into a stat. it makes you cry harder.
“did i say something wrong?” spencer asks, desperate to make you feel better, but miserably failing with every word he says.
“no, that’s the problem,” you say back, confusing spencer even more.
“what does that even mean, sweetheart? please, let me in, i’m drowning over here,” he continues to plead, desperate to find the solution, to make things better again.
“spencer, i feel like it might be best if we maybe-” you inhale sharply and shut your eyes, afraid of what’s about to exit your mouth.
“if we what, sweetheart?” his voice floats over you, gentle as ever.
“i don’t think i’m the right person for you, spencer,” you shakily admit.
“why do you get to make that decision?” he responds.
“because!” you exclaim, whipping around to face him, sitting up in bed, “i see the people you work with, and the people you could be with and i feel like i’m holding you back. i feel like i embarrass you.”
“the people i work with?” he repeats, confusion lacing his tone, “did someone on the team say something to you? i swear to god i’m gonna kill morgan when i see him tomorrow-”
“no! no!” you cut him off, “it wasn’t a member of the team. it was someone else in the office.”
“so something did happen that made you leave today? you’re not sick?” he props himself up on his forearm and looks at you, dead in the eye. busted.
you break, unable to keep this reserve going any longer. you crumble into his chest, his gaze a mix of awestruck and panic as he looks at you. spencer knows everything. he has a million thoughts floating around at one time, but right now, in the dark light of your bedroom, you are the only thing he can think of. you, and when you’re going to be okay again. you sit among facts and figures of the most important people and events in the world, and you’re always the most important thing on his mind, every time.
“i overheard those interns talking about me today,” you muffle into his chest, “they couldn’t figure out why you’d be into someone like me. said the only logical explanation for it was if you were just dating me to be nice, to help a friend or something, because i’m triple your size.”
your face burns as rage flares in spencer’s chest. so this was about those interns. the flirting was one thing, he rejects their advances every time, and it’s annoying, but it’s something he has control over. but this, this is entirely different. what else could you have possibly overheard to make you think you needed to break up with him?
“that’s not okay, i hope you know that,” he needs you to know that, “people like that don’t belong in my fucking bureau,” he mutters, under his breath and mainly to himself.
“but spencer, they’re right!” you squeal, “i mean, how are you not embarrassed to be with me? to introduce me to your friends?”
“is that something you’re used to?” he inquires, “your boyfriends feeling embarrassed of you?”
“my most recent ex broke up with me because his friends wouldn’t stop teasing him,” you explain, “he told me, word for word, that if i ‘lost a couple pounds’ then maybe he would’ve reconsidered. so yes, it’s something i’m used to.”
spencer ponders this information, desperately trying to conceal the rage building deep in the pit of his chest for your ex boyfriend. he finally sits up, and looks you in the eye.
“that’s not going to happen with me,” he states, quite simply, “that makes me furious, i’m sorry that happened to you. you didn’t deserve it, and you’re so, so beautiful,” the last bit comes out as a whisper as he sees a tear fall softly down your cheek.
“no one’s ever told me that before,” you admit, shakily, “thank you.”
“don’t thank me, this is how you deserve to be treated, all the time,” he tells you, “you’re never going to have to worry about that again. not with me,” he reassures you as he lays you back on the bed.
“can i kiss you?” he asks, his voice coating you in warmth. you nod and he lowers his head to meet yours, lips gently pressing.
he then moves to your cheek, “you’re so beautiful,” kiss, then your jaw, “i’m sorry you don’t see it,” kiss, “you’re incredible.”
“i’m sorry i tried to break up with you,” you blubber, “i didn’t want to, i promise. i just was scared that you would wake up one day and see what those girls see, and you wouldn’t wanna be with me anymore.”
“princess,” he croons, smoothing his hand over your cheek, “not with me,” he leans in and kisses you, “not with me,” he murmurs against your lips.
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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(respectfully ofc)
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promenadewithme · 3 months
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hi !!! can i request literally anything with spencer based on "in a world of boys he's a gentleman"? everytime i hear it on tiktok i just think of him and i physically cannot😭😭 thanks a lot <3
ANON YOUR ✨️MIND✨️!!! I go crazy over any edit of spencer with slut! audio omfg and you're absolutely right, the lyrics scream HIM SO MUCH 😭🫶 Thanks for the request lovely ❤️ btw some parts of this are kinda similar to details of my other blurbs but you know what? idc 🥰 I hope you still enjoy it tho &lt;3
Warning(s): fem!reader, minor injury (scrapped knee), reader being stood up, profanities
This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.
Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
You turned around at the familiar voice. "Spencer? What are you doing here?"
"I'm on the job. Were you inside the club?"
You glanced at the entrance of the establishment behind you. "Yeah, I was. Can you tell me what's going on? Why was everyone evacuated? Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, angel. Don't worry. We've got things under control." Spencer looked around at the mass of people in your immediate surroundings. "I thought you said you had a date today?"
You shuffled your weight from foot to foot, ducking your head so Spencer couldn't read the embarrassment on your face. "I do. My date, he's—well, he said he saw some of his friends earlier and went to say hi, but then we got evacuated, so..."
Spencer frowned. "He hasn't contacted you yet?"
"No." You looked at your phone again for good measure, hoping that somehow your date had dropped in a text or a missed call in the two minutes since the last time you checked the device, but alas. "Maybe he doesn't have service? The signal on my phone has been terrible as well."
You and Spencer both knew that it was a pathetic excuse, but you were thankful that he chose to brush past it completely.
"Are you cold?" Spencer asked when he saw you shudder. He instantly took off the FBI bomber he was wearing and draped it on your shoulders. "Here. You know you get cold easily. Why didn't you bring a coat?"
Truthfully speaking, you didn't think you would need a coat when you left your place earlier that night. After all, your date was going to drive you from your apartment to the club and back. How were you supposed to know that he was going to stand you up halfway through your date, leaving you alone and freezing in the middle of a sidewalk?
Perhaps the fact that he decided to bring you to a club out of all places for a first date should have been your first red flag all along.
"Better now?" Spencer asked.
"Yes. Thank you, Spencer."
Someone bumped against you from behind, and before you could dive head first onto the curb, Spencer caught your fall mid-air. He led you away from the mob of people littering the club entrance with protective arms enveloping your shoulders.
"What happened to your leg?" Spencer asked when he saw the slight limp in your walk.
"Oh, that? I, um, kinda grazed it against the pavement when I fell."
"You fell?!"
"Well—" you winced when a particular step sent a jolt to your limb, "—believe it or not, people can get real physical when they panic, and a sudden PSA to evacuate the premises is apparently the surest way to do it."
"Let me see." Before you could stop him, Spencer was already kneeling in front of you in the middle of the road. He flipped the sheer material of your skirt so he could inspect the damage. "Shit, angel. You're bleeding. Why didn't you say anything?"
Carefully, Spencer ushered you towards the nearest ambulance, sitting you down at the back before requesting a first aid kit from the paramedic.
"Need help with that?" the paramedic asked.
"No, thank you. I've got her."
The way Spencer said the phrase made your entire insides heat up all at once. It didn't help that for the following minutes, you had to endure all the gentle ministrations Spencer was doing to treat your scraped knee. You were both glad and mournful when Spencer finished dressing the wound, your skin tingling with the aftermath of his delicate touches.
Spencer took a seat right next to you. "Still no word from your date?"
"No." You sighed. "I don't even wanna think about him right now. Should've trusted my instinct and not go on this stupid date in the first place."
"Why did you go anyway?"
"I didn't feel right canceling just like that. Deirdre went through great trouble setting it up for me."
Deirdre, bless her heart, was your best friend and closest confidant. She was also the person who arranged this blind date for you because she was, quote-unquote, tired of seeing you pining over a certain FBI agent with an IQ of 187.
"For a certified genius, he's sure as hell real dumb if he hasn't figured out how you feel about him by now," Deirdre had said once upon a time.
So, like the good friend that she was, Deirdre set this blind date in hopes that you would finally stop moping around and start moving on instead.
"Your date is a friend of Deirdre's?" Spencer questioned.
"No, no, no. I think he's a coworker of her sister's husband or something? Anyway, thought I'd at least show up and have fun, y'know? I didn't expect that I would be the one getting stood up."
Spencer clenched his jaw. "Well, you can tell Deirdre that her sister's husband's coworker is a brainless dickhead."
"Spencer!" You wanted to reprimand him, but the giggles that broke through betrayed your intention completely. "You don't know that. You've never even met the guy."
"Don't need to. He's got to be the biggest idiot in the world to have the audacity to stand you up when he should be thanking you for even giving him the time of day in the first place."
Your stomach churned into knots. "You appraise me way too highly, Spencer."
"I appraise you exactly as you deserve." Spencer's shoulder bumped against yours. Even under the layers of clothes you were wearing, your skin still managed to burn. "I wish you could see that."
His words washed over you like a high tide. Spencer was the only one who held such power in the world; the power to render you compliant just by the utterance of several words.
It should have been terrifying.
"Do you want to go home?" Spencer offered as he rose to his feet. "C'mon. I'll drive you."
"What? But your case—"
"They'll be fine without me."
You followed him to one of the parked SUVs several paces ahead. Spencer meandered for a minute towards a group of people whom you could only assume was his team. You offered a small wave and an awkward smile when their gazes slithered your way.
"I feel bad for taking you away like this," you admitted once Spencer returned. He had tendrils of curly hair falling down his forehead, and it took every willpower you had not to reach out and stroke them away.
"It's fine. They understand. We all cover each other all the time when one of us has more urgent things to do."
You were 100% certain that taking you home should not have been categorized as "more urgent things to do". After all, Spencer was a federal agent working a federal case, and you could've easily taken the metro or a taxi back to your place. If it had been any other person with you at that moment—if it had been any other guy—you doubted they would have gone through all those troubles for you.
But Spencer was different.
In a world of boys, Spencer Reid was a gentleman.
He opened the car door for you before getting himself into the driver's seat. The drive back to your apartment lasted a little over twenty minutes. You stared at the building outside your window before turning to face Spencer.
"I'm sorry again for hindering you from your job."
"Are you seriously just gonna keep apologizing to me?"
You grinned. "Maybe. Unless, well, you'd let me treat you to lunch sometimes. Or dinner. Whatever works for you."
Spencer chuckled. "Deal. Just text me when and where, okay?"
You bid your goodbye and exited the SUV. Just before you could close the door, though, Spencer suddenly called out your name.
You bent down and peered inside the car. "Yes?"
Spencer assessed you in silence before looking away. "Nothing. Just... don't forget to brush your teeth."
"Brush my teeth? Who are you? My mom?"
Spencer waved you off when you started to laugh.
"Goodnight, Spencer," you said one last time, slamming the car door and heading towards the entrance of your building.
Spencer's heart stirred as he watched you walk away. "Goodnight, angel."
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promenadewithme · 4 months
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guys... I just watched the new hunger games movie and I have 4 words:
I CAN FIX HIM
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promenadewithme · 4 months
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Chapter 2 (The Kiss of Eros)
a/n: here is chapter 2! all feedback is always welcome <3 pairing: Spencer Reid x Rebecca Sanders (original character) warnings: whirlwind of emotions here, be ready. someone gets hurt, blood, guns, fire, feelings so many feelings. word count: about 3k
Series Masterlist
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The hot humidity of the subway hits me like a slap on the face. I remove my sweater, leaving me in my white button-up, and tie it around my shoulders. 
“Have you ever taken the LA metro?” he asks beside me.
He’s also wearing a white button down, but his are rolled up at his arms, covered by a gray sweater vest and paired with charcoal pants.
“Nope, you?”
“I thought you were experienced.” he jabs and my face twitches.
“At public transportation, not specifically Los Angeles. Vegan city isn’t exactly my go-to holiday destination.” I answer while switching back to my normal square glasses.
“Where, then?”
“Where what?” I ask, trying to figure out which rail to take.
“Where is your go-to holiday destination?” he turns towards me, hands in his pockets, and I pause.
Is he trying to make small talk?
“I-I’ve always wanted to visit Scotland.” I offer.
He nods, looking at the map.
“Did you know that Scotland's official animal is the unicorn?” he asks.
“Yes, I did know that.” I offer a smile.
“Odd, though, isn’t it? That an official animal isn’t even a real animal?”
“Y-yes, I guess so.” I stutter.
“The first record of unicorn myths actually dates back to Mesopotamia.” he gesticulates while looking at the map “Many people think it originated from Greek mythology, but they just confuse the unicorn with the pegasus. Even though they are completely different, their only common factor being the body of a horse. Unicorns have a single horn on their head, while Pegasuses - or Pegasi - have wings.”
I gawk at him.
He’s actually talking to me. About unicorns. I am so incredibly confused right now. This is probably the most he’s ever said directly to me.
His gaze meets mine and he immediately turns away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I look back at the map, searching for the rail that takes us to the address Pen sent. 
“We should take rail C.” I say, turning to look at him.
He’s already looking at me. All I get is a nod before he spins on his heel and walks towards the railway.
We wait behind the yellow line in silence until the metal tube arrives. The station filled with a few people after we arrived, but not enough to mean there wouldn’t be seats for us. Good, my feet are starting to hurt from the heels and I chide myself for not packing more comfortable shoes.
As soon as the doors open, I move to sit close to the exit when a large hand closes around my upper arm. 
“No you don’t.” He orders, lifting me before I have the chance to sit. “Do you know how many microbes are on that seat?” 
“I don’t and I really don’t want to know, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Trillions, Sanders. Trillions.”
I grimace and notice his hand still holds my arm. I’m pretty sure this is the first time he has ever touched me. So much for Dr ‘I don’t do handshakes’.
Snatching my arm from his grip, I ask “Well you don’t even shake peoples hands, so I doubt you’ll hold the support bars. Without them, you’ll be falling more than a sailor in the north sea, so what’s your solution?”
He doesn’t answer me, instead he opens his satchel and takes out two wet wipes, holding one out to me. 
“We’ll sanitize our hands when we get there.” he states, grabbing the rod with the wipe as a barrier between it and his hand.
I hate to admit it, but that’s kind of genius. I’ll never tell him, though.
“Fine.” I huff and copy his actions, just in time for the metro to start moving.
He keeps his free hand tight on the strap of his satchel, eyes drifting between me and the floor. He’s nervous. Over the past year I’ve known Spencer, I’ve learned about his germophobia. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him to be stuck in a metal tube swarming with trillions of microbes. Maybe if I can get his mind off of it…
“Let’s play a game.” I suggest, immediately regretting it.
This man is a genius and you want to play a game with him? Like a little kid? That voice reprimands in my mind.
“A game?” he asks slowly.
“You know what? Never mind, it’s stupid. I don’t know what I was th-” I splutter before he interrupts me in a soft voice.
“What game?”
My mouth opens and closes as I scour my mind for a game worthy of his intelligence. Dear lord, is there even one?
I think of every game possible. Rock, paper, scissors. Never have I ever. I spy. Truth or dare. He looks at me expectantly and I blurt out the first game on my mind “20 questions.”
“20 questions?” he asks.
I’m so dumb. So fucking stupid. I just suggested that Dr Spencer Reid play 20 questions with me.
“How do you play?” He looks interested.
Oh, okay.
 “You’ve never played 20 questions?”
“I um,” he scratches his neck, crimson tingeing his cheeks. “I didn’t have all that many friends growing up.”
“Oh, well… that’s ok. I’ll teach you.” I nod.
When he doesn’t say anything, I start explaining the rules of the game.
“So, basically, person number 1 thinks of something - anything. A person, an object, a band, a place. That person then says ‘I am a country’, for instance. Then person number 2 has 20 yes or no questions to figure out what country that person is. Got it?”
He nods and asks “Can I start?”
“Sure.”
Okay, we’re eager. Good. 
“I am a person.” he states.
“Alright, are you a woman?”
“Yes.” he nods.
“Are you from this century?”
“No, she’s actually from-” he starts, but cuts himself off before mumbling to himself “Yes or no questions. Just yes or no.”
I nod and hide my smile.
“Are you a monarch?” 
“No.”
“A writer?”
“Nope.”
“A scientist?”
“Yes!” he exclaims with a smile.
He has a very nice smile. It’s a rare sight for me. He does smile a lot, but it usually fades when I enter the room.
“Is there a Disney princess based on you?”
“No, not Jane.”
“Did you study dark matter?” 
“Not Freese either.” I can tell that he’s dying to tell me and his excitement is contagious “Come on, Becca. Think about the most obvious answer.”
Becca. He’s never called me that before. I like it.
“Rosalind Franklin?” I try.
“So close, come on. Just one step before her.”
“Marie Curie!” I exclaim.
“Yes!” he laughs. 
“I love Marie! I have a magnet of her on my fridge.” 
“You have a Marie Curie magnet?”
“Yes.” I smile and he just stares.
But this time, it isn’t a bad stare. I wouldn’t mind if he stared at me like this.
“Okay, okay. My turn.” I say.
I already knew what I would pick from the start, so I hint “I am a book.”
“A book?” he tilts his head.
“Is that your first question, doc?” I joke.
“No, no.” he shakes his head and brings his fingers to rest on his chin “Let me think.”
We’re closer to each other than we were before. Close enough for me to see the light stubble beginning to grow on his face and how his lips look slightly chapped.
Is he not drinking enough water? A voice whispers in my mind.
I notice I’m staring at his lips when he asks “Are you a romance book?”
“Yes.” I focus my attention on his eyes and, for the first time, he holds contact with mine.
At least he does for a few seconds, which is enough for me to notice the amber streaks in the midst of his chocolate brown irises.
“Are you from this century?”
“No.”
“Pride and Prejudice.”
I blink at him, mouth agape “How did you do that?”
“You read a lot of romance books.” He shrugs “I thought it could be your current read, but you’re reading a christmas rewrite of groundhog day so definitely not. Statistically, in these situations, we tend to pick something we can see at the moment, have seen recently or a favorite of ours. Considering there aren’t any books around and it’s not your current read, your pick could only have been your favorite.”
“How did you know Pride and Prejudice is my favorite?” I ask, completely shocked that he knows my reading preferences. 
Though, thinking rationally about it, he is a profiler. He’s just doing his job and noticing his surroundings.
“It’s the only book you’ve repeated in the last year. You’ve read it three times. Plus all the times I’ve found you watching the 2005 version with Garcia in her office while going on about something you called the ‘hand flex’ scene.” He looks confused at that last part, but shakes his head before looking expectantly at me.
I realize he’s waiting for me to confirm his answer.
“Yes, you’re right. You won.”
“I never lose.” he simply answers before looking away with a small smile. 
Maybe working with him won’t be so bad after all.
***
Spencer knocks on the last partner’s house, his black Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. We wait a few beats, but there is no reply. Strange. 
“FBI, open up.” Reid bangs against the door.
“Maybe they aren’t home?” I suggest.
“Do you have your gun?” he asks.
I move my hand to hike up my skirt and his gaze follows as I remove my glock gen 5 from the holster strapped to my thigh.
“Do you think we’ll need it?” I question, but hear the answering sound of glass shattering inside the house.
We exchange looks and snap into action. Reid jogs to the left side of the house and I stick to the right, checking the corners and bushes for movement with my gun held in defensive. I dial Pen’s number and leave the ringing phone in my pocket. I reach a window and look inside quickly. Clear. Clear and unlocked.
The smell of benzene reaches my nose before I completely open the window. He’s here. Why did he change his pattern? He just set a fire a couple of hours ago. 
Maybe he thought we wouldn’t expect it. He was right, I certainly wasn’t. Maybe he was afraid he was going to get caught and was eager to finish the job. 
I hear Reid’s voice and follow it to the living room, where the whole family is held hostage. They are each tied to a chair and completely wet with what I assume is the benzene. Four chairs. Two adults, two kids. Their screams of terror are muffled by his makeshift gags. There is a stuffed teddy on the floor next to white flowers and what looks like a broken vase. Their tiny faces are red from screaming and crying. He is going to kill the kids.
I thought I escaped this side of the job when I left CASMIRC. Adults can fight back, adults have flaws and maybe could have done something to deserve what they got, but the kids? They still have the hope and innocence that humanity takes from us once we reach a certain age. They are too young to know what is happening, but what does happen scars them for life. And if it doesn’t, that means I was too late. That means their lifeless faces scar me for life. Haunt me every minute that I am awake and in my nightmares. No, the kids never deserve it.
Spencer’s calm voice brings me back from my thoughts. “I know it was unfair. I know that what they did was wrong, but you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” his voice booms and the woman cries behind her gag “They have to pay for what they have done to me. Put your gun down!”
He slowly lowers the gun to the floor before saying “You want revenge.” Reid looks at me for a millisecond, he’s buying me time “I understand the feeling.”
I take a step closer, still out of sight, and try to come up with a plan. 
Think! That voice yells in my minds
He has a gun and a lighter. The lighter is on. If I shoot, it falls and we all die.
“You have been wronged?” the unsub, Anthony Lewis, asks.
“I have.” he nods. 
When Anthony doesn’t say anything, he continues “I used to be considered the smartest guy at my job. Then, about a year ago, they hired someone new. I’ll tell you,” he laughs humorlessly “everyone thinks she’s so smart.”
“She?” Anthony questions.
He’s talking about me? Why the hell is he talking about me?
“Oh, yes. She. Everybody loves her. She’s so perfect and so smart and so young and so sweet. That’s what they say about her.” He scoffs and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him gesticulate this much. My heart races and constricts in my chest as he continues “But I’ll tell you what I think. I think she’s nothing more than a pretty face, that’s honestly not even that pretty. She’s not smart, she’s a far cry from perfect. I’m better than her in every single way”
I hold in my gasp. I try to tell myself that he’s just distracting the UnSub, that his speech means nothing, but tears still well up in my eyes.
He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, it’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true, …
I repeat it over and over in my head, but it’s no use. It’s no use because it’s what my mind tells me every single moment of every day. 
You’re not good enough, Rebecca. 
You’re not smart enough. You are not pretty enough. You are not brave enough. You! Are! Not! Enough!
“But, you know what? There is something that comforts me, something that helps me keep going. One thought that I play over and over in my head to keep me sane.”
“What is it?” he asks. 
His hand drops and I see that his grip loosened on the lighter. There is no longer a flame. He still has a gun so I have to be smart with this, but I walk in his direction, keeping to the wall.
“That someday, hopefully soon, they will see right through her little facade and realize that I’m the best.”
That’s enough. 
I kick the lighter out of the UnSub’s hand and move to disarm him, but he’s faster. Before I can react, he pulls the trigger. I push his hand down, but I think it still hits my leg. I can’t tell, it doesn’t hurt. 
Where the fuck is my gun?
I grab his gun by the barrel with my left hand and upper-cut his nose with my right. Taking advantage of the distraction his broken nose brought him, I twist the gun right off his hand and point it at him. 
“Anthony Lewis, you are under arrest for the murders of the Phillips family, the Jones family and the Martinez family,” Reid comes from behind the unsub and cuffs him “as well as the attempted murder of the Andersons.”
FBI agents swarm the room and take him away. Hotch and Emily are already taking the family to the ambulance, so I grab my phone from my pocket and see that Pen is still on the line.
“Hey.” I greet.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she exasperates.
“I’ll be fine.” I say, picking up my gun on the floor. What Reid said hurt, but I’ll get over it. Maybe not now, maybe in a few years, maybe after a bottle of wine and a good cry, but I will get over it.
I am a little dizzy, though. Must be all this benzene. Even my tights are wet with it.
“Are you sure? I heard gunshots.” 
Oh, shit. Right. 
I look down and see the red blood oozing down my leg, the bullet lodged somewhere on my upper thigh. Well, fuck. I really liked this skirt.
Adrenaline must still be coursing through my veins because I take a tentative step forward and it only stings a little. I keep limping around the house, trying my best to keep pressure on the wound while walking.
“Yeah, um- Pen? I’ll talk to you later. There are some uh- pressing matters I have to attend to.”
“You got shot, didn’t you?” she gasps.
I sigh. Why does she have to know me so well? 
“Just a little, yeah.” I wince at a painful step.
“There is no such thing as getting a little shot!” she exclaims in my ear and the dizziness gets worse. 
Pain shoots everywhere with every step I take, slowly but surely becoming unbearable. Shit, I think I might pass out.
I reach the front of the house feeling lightheaded and I think my phone is slipping from my hand. I look back at the trail of blood I left behind and just stare as the world spins around me. 
Two hands grip my shoulders and I think Spencer is trying to say something. I push him away, but he doesn’t even move. I’m so mad at him. 
So, so mad.
The last thing I see before the world fades to black are his wide eyes.
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promenadewithme · 4 months
Text
Chapter 2 (The Kiss of Eros)
a/n: here is chapter 2! all feedback is always welcome <3 pairing: Spencer Reid x Rebecca Sanders (original character) warnings: whirlwind of emotions here, be ready. someone gets hurt, blood, guns, fire, feelings so many feelings. word count: about 3k
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The hot humidity of the subway hits me like a slap on the face. I remove my sweater, leaving me in my white button-up, and tie it around my shoulders. 
“Have you ever taken the LA metro?” he asks beside me.
He’s also wearing a white button down, but his are rolled up at his arms, covered by a gray sweater vest and paired with charcoal pants.
“Nope, you?”
“I thought you were experienced.” he jabs and my face twitches.
“At public transportation, not specifically Los Angeles. Vegan city isn’t exactly my go-to holiday destination.” I answer while switching back to my normal square glasses.
“Where, then?”
“Where what?” I ask, trying to figure out which rail to take.
“Where is your go-to holiday destination?” he turns towards me, hands in his pockets, and I pause.
Is he trying to make small talk?
“I-I’ve always wanted to visit Scotland.” I offer.
He nods, looking at the map.
“Did you know that Scotland's official animal is the unicorn?” he asks.
“Yes, I did know that.” I offer a smile.
“Odd, though, isn’t it? That an official animal isn’t even a real animal?”
“Y-yes, I guess so.” I stutter.
“The first record of unicorn myths actually dates back to Mesopotamia.” he gesticulates while looking at the map “Many people think it originated from Greek mythology, but they just confuse the unicorn with the pegasus. Even though they are completely different, their only common factor being the body of a horse. Unicorns have a single horn on their head, while Pegasuses - or Pegasi - have wings.”
I gawk at him.
He’s actually talking to me. About unicorns. I am so incredibly confused right now. This is probably the most he’s ever said directly to me.
His gaze meets mine and he immediately turns away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I look back at the map, searching for the rail that takes us to the address Pen sent. 
“We should take rail C.” I say, turning to look at him.
He’s already looking at me. All I get is a nod before he spins on his heel and walks towards the railway.
We wait behind the yellow line in silence until the metal tube arrives. The station filled with a few people after we arrived, but not enough to mean there wouldn’t be seats for us. Good, my feet are starting to hurt from the heels and I chide myself for not packing more comfortable shoes.
As soon as the doors open, I move to sit close to the exit when a large hand closes around my upper arm. 
“No you don’t.” He orders, lifting me before I have the chance to sit. “Do you know how many microbes are on that seat?” 
“I don’t and I really don’t want to know, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Trillions, Sanders. Trillions.”
I grimace and notice his hand still holds my arm. I’m pretty sure this is the first time he has ever touched me. So much for Dr ‘I don’t do handshakes’.
Snatching my arm from his grip, I ask “Well you don’t even shake peoples hands, so I doubt you’ll hold the support bars. Without them, you’ll be falling more than a sailor in the north sea, so what’s your solution?”
He doesn’t answer me, instead he opens his satchel and takes out two wet wipes, holding one out to me. 
“We’ll sanitize our hands when we get there.” he states, grabbing the rod with the wipe as a barrier between it and his hand.
I hate to admit it, but that’s kind of genius. I’ll never tell him, though.
“Fine.” I huff and copy his actions, just in time for the metro to start moving.
He keeps his free hand tight on the strap of his satchel, eyes drifting between me and the floor. He’s nervous. Over the past year I’ve known Spencer, I’ve learned about his germophobia. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for him to be stuck in a metal tube swarming with trillions of microbes. Maybe if I can get his mind off of it…
“Let’s play a game.” I suggest, immediately regretting it.
This man is a genius and you want to play a game with him? Like a little kid? That voice reprimands in my mind.
“A game?” he asks slowly.
“You know what? Never mind, it’s stupid. I don’t know what I was th-” I splutter before he interrupts me in a soft voice.
“What game?”
My mouth opens and closes as I scour my mind for a game worthy of his intelligence. Dear lord, is there even one?
I think of every game possible. Rock, paper, scissors. Never have I ever. I spy. Truth or dare. He looks at me expectantly and I blurt out the first game on my mind “20 questions.”
“20 questions?” he asks.
I’m so dumb. So fucking stupid. I just suggested that Dr Spencer Reid play 20 questions with me.
“How do you play?” He looks interested.
Oh, okay.
 “You’ve never played 20 questions?”
“I um,” he scratches his neck, crimson tingeing his cheeks. “I didn’t have all that many friends growing up.”
“Oh, well… that’s ok. I’ll teach you.” I nod.
When he doesn’t say anything, I start explaining the rules of the game.
“So, basically, person number 1 thinks of something - anything. A person, an object, a band, a place. That person then says ‘I am a country’, for instance. Then person number 2 has 20 yes or no questions to figure out what country that person is. Got it?”
He nods and asks “Can I start?”
“Sure.”
Okay, we’re eager. Good. 
“I am a person.” he states.
“Alright, are you a woman?”
“Yes.” he nods.
“Are you from this century?”
“No, she’s actually from-” he starts, but cuts himself off before mumbling to himself “Yes or no questions. Just yes or no.”
I nod and hide my smile.
“Are you a monarch?” 
“No.”
“A writer?”
“Nope.”
“A scientist?”
“Yes!” he exclaims with a smile.
He has a very nice smile. It’s a rare sight for me. He does smile a lot, but it usually fades when I enter the room.
“Is there a Disney princess based on you?”
“No, not Jane.”
“Did you study dark matter?” 
“Not Freese either.” I can tell that he’s dying to tell me and his excitement is contagious “Come on, Becca. Think about the most obvious answer.”
Becca. He’s never called me that before. I like it.
“Rosalind Franklin?” I try.
“So close, come on. Just one step before her.”
“Marie Curie!” I exclaim.
“Yes!” he laughs. 
“I love Marie! I have a magnet of her on my fridge.” 
“You have a Marie Curie magnet?”
“Yes.” I smile and he just stares.
But this time, it isn’t a bad stare. I wouldn’t mind if he stared at me like this.
“Okay, okay. My turn.” I say.
I already knew what I would pick from the start, so I hint “I am a book.”
“A book?” he tilts his head.
“Is that your first question, doc?” I joke.
“No, no.” he shakes his head and brings his fingers to rest on his chin “Let me think.”
We’re closer to each other than we were before. Close enough for me to see the light stubble beginning to grow on his face and how his lips look slightly chapped.
Is he not drinking enough water? A voice whispers in my mind.
I notice I’m staring at his lips when he asks “Are you a romance book?”
“Yes.” I focus my attention on his eyes and, for the first time, he holds contact with mine.
At least he does for a few seconds, which is enough for me to notice the amber streaks in the midst of his chocolate brown irises.
“Are you from this century?”
“No.”
“Pride and Prejudice.”
I blink at him, mouth agape “How did you do that?”
“You read a lot of romance books.” He shrugs “I thought it could be your current read, but you’re reading a christmas rewrite of groundhog day so definitely not. Statistically, in these situations, we tend to pick something we can see at the moment, have seen recently or a favorite of ours. Considering there aren’t any books around and it’s not your current read, your pick could only have been your favorite.”
“How did you know Pride and Prejudice is my favorite?” I ask, completely shocked that he knows my reading preferences. 
Though, thinking rationally about it, he is a profiler. He’s just doing his job and noticing his surroundings.
“It’s the only book you’ve repeated in the last year. You’ve read it three times. Plus all the times I’ve found you watching the 2005 version with Garcia in her office while going on about something you called the ‘hand flex’ scene.” He looks confused at that last part, but shakes his head before looking expectantly at me.
I realize he’s waiting for me to confirm his answer.
“Yes, you’re right. You won.”
“I never lose.” he simply answers before looking away with a small smile. 
Maybe working with him won’t be so bad after all.
***
Spencer knocks on the last partner’s house, his black Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. We wait a few beats, but there is no reply. Strange. 
“FBI, open up.” Reid bangs against the door.
“Maybe they aren’t home?” I suggest.
“Do you have your gun?” he asks.
I move my hand to hike up my skirt and his gaze follows as I remove my glock gen 5 from the holster strapped to my thigh.
“Do you think we’ll need it?” I question, but hear the answering sound of glass shattering inside the house.
We exchange looks and snap into action. Reid jogs to the left side of the house and I stick to the right, checking the corners and bushes for movement with my gun held in defensive. I dial Pen’s number and leave the ringing phone in my pocket. I reach a window and look inside quickly. Clear. Clear and unlocked.
The smell of benzene reaches my nose before I completely open the window. He’s here. Why did he change his pattern? He just set a fire a couple of hours ago. 
Maybe he thought we wouldn’t expect it. He was right, I certainly wasn’t. Maybe he was afraid he was going to get caught and was eager to finish the job. 
I hear Reid’s voice and follow it to the living room, where the whole family is held hostage. They are each tied to a chair and completely wet with what I assume is the benzene. Four chairs. Two adults, two kids. Their screams of terror are muffled by his makeshift gags. There is a stuffed teddy on the floor next to white flowers and what looks like a broken vase. Their tiny faces are red from screaming and crying. He is going to kill the kids.
I thought I escaped this side of the job when I left CASMIRC. Adults can fight back, adults have flaws and maybe could have done something to deserve what they got, but the kids? They still have the hope and innocence that humanity takes from us once we reach a certain age. They are too young to know what is happening, but what does happen scars them for life. And if it doesn’t, that means I was too late. That means their lifeless faces scar me for life. Haunt me every minute that I am awake and in my nightmares. No, the kids never deserve it.
Spencer’s calm voice brings me back from my thoughts. “I know it was unfair. I know that what they did was wrong, but you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” his voice booms and the woman cries behind her gag “They have to pay for what they have done to me. Put your gun down!”
He slowly lowers the gun to the floor before saying “You want revenge.” Reid looks at me for a millisecond, he’s buying me time “I understand the feeling.”
I take a step closer, still out of sight, and try to come up with a plan. 
Think! That voice yells in my minds
He has a gun and a lighter. The lighter is on. If I shoot, it falls and we all die.
“You have been wronged?” the unsub, Anthony Lewis, asks.
“I have.” he nods. 
When Anthony doesn’t say anything, he continues “I used to be considered the smartest guy at my job. Then, about a year ago, they hired someone new. I’ll tell you,” he laughs humorlessly “everyone thinks she’s so smart.”
“She?” Anthony questions.
He’s talking about me? Why the hell is he talking about me?
“Oh, yes. She. Everybody loves her. She’s so perfect and so smart and so young and so sweet. That’s what they say about her.” He scoffs and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him gesticulate this much. My heart races and constricts in my chest as he continues “But I’ll tell you what I think. I think she’s nothing more than a pretty face, that’s honestly not even that pretty. She’s not smart, she’s a far cry from perfect. I’m better than her in every single way”
I hold in my gasp. I try to tell myself that he’s just distracting the UnSub, that his speech means nothing, but tears still well up in my eyes.
He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, it’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true, …
I repeat it over and over in my head, but it’s no use. It’s no use because it’s what my mind tells me every single moment of every day. 
You’re not good enough, Rebecca. 
You’re not smart enough. You are not pretty enough. You are not brave enough. You! Are! Not! Enough!
“But, you know what? There is something that comforts me, something that helps me keep going. One thought that I play over and over in my head to keep me sane.”
“What is it?” he asks. 
His hand drops and I see that his grip loosened on the lighter. There is no longer a flame. He still has a gun so I have to be smart with this, but I walk in his direction, keeping to the wall.
“That someday, hopefully soon, they will see right through her little facade and realize that I’m the best.”
That’s enough. 
I kick the lighter out of the UnSub’s hand and move to disarm him, but he’s faster. Before I can react, he pulls the trigger. I push his hand down, but I think it still hits my leg. I can’t tell, it doesn’t hurt. 
Where the fuck is my gun?
I grab his gun by the barrel with my left hand and upper-cut his nose with my right. Taking advantage of the distraction his broken nose brought him, I twist the gun right off his hand and point it at him. 
“Anthony Lewis, you are under arrest for the murders of the Phillips family, the Jones family and the Martinez family,” Reid comes from behind the unsub and cuffs him “as well as the attempted murder of the Andersons.”
FBI agents swarm the room and take him away. Hotch and Emily are already taking the family to the ambulance, so I grab my phone from my pocket and see that Pen is still on the line.
“Hey.” I greet.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she exasperates.
“I’ll be fine.” I say, picking up my gun on the floor. What Reid said hurt, but I’ll get over it. Maybe not now, maybe in a few years, maybe after a bottle of wine and a good cry, but I will get over it.
I am a little dizzy, though. Must be all this benzene. Even my tights are wet with it.
“Are you sure? I heard gunshots.” 
Oh, shit. Right. 
I look down and see the red blood oozing down my leg, the bullet lodged somewhere on my upper thigh. Well, fuck. I really liked this skirt.
Adrenaline must still be coursing through my veins because I take a tentative step forward and it only stings a little. I keep limping around the house, trying my best to keep pressure on the wound while walking.
“Yeah, um- Pen? I’ll talk to you later. There are some uh- pressing matters I have to attend to.”
“You got shot, didn’t you?” she gasps.
I sigh. Why does she have to know me so well? 
“Just a little, yeah.” I wince at a painful step.
“There is no such thing as getting a little shot!” she exclaims in my ear and the dizziness gets worse. 
Pain shoots everywhere with every step I take, slowly but surely becoming unbearable. Shit, I think I might pass out.
I reach the front of the house feeling lightheaded and I think my phone is slipping from my hand. I look back at the trail of blood I left behind and just stare as the world spins around me. 
Two hands grip my shoulders and I think Spencer is trying to say something. I push him away, but he doesn’t even move. I’m so mad at him. 
So, so mad.
The last thing I see before the world fades to black are his wide eyes.
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