#delusions? prevail | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sundrop-writes · 3 months

Text

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.

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.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

588 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 9 months

Note

Can I request headcanon for fukuzawa yukichi from bsd , megumi nobara yuji and geto , gojo from jjk ? ( i love yukichi but if it's make u uncomfortable then you can change it to platonic )

I've written romantic Hc's for Jiraiya, honey, Fukuzawa is no problem.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, stalking, controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, blackmailing, sadism, isolation, abduction, death

Multiple Yandere Hc's

Fukuzawa Yukichi

⚪ Fukuzawa as the president of the Armed Detective Agency fulfills all the expectations you'd imagine a man of his position to have. Serious and calm with a great sense of responsibility for his subordinates and the city of Yokohama. He's dedicated to everything he has built to ensure order and peace so that's what makes it all the more confusing and even downright disturbing as he slowly finds himself entrapped with his darling. Yukichi is no delusional fool, he's very lucid of the abyss his emotions slowly unwind into and it leaves him ever so slightly agitated. Obviously not with you as he knows that this isn't your fault but more with his own lack of self-control in this situation, the capability to even feel and think in such dark ways in the first place. Unable to find a solution to his problem, Fukuzawa does what he does best. Maintaining a calm face as he does his best to go about his days as usual.

⚪ The more time passes on, the worse it gets though as he ever so subtly starts showing signs that something isn't as it used to be. When Haruno serves him a cup of tea, he stares into the steaming cup a few seconds too long as his thoughts drift to you. The first time he wasn't even fully aware until Haruno asked him if something is wrong with the tea and he quickly pretends like everything is fine, flustered and embarrassed with what just happened. Zooming out for a few seconds becomes far more common than it should be and the realization that he's long lost control of his feelings weights very heavily on his shoulders. A while after stomaching this knowledge, you find Yukichi approaching you a bit more and engaging in occasional conversations with you, mindful and observing during those interactions. It's a curse for him more than a blessing that he's able to remember smaller details about you so much better, whether you tell him something about you or he notices a small quirk of yours merely by watching you. He doesn't want to admit it but he always ends up hyperfocusing when around you.

⚪ With a freshly developed obsession, Fukuzawa finds himself oftentimes overthinking about a lot of stuff. How often can he approach you without looking suspicious? Should he hold eye contact with you during conversations the entire time or is that creepy? If he asks you to call him by his first name, would that be weird? Underneath his serious persona, this man is so painfully awkward as he has zero experience about courting and even falling normally in love, his first love just happening to be his obsession is truly a bad joke of destiny. He has similar problems with jealousy as he has always struggles figuring out how much jealousy during which interactions would be suspicious. He isn't the type to be insanely jealous, to his own luck, but to say that it doesn't leave a bitter taste on his tongue would be a lie. It's uncomfortable, over time he finds his body going slightly rigid and his stare is heavy and intense which does intimidate your counterparts more than often. Worst of all is that Fukuzawa is never aware of all of this until someone points it out to him.

⚪ The Armed Detective Agency was created because of his want to see justice prevail and ensure that order and peace would always reign over Yokohama. Especially after realizing his obsession he puts more value into his morals as he fears to revert back to his days as an assassin. Days where he looked forward to killing another person. How far his fears are justified is up to debate but it's a big concern of the president nevertheless. He upholds his morals quite well though, the only hiccup in this all would probably be his overprotective behavior which at times just slips out. Whenever he notices that someone makes you uncomfortable he finds himself stepping in, as soon as he notices that something scares you he has the urge to protect you. What Fukuzawa ends up doing is scaring quite a few people due to his serious nature and the heavy feeling of authority that always surrounds him. He knows that there will be people after you though because you're dear to him and he would never hesitate to draw his sword to defend you against such people either.

⚪ A main reason why Yukichi attempts to keep his feelings hidden is precisely because he's aware that the Port Mafia and so many other people might come for you the moment information seek out that he loves you. Obviously every secret will eventually get revealed so the moment that happens, especially if you two are officially a couple at that point, he tightens the security in your life a tad bit more. He doesn't want to be too restricting about it all but he can't help but be worried, especially if you have no gift and are just a normal person. He wants to keep closer tabs on the Port Mafia just in case that they plan anything and if the Agency gets hold of any information regarding public attacks for whatever reason, he's rather demanding when telling you to stay away. This all is tolerable at least but that maintenance of self-restriction gets shattered the moment you get involved in serious danger which fuels Yukichi's paranoia and triggers him for an unknown amount of time to be a lot more controlling. His aura forbids any protest to the point where even you find yourself flinching intimidated if you try to argue with him about the tight boundaries he's made for you.

⚪ Ranpo figures out Fukuzawa's up until that point well-kept secret which includes the darker side to all of that but he's too close to the president to blame him for anything, especially since he realizes how troubled Fukuzawa himself is with the situation. Dazai is probably another member who gets behind the president's emotions too but he's more fascinated than worried. Most other members are just happy for Fukuzawa when news get out about his feelings and if you aren't a couple officially by that point, a lot of them would be up for the idea of helping him here and there. He rejects their help politely, secretly terrified to even think about what some of them would try to do to help. His affection has more of a gentlemanly approach to it, consisting of small and thoughtful presents, acts of service or nice dates. He has a soft spot for you and sometimes Agency members abuse that by pleading for your help against his anger if they've caused some problems. Also, the Agency loves teasing him when you manage to successfully fluster him in front of them to the point where his cheeks are covered with a hue of pink.

Itadori Yuji

🩷 Yuji is crushing so hard on his darling, it doesn't take much for others to notice that he has a fat crush on you. The boy is such a pure-hearted simp who will literally compliment his darling for anything, even if it's something minor like the shoes you chose to wear on that day or the way you style your hair. He focuses a lot on you and the stuff you're into and is actually fairly well in remembering it so Nobara definitely calls him out for knowing what you favorite food or your favorite colour is whilst forgetting things like when and where he's supposed to meet with her and Megumi on missions to track down curses. Itadori on the other hand is more confused when the people around you don't know certain information about you or don't notice habits or quirks of you which are so painfully obvious to him. He's a bit naive though as you can't exactly call him someone who actually notices that his hyperfixation is not normal. The boy is just a bit dense at times...All the time.

🩷 He's clingy at a level where it is noticable but not quite there to be suffocating or creepy in the eyes of others as Yuji shows some respect for your boundaries. Needless to say though, he would love to spend a lot of time with you whenever both of you are free and whenever he isn't busy with matters involving the jujutsu sorcerers. Even whilst in company of people like Megumi, Nobara or even Gojo and Nanami he often pulls out his phone to see if you're online to chat with you and when all of that doesn't work, he just looks at photos he took of you. You weren't aware in all of them that he took them but Yuji literally can't resist at moments when you just look too gorgeous and adorable. His mood gets for sure affected after a while of not being in contact with you though as he starts sulking around and grumbles significantly more. Considering the world he was thrown into ever since becoming Sukuna's vessel, Yuji has become more protective over his s/o as he could never even bear the thought of them being attacked or even killed by a curse.

🩷 He'd like to think that he isn't obvious when jealous of someone but all his friends can assure him that he's just kidding himself. There's a scowl on his face that gets more prominent as time passes on, he's drumming his fingers against whatever surface is there and is shaking his leg as time ticks by and he gets visibly more impatient as he wonders what in the world could be so engrossing about them. He feels neglected and that is not a nice feeling so if he's had enough he will just squeeze himself in whatever interaction you're currently having with them. It would be only fair to say that Yuji isn't the type to be insanely jealous around others but he just dislikes when he's with you and you ignore him in favor of someone else. He likes your friends, he makes an effort to befriend them too and is cool with all of them as long as no one of them is crushing on you. Something that will definitely trigger him is when he catches someone flirting with his darling because then he's not hesitating to storm over and put himself in between you and the other person with a facial expression that just screams that he's unhappy.

🩷 Itadori has his morals straight when it comes to killing a human. It's morally and ethically just plainly wrong in his eyes as he doesn't see himself as someone who has the right to do so. Killing a human is a last resort in his opinion and so as long as someone hasn't done something truly disgusting to you, he normally doesn't murder anyone for you. He mostly just intimidates and scares people away from you if they've wronged you, although he has probably also gotten into physical fights as the urge to punch someone who has just been a terrible jerk to you isn't always something he can suppress. Your personal simp is physically very strong and athletic though so don't worry, he has won every brawl so far. That makes him for the most part harmless but if someone does manage to genuinely anger him, his hatred stays forever and is very intense.

🩷 One to give you lots of freedom, Itadori isn't someone who would consider ever isolating or restricting you in any way. He prioritizes your happiness a lot and goes above and beyond to make sure you're always in a good mood. Obviously he always tells you about staying away from certain areas when he knows that a curse might be there and it isn't uncommon for him to insist for you to let him accompany you when you have to go somewhere and he has information that something might be lurking around there. Other than this stuff and his clinginess he isn't very controlling but that's mainly because he has never truly experienced what it would feel like if you were to be in serious danger and honestly, he doesn't really want to consider such a terrible thing at all. That is going to make it all the more earth-shattering for Yuji though if it ever happens as that is the moment where he truly feels like he should have done more to protect you. Even if it would have meant invading your privacy and freedom.

🩷 Nobara is at times that close to smacking him with the amount of times Itadori spends gushing about you, she's still happy for him though. Megumi has chosen to just ignore Yuji's rambling, Gojo at times supports him much to the distraught of Nobara. Yuji, once in a relationship, is very dedicated and eager. He constantly goes on little dates with you as soon as he has time and wastes far more money than he should on small presents like snacks or cute little accessories such as key fobs. Text him or call him to inform him that you need something and he's on his way to retrieve it for you, even if he has to walk across the entirety that is Tokyo. That's just how much down bad he is for you. If it wouldn't be for Sukuna who lives inside of him, Yuji would have little to no worries. The curse definitely knows about Yuji's obsession even if the boy denies it when he points it mockingly out. There are times where Sukuna provokes Yuji even as he knows that you're his biggest weakness, threatens to hurt you the next time he gains control. Itadori's surprisingly dark response never fails to amuse and even impress the curse.

Fushiguro Megumi

💙 Megumi already has enough drama going on in his life. His step-sister is in a coma, his father and step-mother have abandoned him and his sister years ago, the Zenin clan tries to claim him and he has to deal with the antics of Gojo, Yuji and Nobara. In between all of this hassle there is you, a disease to his heart and mind as you quickly become a large part of the young man's daily routine. Astonishing, considering that you never see Megumi that often in person but it doesn't need two to watch you, Megumi all by himself is enough. He doesn't know how he should really approach you with all of those confusing emotions swirling around inside of him so stalking is the best option he can come up with. It might sound creepy but just seeing you is almost therapeutic as his mind just clears for those moments from all the stress and the annoyance he normally feels as he just focuses on you. This leads him at one point to impulsively feel the urge to see you whenever he's confronted with something that gets on his nerves and makes him uncomfortable so Megumi starts becoming slightly co-dependent on you.

💙 He's a good observer and all the stalking really shows results as time passes on as Megumi essentially knows a lot of stuff about you he shouldn't know considering how little you know of him. Partially Megumi is lucid enough to know that his behavior isn't normal after all which is why he never tells anyone about you nor is he dumb enough to let you ever find out. Envisioning the drama that would break out the moment people would find out is enough to give him already a headache and he can't risk under any circumstances to scare you. With that said though, Megumi is at best semi-aware though as his own moral code isn't quite as honorable as Itadori's is and this only gets tainted more in black as his darling rises up to be his biggest priority. He justifies any action he takes with their safety in mind and this makes it surprisingly easy for Megumi to commit certain crimes without feeling even an ounce of guilt, the only exception are your tears if his actions should scare and horrify you. You have to believe him though, it was all done for you.

💙 Megumi is so secretive and aloof, you barely remember seeing his facial expression be something else than neutral so you never consider the possibility of him being potentially jealous. Funny considering that Megumi is one of the more jealous people out there. Are you surprised by that? There are a few factors that play into this and the main reason would be his paranoia out of his insecurities. Megumi is in a tough position, sold to the Zenin clan by his father if it wouldn't have been for Gojo who in return forced him into becoming a jujutsu sorcerer and he only really has partially accepted this because he wants to save Tsumiki. Even if he has no connection to the Zenin Clan anymore, they still won't leave him alone either and he might just be forced into becoming the next head of the clan. You're the only good thing in his life so it shouldn't be a surprise that he is so easily irritated, jealous of even close friends of yours. Jealous and insecure of anyone who can make you smile and who makes you happy as it only aggravates his insecurity and in return fuels his possessiveness which fluctuates strongly depending on his own confidence in the moment.

💙 We've already touched the subject before but let's take a deeper look. Megumi is prone to committing acts of violence more often as he hates bad people and good people who are too merciful. His paranoid overprotective antics only make it worse as he feels a rather overwhelming urge to shield you and protect you from everyone and everything bad in this world. I consider it likely that he's the type to threaten and scare people away even if you plan to forgive them as he most likely ends up seeing you as someone far too forgiving, something he normally hates in people and which he occasionally despises in you too when you cling onto someone who in his mind does not deserve your forgiveness. You're brushed off as too naive as he decides to just secretly take care of the problem as he's paranoid that if you'd find out, you'd try to leave him. Megumi is calculative and careful due to his fear to be abandoned by you and potentially be replaced.

💙 With all this talk of his paranoia, insecurities and his overprotectiveness it's by now probably obvious that there is the underlying threat of being abducted and that can be caused by multiple triggers. Megumi is most likely already the type who likes to be alone with you as it is as other people make him uncomfortable. He just wants you alone for himself without you ignoring him for your friends due to his quietness or all the people around you two whose eyes he can't help but feel like linger on you. That's most of the time only a byproduct of his imagination out of paranoia but Megumi is strong when it comes to overthinking to the point that he feels a tightness in his chest when he notices that someone has been following you two for a while now even when they just happen to walk into the same direction as you and if they stare at you for a second too long, he assumes worse. A relationship with him demands already sacrifices as you spend a lot of time with him alone inside as he's most comfortable there. If there would ever be a day where you get in grave danger, try to leave him or he simply assumes that you plan to replace him with someone better, you're done for.

💙 Megumi isn't all that good after all even if you might think of him as someone calm and composed all the time. Surely he is calculative and observant but let me tell you, on the inside he's most of the time just a possessive and insecure mess who just happens to be exceptionally good in hiding it. The jujutsu sorcerer finds himself often guilt-tripping and manipulating you into staying with him inside and not inviting your friends over when you want to do something with him. He has to allow you to spend time with others from time to time to avoid any arguments but that doesn't mean that he's happy with it. In some cases he's actually so paranoid and insecure that he ends up stalking you. One could argue that this means that he doesn't trust you but Megumi would see it more as him not trusting others with you. Although yes, he has this irrational fear of you finding someone you like more than him. That might be possible for you but he literally only has you so you'd shatter his heart and his last bit of self-restraint with it.

Kugisaki Nobara

🔨 Nobara is maybe just a bit iffy at the beginning about her crush which descends dangerously into obsessive territory as she can't help but feel disappointed as she normally prides herself on being strong and level-headed. Also, under her brash and confident facade she is very caring and due to that she can't help but think ahead and worry what that might imply for you. Unwilling to slip up and risk her position as a jujutsu sorcerer, she holds her head high and carries on as usual. That works so so on days as you always return onto her mind and it is angering as much as it is weirdly enjoyable. Nobara's confidence makes her sort of possessive over her darling as well as sort of semi-delusional. She isn't as insecure as Megumi is so she doesn't shy away from approaching you and befriending you, confident that she can charm her darling and be a good lover and girlfriend for them so that definitely makes her a tad bit more arrogant at times around others who might have a crush on you too.

🔨 The woman is rarely actively manipulating her darling as she wants to stay true to herself and refuses to rely on lies unless it's the only option left. Obviously she keeps curses and the world of jujutsu sorcerers a secret from you if you're just a normal citizen in Tokyo but otherwise she never lies to you and her outspoken and brash personality plays a huge part in that. She doesn't tolerate any bullshit from you though even if she loves you dearly so there is an air of strictness to her. She isn't a hard simp as Yuji is nor is she as paranoid as Megumi, she is a stable middle who reprimands you when you've done something wrong and does the same if someone has treated you the wrong way. Nobara isn't overly strict of course but in cases she is, she ususally expects you to listen as she is acting that way in particular when it concerns your own health and in most cases she won't accept any excuses from you.

🔨 She is reasonable and would never be irrationally jealous or at least she pretends she isn't, even when she is. She knows all of your friends and she's on good terms with all of them so she doesn't think that there is any need to be jealous of one of them. Nobara refuses to be influenced by her jealousy and start acting ridiculous, those are your friends who you've known longer than her in most cases after all. If someone tries to flirt with you though or thinks that they have a chance, she can't help but curl her lips in displeasure and disbelief as she scoffes. Now, now, even if you two aren't officially together at time she surely won't let some wannabe ogle at you and think that you're easy. Her comments are passive-aggressive as she ends up getting into the one or other argument at times. She's quite unshakable though as most people underestimate her confidence and always end up giving up. She denies your teasing words about her being jealous though, sometimes even scolds you for allowing them to continue in the first place because if you would have, she wouldn't have needed to interfere.

🔨 Nobara finds herself once again more in the middle between between Megumi and Yuji. She isn't as merciful as Yuji nor is she as overly paranoid as Megumi is. Don't get her wrong now, this girl is fiercely protective over you and as soon as she realizes that someone makes you uncomfortable or scares you, she tells them off angrily, even if they didn't do it on purpose. If someone does scare you on purpose or makes you intentially uncomfortable, she's all the more furious. She doesn't hesitate to execute any curses that interfere with your life, it's literally her job to kill as a jujutsu sorcerer so she came in prepared. Humans are a different calibre though so she obviously doesn't go around exorcising them nor can she use in most cases her Cursed Energy or her tools unless they also happen to be sorcerers. But she never takes bullshit from anyone so as soon as someone harms you somehow or uses you, she comes in to your rescue, ready to unload. You don't want to mess with her even if she doesn't use her weapons as Nobara has a temper and won't quit until the person has either admitted their wrongdoings and made it up or she has driven them away from you.

🔨 She has despised her childhood where she was stuck in the countryside all the time and she has set herself some boundaries within her obsession to have limits and abduction is certainly one of them. She hates the idea of restricting you and imprisoning you as she'd see it as a loss to herself by letting her own feelings influence her. Nobara is level-headed so chances of an abduction are fairly low as she works, admittedly, very hard behind the scenes to not let anyone or anything harm you. She's the tiniest bit controlling in the sense that she wants to know about the people beside herself that you have in your life to know who she has to lecture if something happens and she also expects you to tell her if you're in troubles or someone gives you a hard time. I can't really see an abduction or restrictions within your personal life happening unless a curse attacks you and or you're seriously injured in which case Nobara insists on spending more time guarding and protecting you and also wants you to stick to her advice she gives you no matter what, especially if you're still recovering.

🔨 She wouldn't want to isolate you for the fact alone that she loves going out with you, exploring the city and enjoying her new life. If you've lived here your entire life, she definitely wants you to show her around and take her to your favorite shops and restaurants. She isn't one to spoil but she definitely enjoys taking her darling out when she goes shopping and wants your opinion on certain outfits that catch her eye. If she sees something that she thinks would look good on you, she always insists for you to try it on and she's very persistent so she wins you over most of the time. Fashion is important for her so I can't help but feel like she'd like to doll you up from time to time and let her choose your outfit. Couple outfits will be a thing between the two of you, you can not convince me otherwise. She isn't one to actively gush over her darling all the time but if they have a hobby in which they excel or they do something of which she's proud about, she brags about it to her friends such as Yuji.

Gojo Satoru

🩵 Gojo is someone who enters your life without any warning and refuses to leave you alone forever after. You may do your best to avoid him or tell him as friendly as possible that you'd like him to leave you alone for a bit but nothing works as he chooses serenely to let everything fly over his head. Sweetie, he's not leaving you. He's here to stay whether you want him to or not, perhaps you just need a bit of time to get to know him better. Something you should know is that better than him isn't possible so he blatantly looks down on whoever you might show a prefence to or who might have any intentions to court you. This white-haired annoyance is one clingy man with no intention to give you any room to breathe. Admittedly, a part of him sometimes just likes annoying you and he's a master in it but for the most part Gojo has just an unquenchable desire to be with you as you manage to make him aware of something he didn't want to acknowledge for years now. His undeniable loneliness that comes with being the strongest, the still lingering diappointment of Riko's death and the searing scars left forever by Geto's betrayal. Never again. He'll never let someone else leave him or die on him again.

🩵 Despite his obvious playfullness, Satoru is very possessive over his darling and combined with his unbearable clinginess, that makes for one smothering presence. He's shameless and ruthless when it comes to being the most important person in your life and that transcends far beyond your crushes or love rivals. Your friends, acquaintances and even your own family get entangled into this mess and whilst he wouldn't actively hurt them, as long as they treat you well and don't try to tell you to stay away from him, he'd still expect you to choose him without any moment's hesitance over them because he'd do the same. Beyond his nonchalant and arrogant facade, Gojo is more paranoid and protective than he'd ever show to anyone besides maybe you. He's the strongest sorcerer for sure but the paranoia that something might be wrong and the additional stress his clan gives him as they're clearly unhappy with his choice of partner wear him down. He isn't invincible after all.

🩵 I'd label him as more possessive than jealous as his confidence is through the roof and he judges people mostly only based on their strength alone so with him being the strongest sorcerer in the world, he looks down on most people in your life. Gojo is the type who scares people out of your life without much remorse. One glare is often enough to make someone turn around and avoid you as long as the tale male is with you which is unfortunately more often than you're comfortable with. Turning your attention away from him and ignoring him for someone else never goes down well as he's clearly displeased when you choose to do so and he chooses to be an asshole in return, condescending and talking down to whoever it is you're conversing with at the moment and with his height and his heavy glare he never fails to scare them away. Gojo causes you a lot of problems with his overflowing affection as at one point everyone believes him to be your boyfriend and he does nothing but worsen it more and more.

🩵 I've already said it, I'll say it again. Gojo has little to no remorse for scaring, hurting or even murdering people for you. He barely tolerates anyone besides himself in your life and there is little space left for family and friends with him but they at least get the minimum of respect from him. Everyone else is a free game and then it's completely up to Satoru's own mood what he does with them. He is sadistic so he finds it amusing seeing someone cower in fear the moment he confronts them because they tried to interfere with the relationship. Most people once mess up and then never show their face in front of you again out of sheer fear of Gojo and it leaves you alone and isolated most time as he doesn't even spare friends and family from it if they do something that they shouldn't have done in his eyes. Nothing will help someone though if they've harmed his darling though and their death will be nothing short of excruciating, he literally doesn't care if it's a curse, a human, a sorcerer, executive or someone else. He won't let anyone ever touch a strand of your hair in the wrong way, he promises.

🩵 An abduction with Gojo is not avoidable and it'll happen soon, sweetheart. Satoru is maybe just a bit crazy about the aspect of controlling and monitoring you so he can know where you are the entire time and that is partially influenced by his protective side. He initially tries to talk you into moving in with him and tries to make it sound as appealing as possible. You can design the rooms however you like, you would have access to all of his seemingly limitless bank accounts and you'd never have to work again. It'd be just the two of you. It might sound tempting at first but there are also some hidden implications there. Because you wouldn't be able to leave the house without his permission and he'd install a security system which would in emergency situations shut all windows and doors, allowing pretty much only him to enter and leave. It sounds good in his mind and he'd be very happy if you'd willingly follow him in what is essentially a luxurious prison but your consens isn't needed. Don't blame and cuss at him though, he did give you a chance to choose the better option.

🩵 Gojo never listens to you when it involves you telling him to respect your privacy or when you beg and plead him to let you go as he doesn't take you seriously. You can play hard to get if you want to, you can try to despise him as much as you want but that only mean isolation and even less space for you as he forcefully inserts himself in your daily routine as much as he wants to. You're able to get away with a lot of things simply because Gojo doesn't deem you as any threat to him but that doesn't mean that you can be a brat all you want. Perhaps a reminder of what he's capable off should help you to control your temper a bit better. He's just saying, he could easily break your legs or ruin friends and family of yours. Why don't you just give in? The future would be bright and filled with everything you'd want as the man would ensure to spoil you rotten and since he's good in almost everything he tries, he can easily pick up anything for the sole purpose of impressing you. Don't abuse his trust though because around you Gojo actually feels secure enough to be vulnerable which takes a lot for him to do. So if you'd ever try to escape him, you'd see what lies beyond that playful grin of his.

Geto Suguru

🗻 You get to know him yet really don't under the disguise of a Buddhist priest you often find yourself visiting his temple after the advice of a friend as recently you have experienced weird dreams and feel constantly tired and heavy. A curse clinging to you yet you don't know that and are simply another monkey who collects curses for him. That is all you are, a monkey who Geto so desperately wants to murder yet something about you is different, something that Suguru can't quite pinpoint but it's enough for you to stay permanently on his mind, much to his disdain. His hatred for all non-sorcerers makes Geto quite dangerous as his sworn hatred constantly clashes with his ever-growing affection which he locks away deep inside of himself. Newfound hatred specifically pointed against you has led him multiple times close to allowing curses to kill you yet none of them do so in the end as if sensing that the Curse User himself isn't able to do so, his own will the thing that ultimately always stops them and with that the manifestation of his weakness, his soft spot. A human.

🗻 His love is twisted as the knowledge that he feels so strongly about a non-sorcerer throws him into a new abyss of his mind and it reveals a sadistic, possessive and controlling side of himself. He uses his curses to haunt you and wear you down to force you into visiting him far often since his presence helps you as he puts on his most charming fake persona to lure you into a sense of security. Some of the more intelligent curses are used to spy on you and deliver information whilst Suguru is busy conjuring up his plan to murder every other non-sorcerer. He's very manipulative as he slowly gets into your head as his advice of what you should do help you as he orders the curses to leave you if you do as he tells you and it foolishly leads you into trusting him as you open up to him about a lot of things. You're blinded by his gentle smile and charming attitude, almost too trusting but that's alright. Suguru gradually comes to term with his feelings as he starts changing his perspective. Animals have an order about who is better than others and if the rest of non-sorcerers is a bunch of crude monkeys, he likes to see you as a fine and rare feline, as something more sophisticated and elegant.

🗻 Jealousy would require for him to feel threatened or insecure by someone and with his condescending look on non-sorcerers, that never happens. Now, obviously you don't know anything about sorcerers and curses, still blissfully naive about the true danger the man in front of you really is but Suguru shows lenience. You might be slightly above monkeys but ultimately you're still underneath sorcerers so he can't expect you to know any better just yet. If there is something going on in your life though such as someone courting you, you crushing on someone or, heaven forbid, you actually getting into a relationship with someone, he always finds out. His anger shortly flares up when he's informed about it but the next time you see him, he has reassumed that gentle smile that always calms you down. Non-sorcerers shouldn't even be able to touch you and leave their stench on you, he definitely needs you to drop anyone who would even think of you in that way. You're better than that, he'll help you remove the bad influence scum has on you. Normally you always trust him with such matters so if he ever finds out that you've kept something like that a secret from him, he views it as an act of disobedience.

🗻 Suguru's goal is it to isolate you from everyone, including your own friends and family as all of them are disgusting, soon to be dead anyways. He can easily discard people around him if they are non-sorcerers or should stand in his way and even if it is irritating to see you struggle to do the same, he tries to be reasonable. You don't know any better after all, you were born into their world and are brainwashed but that's alright. Because he will fix everything for you. Perhaps the scariest part of all is that Geto truly believes to do you a favor as you haven't seen how ugly the weak are and what they do to cling onto the delusion that they aren't. Everyone you cherish holds no worth to him besides maybe bait to manipulate and blackmail you once you've taken your rose-tinted glasses off and realize what he really is capable of. Their worth lasts for him only that long though before he decides to cut all of your ties with them completely, removing everyone from your life and leaving you all alone. Don't waste any time crying over them as they aren't worth it. They aren't even worth remembering, he can promise you that soon you'll stop caring about them altogether.

🗻 An abduction is a guarantee and merely bears the question of when it will happen. Suguru has to make some preparations for that day though as he knows that he needs to inform his fellow curse users and the curses that aren't aware of it yet about his new addition soon. It goes against anything he stands for and fights for and Suguru fully understands that but ultimately he manages to convince them as he emphasizes that you are in no way an equal, words he truthfully means. You're a possession he plans to keep and whilst he shall cherish and treasure you, you'll also have to learn how to submit and obey as soon as you're taken in. Everything comes crashing down onto you on the day where you enter the temple but never leave again as Geto finally pulls the rug out from under you and reveals who he truly is. A smile that once comforted you now terrifies you as freedom and privacy are rights taken away from you unless you follow his rules and obey. You wouldn't want to disappoint him and earn yourself a punishment after all, would you?

🗻 Your life is never the same afterwards as it is, in fact, not your own anymore. It all lays now in Suguru's hands who is the one orchestrating your whole life. You have a strict set of rules that you always have to follow and for most things that aren't included in your schedule, you need to ask for permission from him and silently accept if he denies you your request. You're always watched when he isn't at home, either by other curse users or by curses. The latter is especially terrifying as he never informs you fully in the beginning of the world of sorcerers fully simply to test you and let you bask in the illusion of having a chance to escape when in reality you don't. Geto always finds you and hands out a punishment for your failed attempt, keeps the secret up for a while until he decides to tell you the whole truth, slightly disappointed with how often you might have tried to run away at that point and by this point, the knowledge that you were always watched and never had a chance to begin with cracks something inside of you and the new world you find yourself in terrifies you.

#yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere fukuzawa #yandere fukuzawa yukichi #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere itadori #yandere itadori yuji #yandere megumi #yandere fushiguro megumi #yandere nobara #yandere kugisaki nobara #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru

553 notes · View notes

seafoamreadings · 6 days

Text

week of april 21st, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: the biggest astrological news of your week is the end of mercury retrograde right in the middle of your sign. you can still anticipate a little bit of shenanigans for a few days afterward since it is so close to home for you, but from here on out a little peaceful normalcy re-enters your life. if you need more chaos it'll have to be the kind you make for yourself.

taurus: aries antics are not yet at an end but in many ways your sign now becomes the star of the show. on some levels this will be quite fun for you, especially if you thrive under positive attention from others. on other levels, the shifts and changes can be overwhelming to your stolid and stable sign. try to be surprised and delighted rather than shocked and dismayed. it's probably not all so bad and if it is, you will prevail.

gemini: the end of a mercury retrograde is always good news for a gemini. your mind clears where there was recently any brain fog or fuzziness. the fumbling and bumbling shifts back to your natural willowy gracefulness. other things are going on this week too but this is the biggest relief for you.

cancerians: mercury retrograde has been hard for the cardinal signs like you, but its end this week is a breath of fresh air. meanwhile a full scorpio moon can also help you recharge any intellectual or mental fatigue you have been experiencing lately, but do expect to be in your feelings a bit about it. not that that's a bad thing, no matter what some might say. it is one of your gifts, how deeply you can feel.

leo: you'll have a lot of strong feelings early on this week but by the weekend your head and heart are much clearer. physical exercise benefits you, so head to a gym or just have a little nice gallivanting outdoors.

virgo: the more mercurial virgoans will feel great relief as mercury goes direct at last. but don't jump in too quickly to any contracts or sharing resources. less mercurial virgoans will be more focused on mars-neptune in pisces, bringing some illusions (or disillusionment) to relationships. emilie du chatelet said our happiness depends on our illusions, so it is ok to embrace them to some degree, but don't let anyone lie to you or do you harm.

libra: this week's astrology portends mainly good things (although also shifting things) in your relationships, perhaps some delusion or manipulation occurring in some routine or place of work, and a full moon involving your money. if you've been financially wise and responsible, this could be great news. if you've let your luxurious venusian tendencies get the better of you recently, perhaps less great.

scorpio: you may find yourself saying mercury schmercury to the folks hyped up about mercury retrograde this week, but it's mostly due to the full moon that occurs in your sign shortly beforehand. your daily routines run smoother than ever but your emotions are heated and overflowing. don't try to cram it down. let it out, in private if need be.

sagittarius: mercury direct again may well herald a creative breakthrough. or, perhaps juicier, a new relationship or fling. or even an affair, if you're that kind of sagittarian.

capricorn: your sign and your cardinal brethren will certainly feel a relief of some tension or disarray as mercury resumes forward motion this week. the first half of the week is also a great time for you to socialize, if you have the time!

aquarius: almost for sure, you'll receive some sort of important or, at minimum, 'interesting' message around the time that mercury ends its retrograde this week. and before that/at the same time, the full moon in scorpio lights up your 10th house of status and legacy, so while you may not want to be out there posting any serious news on your socials, it's ok to take credit for work well done.

pisces: if you can, avoid spending money (especially on anything important) until next week. on the other hand, academic pursuits get a major boost and if you're not an academic, at least get philosophical about something close to your heart. by the end of the week a mars-neptune conjunction gives you energy, although perhaps not of the physical sort. avoid lying to yourself or others.

#astrology #horoscopes #horoscope #weekly horoscopes #weekly horoscope #signs #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

97 notes · View notes

iaure · 7 months

Text

𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1: 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

CW: delusion, chase sequence, desire to kill, fear of death, vivid description of bodily injury, kissing due to non-sexual desperation, non-lethal self-sacrifice

This part switches between Miguel's POV and the Reader's. ♱ stands for the translation being at the bottom of the post. please let me know immediately if there are any errors! Severe spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ it’s been very long! i am afraid i do not have much to say, aside that this was beta-read by the lovely @kinkandkreep !

wc: 7k

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

The landing of the Spider-Society that Y/N found herself on was dusty, unkept. It was clear that no one had been there for ages. Y/N had to hold back a sneeze. Glass riddled her abdomen and arms, and sneezing felt like something that’d turn her into even more of a mutated pin cushion. There was a cautious silence, or at least, as silent as Nueva York could get when there was a shattered glass window next to her. Her options were laid out before her. Y/N could go home, take care of her fish, and hide out. But Miguel inevitably would come to the same conclusion. That could mean devastation for her own city. Nuevo York wouldn’t be ready for someone like Miguel. Meanwhile, simply texting the neighbour to take care of Y/N’s pet would only take a second. Betty Boop the clownfish would prevail. There was tailing Gwen and the others-trying to intercept Miles in Earth-1610-B, to snag him before the others did. But there was no guarantee Y/N would find him. For an anomaly, he was slippery.

For an anomaly?

Y/N paused. Miles was an anomaly. So, hypothetically, since he used the Go Home Machine, it wouldn’t have read his DNA specifically. It would’ve read the DNA of his associated spider. Which meant...he wouldn’t have gone home. Y/N’s stomach churned, glass aside. Miles was all alone somewhere, lost and confused in a place that didn’t have room for him. He needed help, help that was someone he knew for sure was on his side. Gwen always meant well, and so did Peter B, but the damage on their end had been done. But she saw Miles’ face when he took the extra seconds she lent him. She knew that he knew.

Y/N input the coordinates for Earth-42.

The portal took a second to fizz to life. Y/N would need to get rid of the watch, considering its tracking capabilities. But Layla could track anyway. Layla was good, was sweet, but she was Miguel’s, and at the end of the day, it was about sending a message. Y/N wouldn’t need Miguel’s gadgets. She’d make her own. Or she’d find some other way to get home. And as she waited for the portal to be big enough to go through, a shiver went up her spine. There was the sound of metal being torn, 100 yards away. 80 yards. 60 yards. Shredded under something undoubtedly massive, torn from the side like a beast. It was grating, echoing through the empty bowels of the Spider-Society. And, unfortunately, Y/N knew exactly what that meant. Miguel was tearing up the sides of the tower to get to her, and Y/N was very much not planning to let him get anywhere near her. The portal stretched open as Miguel finally burst through the window. The excess glass seemed to bounce off of him, and there was a moment where Y/N was just jealous. How come her suit couldn’t do that, huh? Would’ve been nice. But Miguel spilled across the floor, trying to claw at anything to just find purchase to stop moving. It would’ve been funny if the situation wasn’t so dire.

Miguel finally stopped moving about a yard away, on all fours and struggling to find his stance. He scrambled to his feet, booking it to Y/N with a shout. “Don’t move!” “You didn’t say ‘Simon’s Says’, Miguel.” Y/N quipped, shocking calm coming over her considering how scary this all was. She felt like she was in control. After all, Miguel hadn’t figured out Miles was on Earth-42 yet. She’d have some time before he figured it out, even if it was just a minute. She, finally, had the power. Miguel might be rushing at her with all the desperation of a starved man, but Y/N just needed to take a step back. This nightmare was almost over, or at least, this bout of it. The portal was already shrinking, and Miguel wouldn’t have the time to go through it. “No! No! Wait! Y/N!” Miguel’s tone was that of begging, a realisation that it was up to her own choice whether or not he’d win. His eyes were wide, with a puppy look that would’ve made Y/N crumble at any other time. He had it down on lock, if that included running on all fours and reaching out within an inch of space.

Y/N crushed the watch in her hands and fell through.

She never liked the feeling of teleporting. The colours made her head spin and hurt, but right now, it was like seeing secondary colour angels. There was no Miguel, no Spider-Society. It was her and the complete multiverse at her behest.

The portal spat her out in an alleyway, sending her crashing into some cardboard boxes. It took a second, but once she realised Miguel wasn’t going to immediately tear through space and time, Y/N could only turn into boneless goo. Her entire body went limp. She was bleeding from the arms and stomach, her torso practically obliterated from the three total times she went through glass. The adrenaline ebbed away to world-ending pain. It was truly only describable as an ache that made her want to die, consuming her whole as she slumped against the bricks of the alleyway. She placed her hand against her abdomen, pressing down and feeling the glass dig in. Part of Y/N wondered if this was it. She knew Earth-42 was dangerous, due to its lack of a Spider-Man. She was defenceless, wounded, feeble, dying. The end of the illustrious Spider-Woman of Earth-7290, in a world far from her own. It was disappointing that Y/N was going to die in a place so beautiful.

New York was something sacred. Somewhere direct from the original birthplace of Spider-Man. Not Nueva York, not Nuevo York, whatever faux iteration that was a spin-off. A thousand twinkling lights that replaced the stars, so bright that the day would pale in comparison. New York was home. Even from the grubby, ugly alleyway, Y/N could see the lights of Times Square. The voices of the masses, the promise of help if only she could raise her voice. But no. The danger outweighed the reward. Part of her wondered what would happen to her body after she died. Would it lay in the alleyway to rot? Would it disappear back to her home world, somehow, someway? And what of Nueva York? Would Miguel be so delusional as to get revenge on Y/N’s beloved city? Or would it be abandoned in the wake of his death? She would’ve been something of legend, if fate was kind. A hero, disappearing into the mist without explanation. But even then, that was disappointing.

An ache settled into her heart. A sadness that choked her, like a bitter pill. Y/N had her regrets. Her uncle Ben, her brother, not helping Miles and the rest of the kids more, not having the courage to step up to canon before. To not be a better Spider. Not a better Society member, but a better Spider. A Spider-Woman that the original Peter Parker would be proud of. Y/N was a guilty heart, safe for one more minute. She didn’t even have the strength to do much more than crane her head, staring up past the skyscrapers to the night sky. And as those sparkling lights dimmed and the darkness grew, Y/N saw a flash of purple before she knew no more.

Miguel couldn’t believe it.

It’d been ten minutes since Y/N had run. And it was something that could only be categorised as ‘against all odds’. Miles had gotten away. Y/N had gotten away. The Spider-Society was in shambles. Spiders were defecting left and right. Gwen, Jessica, Peter, and countless others were going off the map. Layla was working double-time to try and track them all, to figure out what they were trying to do. Miguel wanted to kill someone. Maybe it was Miles. Maybe it was Gwen, Hobie, Peter-any of the others that failed the multiverse. He didn’t want to kill Y/N, though. He wanted to pluck her up, feel her in his teeth, grip her arms so she could never leave. He wanted to rattle her like a toy before putting her in a box like a collectible. Something only he could touch, look at, play with. And he’d treat her well. He’d give her everything she could possibly want (within reason). She’d want for nothing. He’d even cover her world so she could retire from being Spider-Woman. So she could be safe.

Miguel couldn't understand it.

He thought about Y/N all day. All night. Every minute that air passed through his lungs was done with the intent of thinking about her. And he was so fucking mad because how did she not understand that? She ran, mindless, like some savanna animal as soon as he let the barrier down. He loved her, but god was she frustrating. He was being polite, and she completely disregarded it, tossed aside. She tossed him aside.

Y/N L/N did not love Miguel O'Hara.

And he hated that. He'd be the first to admit that letting the barrier down was a stupid idea. For what physical strength he had over Y/N, she had speed. And at the end of the day, strength means nothing if you can't hit your target. That last hit Y/N had landed on him made Miguel crash into a banking tower, scrawling down the side like a cat. Damn not being able to stick to walls. He'd just about yanked out his claws trying to hang on. And the watch! He should've made Spider-Byte deactivate it before anything else!

There were a lot of things Miguel should've done in hindsight.

He found himself scrubbing every possible world he could, from 1 to 10,000. With the watch destroyed and Layla overwhelmed with trying to track everyone everywhere all at once, there was no way to directly trace Y/N. If she was truly smart, she would’ve input some random number and go somewhere absolutely random. But Miguel knew Y/N. He’d studied her. He knew how she thought. That meant she would go somewhere at least a bit familiar, where she was likely to have some form of an ally. There were a few places. Earth-7290 (obviously), Earth-1610-B, Earth-50101-B, Earth-616, Earth-65...she had her pick, cream of the crop. It became a matter of elimination. Earth-616, Earth-65, and Earth-50101-B, Hobie, Gwen, and Pav’s worlds respectively, were bottom contenders. She wouldn’t inherently drag her issues into the worlds of her ‘kids’. And for the record, Miguel began to hate all three. Gwen was weak and a liability, Pav was naïve, and Hobie caused trouble for the sheer delight of it. Y/N’s little spawn wouldn’t be spared.

Y/N staying on Earth-928, in Nueva York, didn’t make sense either. The chances of him finding her in his own home territory was high, and she knew that too. That left Earth-7290 and Earth-1610-B, each for their own reasons. Miles had gone to 1610-B, as far as anyone knew, though Miguel had a hunch otherwise. Spiders don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. And 7290 was Y/N’s personal playground. That was her home turf. So either she went chasing after Miles, or she went to lick her wounds in her own world. It was a matter of which was more likely. But Lyla quickly put an end to his overthinking. She appeared before him, the glittering honeycomb hologram with a head tilt. Curious, but not too curious. Teasing but not disobedient. Just the way Miguel made her to be.

“She’s in Earth-42, Miguel.”

Miguel felt sick with delight. Finding Y/N’s location was only a matter of time once Lyla tracked down where Miles was. If he found the anomaly, then he found his guardian angel. And maybe Y/N was too stubborn for her own good. But her faults were Miguel’s successes. Where she stumbled, Miguel would appear, ready to set her on her feet with a firm grip on her arms. His stomach was turning over in joy, like he was a kid about to go on a rollercoaster for the first time.

“Good job.”

Miguel didn’t waste any time, spinning around and setting his watch for Earth-42. But as he tapped, Lyla spoke up, flickering next to his head. “Want me to call for backup?” “What?” Miguel paused, glancing up as his mask set itself over his face. Something so natural, yet so false. “Why?” “For Miles? I mean,” Lyla snorted. “You couldn’t take him by yourself.”

And Miguel paused.

In his mind, he’d completely obliterated the idea of going after Miles. The anomaly. The whole reason this was happening in the first place. And somehow, his priorities had gotten so…skewed. He froze in place, blinking at his watch owlishly. Why? When? How? It felt strangely unfathomable. Miguel had spent so long going, going, going, running on fumes for worlds that didn’t even know he existed. He saw red when Miles tried to run, but it didn’t seem to panic him as much as Y/N running did. And maybe he wasn’t the same Miguel. Maybe he’d changed. That’s what all the old people would say; that love changes people. And Miguel wasn’t sure if he was alright with that. Deep within the recesses of his mind, some lucidity lingered. The fear of letting the multiverse down, of what could happen if he didn’t go after Miles. But…

Why shouldn’t he indulge?

He was Miguel O’Hara. Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time he received something that was even the slightest bit good in his life? A reward, for all that he’d done. All that he would do, all that will be. He’d been fighting for everything he loved since the day he was born, and now he was just fighting some more. The rest of the Spider Society could figure out Miles. Peter B. Parker could finally step up and fix the problem he made. Everyone else could pay penance by letting Miguel have this. This one thing, this one person, that made everything feel better. He’d done his fair share of sins. This would just be another that he would inevitably pay for. And for once, he didn’t mind that.

“No. I’ll go it alone.”

Lyla raised an eyebrow, but Miguel pretended not to notice. Pretended like what he was doing wasn’t going to endanger the entire multiverse. Like he hadn’t completely rewrapped his life’s duty in the span of a day. He knew he’d pay for it someday, when he died and he had to suffer for the worlds of hurt he made. But right now, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care as much as he should. He had happiness, right in front of him.

He would not fail a second time.

“Are you sure she can be trusted?” “Uh...yeah. Pretty sure.” “Pretty sure?” “...yeah. Yeah.”

Y/N’s head felt like it was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Everything ached, though it wasn’t as bad as before. Her sight was hazy, soft purple and black hues warbling in her vision. Two heads loomed over her. One was poor Miles, bruised and battered with his suit torn on the shoulder. He looked equal parts fearful and concerned, making Y/N’s heart wilt. Did she really scare the boy so much? But she looked over, and her heart dropped to her stomach. Y/N had seen the Prowler before. She’d fought the Prowler before, even. The visor was a bit weirder, and his head was tilted in the same way Miles’ was. But the Prowler was crouched before Y/N, arms on his knees in a pose that seemed far more demeaning than Miles’ crouch. Y/N’s heart bungee jumped from her stomach to her throat, and immediately, she tried scrambling backwards. But the blooming pain in her stomach made her gasp, and she went limp again. A quiet groan left her mouth. She hated how laboured her breathing was, soft huffs leaving her lips. “Told you she’d panic.” The Prowler muttered. Miles just shot him a look. “Why’re you here?” Miles spoke quietly as the Prowler rose, adjusting his gauntlet. The unspoken threat was there. “I…” Y/N huffed out, letting out a choked sigh. She set her hand on her stomach, trying to think past the pain. Against every good reason, she sat herself up against the nearest metal wall. Only then did Y/N realise that the glass was gone, and she’d been bandaged. She’d been hurt so much that her arms and stomach made her look like a mummy, and some blood seeped through. But it was the thought that mattered. The Prowler and Miles stared at her, one seeming far more threatening than the other. “I came to find you. Which…sounds bad. But I want you to hear me out.”

Miles stayed silent. Y/N set her head against the wall.

“I defected. Miguel’s gone off the deep end, bad. It’s stupid enough that his paranoia was entertained for so long. He’s snapped. Nothing he says or does makes sense anymore. And I’m sorry that no one tried to help you, back then, back when you were alone. I’m sorry so many people helped him.” Y/N let out another small groan, shutting her eyes. The lights of the kitchen were too bright. “This…all this ‘pick a side’ B.S., that’s not how Spider-Man does it. I know that this is asking a lot. You’ve had your trust completely destroyed. But I want to make it up. I want to help you save your-oof!” At once, Miles suddenly wrapped himself around Y/N in a hug. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could feel his tears beginning to soak the front of her suit. The sting of her wounds were sharp across her nerves, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Miles was willing to trust her. That meant more than anything. “Thank you,” Y/N whispered, putting her arms around the teenager’s shoulders. He held on a bit tighter, but Y/N couldn’t hold back her hiss of pain. Instantly, Miles pulled away, hands up in an apologetic manner. “Sorry, sorry! Wasn’t thinking.” “No, you’re okay,” Y/N gave a shaky smile, before glancing at the Prowler. She pointed between the two with a shaky hand. “Wanna…talk about this?” “No.” The Prowler huffed. “Yeah!” Miles leapt up, gently punching the Prowler’s arm. “This is Miles, too! I mean, me, but like…not me?” “Your alternate you,” Y/N nodded, picking up what Miles was putting down. “Your variant.” “What the hell happened to secret identities?” The Prowler groaned, letting his visor undo itself to reveal, indeed, another Miles with braids. He seemed miffed, rolling his eyes. “What? She’s cool! She gets it!” “Whatever.” P. Miles (as differentiated in Y/N’s head) stalked to the other side of the room, and Y/N realised the space was half kitchen, half gym. “How’d you find me?” Y/N glanced at Miles, raising a curious eyebrow. “Saw the portal.” Miles sat up on the counter as P. Miles began tinkering with his gauntlet across the room. “Thought it was Gwen, or Miguel, or any of the others…but when we saw you, I figured after what you did, I owed you.” “Miles…” Y/N sighed. “You don’t owe me anything.” “You bought me time. That’s pretty debt-worthy.” “It’s called doing the right thing.” “And doing the right thing means not letting you bleed out.” Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to shove down the smile. Despite how little time passed since everything started, she missed the banter. She missed the spider-teens, missed how everything was before Miguel snapped. She missed when Gwen, Pav, and Hobie would crash in her apartment and they’d watch whatever shitty soap operas were on TV and Y/N felt like a cool big sister. Now, everyone was scattered to the four winds. She wasn’t even sure if she’d ever get something like that again.

“So you two need to get back.”

P. Miles made Y/N snap out of her thoughts, and both she and Miles looked to him. “Yeah. 1610-B. If we can get to an Alchemax collider, then we can find another world with a Spider, use their watch, and get Miles home before supper.” “Supper. Supper’s a weird word.” Miles hummed. “Yeah. It kinda is. Whatever. There’s an Alchemax two miles from here. I can lead the way. You just have to not be dead weight.” P. Miles nodded, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Dead weight.” Y/N looked down to her torso, sighing. The pain was already creeping back, the adrenaline leaving her system as quickly as it came. “Yeah, well…no promises.” P. Miles scanned her up and down with an almost distasteful eye, before looking back to Miles. An unspeakable connection was there for a fleeting moment, but P. Miles broke his eye and walked over to the window. “Whatever. We’ll figure it out.” Miles winced at his variant’s tone, letting out a sigh before gently helping Y/N up. Everything shook, her knees nobbling like an old man in a cartoon. But with one hand on Miles’ shoulder and the other gripping the kitchen island, she found her balance. Damn the pain. Damn the multiverse. And damn Miguel. She’d get Miles home and beat Miguel’s ass while at it, with or without all her vital organs. And as she teetered upright, she took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

Miguel couldn’t bring himself to truly appreciate New York.

Nueva York was better, in his opinion. New York was barbaric, premature. Meanwhile, Nueva York was bright and with a lot more green. Maybe it was biassed, but as Miguel tore through the fabric of time and space, the stink of the city made him clear his throat. “Miguel, they’re on their way to this Earth’s Alchemax.” Lyla appeared before him, acting as a HUD as he walked. “Seems like they’re trying to find their way out.” “Yeah, well…” Miguel peered over the city, popping his neck. Ordinarily, he might’ve said something a little witty, a little mean, but now his mind was dead-set on finding Y/N. So close. So far.

Finding Alchemax wasn’t hard. The bright white building was obvious, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all the greyscale and dark skyscrapers. Even moreso, the fleeing workers evidenced that maybe there were several people inside who were dressed in suits and doing something a little less than normal. The doors were yanked off the hinges, there was some smoke coming out of the upper levels, and it’s a bit astounding that they even did that much damage so fast. He walked past the doors. Alchemax was always a sore spot for Miguel. Obvious reasons aside, it was always somewhere that Spider-Man suffered. And now, Miguel was suffering. He was always chasing after Y/N, and to have an ending battle at Alchemax felt like a cruel twist of fate. And he knew it’d be hard. He knew he blew away any chances of a proper relationship when he’d shoved Y/N through the window, went after the kids, tore aside the sides of buildings to get to her. But that didn’t matter when he knew they were meant to be together. Sometimes, doing what was right for all parties was the hard thing. And Miguel was used to that, and was ready for it. He’d been doing the hard thing all his life. This was one of the most important hard things, yes, all cards were off the table. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Not anymore. He’d do whatever it took to get what he was denied, for so long.

When he turned a corner, there was a sudden spike of…something. It was like a ‘ting’ in his entire body, a vibration against his throat that spread. Maybe this was the closest thing he’d ever feel to a spider sense, with the way it made his neck twitchy and his shoulders tense. He took such a deep breath that his back popped, a flicker in his eyes. She was close. How close, he wasn’t sure. But close enough. Maybe it was her scent that set him off, or the sound of the collider booting up, but either way it was enough to make him shudder. This had never happened before, not even when he had her in the anomaly containment cell. It was more of a predator-prey impulse, thick and heady and hanging in the air. Miguel wanted Y/N’s hair in his hands, her neck between his teeth, her back against his chest. It was a base instinct that set Miguel’s nerves on fire. He pressed forward, finally coming to the collider door. The transparent glass made it clear that Y/N was already on guard, speaking to both Mileses. Her voice grew suddenly sharp, almost irritated, and both boys jumped. Miguel would refuse to admit to anyone just how her commanding tone made him stand stiff. And how sweetly the scent of her blood hung in the air! Better than any wine or sweet or divine treat. How could he have been so oblivious before? It wasn’t like he needed blood for food, or anything, but… Indulgence was his new favourite word. Miguel’s hand hovered over the doorknob. He knew if he didn’t manage to snag Y/N this time, she’d run off to Lord knows where and dance right out of Miguel’s reach until it was too late. Somewhere, in the back of Miguel’s mind, he knew this would’ve been made easier if he’d just brought backup. Then, Jessica or Ben could catch Miles while Miguel got Y/N. But then again, he’d have to explain why he was ready to full-body tackle and make out with someone who, two days prior, he was hardly able to share a room with. So maybe he’d just have to wing it.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The lab was quiet.

P. Miles apparently carried quite the potent fear factor. Civilians scattered when they saw him, leaving the collider open for use. Miles helped carry Y/N, slinging an arm over his shoulder as he slung across Alchemax. There was a terse feeling in the air. Y/N, half dead and feeling like the grave, knew somewhere along the line, something was going to happen. Life was never so easy as to just hand the three a perfectly functional collider. But P. Miles got to work booting the collider up, and as he stood off by himself, Y/N had a moment of reprieve. Y/N stood yet still, but she slumped against one of the monitors, pressing a hand to her bandages. They were soaked through, the throbbing pain inching back now that the second dose of adrenaline was dying down. Miles stood next to her, eyes switching from his variant to Y/N, back and forth, back and forth. It was almost dizzying to even watch. The collider was slow to start, and it was almost nerve wracking. The slow, bubbling light was bright, but it would take a few spare minutes that the three didn’t have.

P. Miles was off in a world of his own, but as Miles’s head bobbed back and forth between the two, Y/N gave an almost pained laugh.

“You’re gonna pull something if you keep that up,” She teased, taking a painfully deep breath before resting her hands behind her on the console. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” Y/N watched him for a second. If it weren’t for the mask, then her frown would’ve been obvious. “It’s jarring, isn’t it?” She glanced back over to P. Miles. “Seeing a version of yourself.” “I mean, it would be for anyone, right?” Miles gave an awkward laugh. “Well…still. You’re taking it well.” Y/N hummed. “Especially for being thrown into all of this so suddenly.” “Well, I-” And suddenly, the two froze. There was a distinct feeling creeping up Y/N’s spine. Her spider sense didn’t usually have a slow build, not like this, but every muscle was tense. It was like a violin sting, the bow crawling across every nerve at a snail’s pace. Miles went stiff next to her, uncrossing his arms and glancing over his shoulder. P. Miles gave the two a confused glance from the sudden shift. “He’s here,” Y/N tilted her head back, knocking against the monitor with a laboured breath. Miles helped her get up as P. Miles went on his metaphorical haunches, gauntlet up and mask on. The room felt like it was spinning, a constant swirling camera angle around the three. Y/N set her hands on Miles’ shoulder. “You. Collider. Now. “ “Wh-?” Before Miles could finish, P. Miles started yanking him by the scruff towards the collider. The spider struggled against the Prowler’s grip. “Wait! No, we aren’t leaving you!” Miles looked almost irritated, as though the idea was genuinely disgusting to him. “Miles,” Y/N ignored her Miles, turning to the Prowler. “Get him through the collider at any cost.” P. Miles nodded firmly. He was a good soldier, but Miles broke out of his grip. “No! We can fight Miguel together. I mean, we’ve got me, and me but cooler! And you’ve been Spider-Woman for years-” “I’m injured, Miles.” Y/N’s tone took on an almost uncharacteristic stern note. “Dead weight. Miguel will be focused on me. My capture is inevitable. Yours doesn’t have to be.” Miles looked panicked, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “But what’ll happen to you? I’m not going to leave you behind. Spider-Man-” “Being Spider-Man is about sacrifice, Miles. And right now, this is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” The tension across Y/N’s nerved climbed to a fever pitch, and Y/N could see Miles’ face contort in fear. She knew what that look meant-Miguel was within Miles’ line of sight. Probably just past the door, tall and ominous. But Y/N shuffled in front of Miles to block Miguel off, to stop him from psyching out Miles, and to maintain eye contact. Her brows furrowed. “Miles-” “No.” Miles tired growing steely, trying to take the same commanding tone Y/N had. But Y/N felt everything spike. “Miles!” She snapped, louder than she meant to. “I am not going to bicker with you!”

Y/N’s voice was harsh, loud enough to echo a little bit. Angry, most certainly. Even P. Miles stoof stiff at rapt attention. “You have a choice,” Y/N pressed, despite the lingering guilt from the moment of fear on Miles’ face. “Me, or your father. And we all know what the answer is to that one.” The room was silent, save for the sound of the whirring collider. The lab door opened, and instantly, everything that was set off from Y/N’s spider sense went deathly silent. It was like her body was shutting down from fear and pain. Strong, almost silent steps drew closer, and Y/N let out a sigh. “Go, Miles. Be a better Spider-Man than the rest of us ever were.” Miles looked like he was forced to swallow hot coals. But with another tug from P. Miles, he began stumbling backwards. Y/N felt like there was still glass shards in her stomach, rolling around and cutting up her guts like a rock tumbler. Everything screamed for her to freeze, run, anything but what she was going to do.

But being Spider-Woman was all about sacrifices.

Y/N steeled her nerves and turned, a hateful glare scrawled across her face. Miguel was right behind her, breathing hard like he was huffing in the air she exhaled. If she took even the barest step forward, then she’d be buried into Miguel’s chest. Closer than she wanted to be. But even then, Y/N could smell mahogany and whiskey and sweat, something rich that seemed to be right up Miguel’s alley. He had his eyes glued to Y/N as though both Mileses weren’t right behind her, trying to clamber into the collider. Like she was the only thing in the world. It would be flattering, if the situation wasn’t so damn scary.

“Mi alma ♱ ,” Miguel whispered, reverent like Y/N was a god. “You were hard to track down.” “I fucking hope so.” She hissed, clicking her tongue. “I hope I gave Lyla a run for her money.” “Mm. That you did.” Miguel’s eyes flickered down a bit, taking in the sight of Y/N’s injuries. Slowly, he tried raising a finger up to touch at the bandages, but Y/N was quicker and grabbed his wrist to stop him. He didn’t so much as jolt, instead putting his eyes right back on Y/N’s face. “Don’t touch me.” “If anything, you’re the one touching me.” Miguel snarked, a grin beginning to sneak onto his face. The banter was clearly something he enjoyed, seeing Y/N as nothing but a defiant pet. “And don’t get smart with me, asshole.” “All these rules…but as you wish, chiquita ♱ .” Y/N took a pissed-off breath, sucking on her teeth. But as she was about to say something back, there was the sudden feeling of webs around her waist. They hurt, but the immediate confusion triumphed over the pain. Who was webbing her? What was going on?

“Sorry, man! But I take care of my own!”

Miles’ sudden defiant yell made both older Spiders jump. Before Y/N could say anything, she was abruptly yanked back towards the collider. P. Miles laughed from the sudden vision of Y/N getting pulled back like a dog on a leash. But the small victory was minute, because Miguel’s face immediately contorted into rage. He bolted across the floor, reaching an arm out to web Miles’ arm. Miles’ web broke off, and for a moment, Y/N was in free-fall. But she could see Miguel’s brain working, the cogs working in a way they hadn’t in days. His eyes were on the kids, realising that while they were around, he’d never have Y/N freely. He’d always have to fight, and that meant the kids were in danger. That phrase played in Y/N’s head on loop. The kids were in danger. The kids were in danger. She had to swallow, recalibrate in mid-air.

Being Spider-Man was a sacrifice. Being Spider-Man was a sacrifice. Being Spider-Man was sacrifice.

And in the midst of the free-fall, Y/N did the one thing she could think of to distract Miguel.

She reached out, and she kissed him.

The kiss was something she wished she’d never have to do. And she hated to admit just how nice it was. She could taste a balm on his lips, the faint taste of coffee. Soft. And she hated how it made her gut dissolve into butterflies, layered with atomic vomit. Bile pooled into her throat, but she could hear the collider shutting down, and she knew. It was over. One way or another, it was over.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

The kiss was by no means perfect. It was forceful, rushed, harsh, with Y/N’s nails digging into his shoulder to try and hang on. Her lips tasted of blood and were scabbed over from how often she bit them. Miguel could see Miles (both of them) in the corner of his eye. 1610 Miles struggled against his variant’s grip, being dragged into the collider against his will. But Miguel couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d fantasised about this moment for what felt like forever. How close she was. The smell of her sweat, the feel of her suit, her hands clutching his biceps. If this was Hell, then Miguel would willingly clip his wings to stay in Y/N’s arms.

Even in the freefall, Miguel found himself reaching out to cling at Y/N. She gasped from the clutch of his hands, and Miguel had to actively resist the urge to shove his tongue into her mouth like some unruly, horny teenager. For the first time in what was probably years, he had butterflies in his stomach. Love. Actual, true love. His eyes were wide, and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was what blushing schoolgirls felt like. Giggling at the idea of their crushes looking their way, doodling hearts in their journals. That’s what Miguel felt like. A grown man, reduced to mush at a single kiss. It was ridiculous, humiliating…but it felt so good.

Miguel slammed into the floor of the collider room, all air sucked out of his body. For a brief moment, he simultaneously came to and was dazed. He realised both Miles were nowhere to be found, and Y/N had slammed into him. She let out a pained cry, pending over against the floor to clutch at her stomach. But as soon as her feet hit the ground and she wasn’t in immediate pain, Y/N pried herself away from Miguel like he’d burned her. And his heart ached. She was leaving him, and he’d be left with nothing but a wounded soul and back pain to return with. And the memory of that kiss. That kiss. It was devastating. Holy. No, Miguel wouldn’t let that go. He couldn’t. He knew he was gone, his mind lost somewhere between affection and obsession. Once his vision cleared and he saw Y/N stumbling to the collider, trying to climb up the walls without opening her wounds again, Miguel felt a certainty steel him. Y/N was going nowhere. Nowhere that he wouldn’t follow, that he wouldn’t tear apart trying to find her in. Miguel shot up, hands reaching out. A neon web came, and partially Miguel wondered if it had a soul of it’s own, an extension of his own desperation. It wrapped around Y/N’s waist, and she fell from the wall with a yelp. She slammed back down onto the floor and there was a sob. And Miguel didn’t want to hurt her. No, he never did. But he couldn’t let her run anymore.

He yanked Y/N towards him, groaning from the ache in his back before walking over to her. She was struggling in the web, arms bound as she flopped like a fish out of water. Her breathing was hard and angry, frustrated grunts ringing out in the collider room as the machine slowly started to wind down. She looked up at those chromatic spots, fear and exhaustion reading on her face in real time as her only escape shut in on itself. Miguel looked down at her, hands on his hips. And Miguel wanted to say something witty. Something like ‘I didn’t want to do this’ or ‘you did this to yourself’. But Y/N just seemed…defeated. Sad. Her eyes were to the floor, refusing to meet Miguel in any way. Just like before, her last way of keeping her pride was to deny Miguel. But she would deny him no more. And all Miguel could do was crouch down, gently rolling Y/N onto her back. There was a wheeze and Y/N shut her eyes. But Miguel could see tears welling, pooling down her cheeks with shame. And Miguel didn’t necessarily like making her cry. Something in the back of his mind told him he should be disgusted, ashamed of himself, beating himself up for making her cry. But she was so pretty. Stunning, even when she was crying and laying there, blood seeping into her suit. A gorgeous red that suited her like nothing else. How would she be in a red dress, ruby jewellery, red makeup. Even against the orange of his webs, she was beautiful. Oh, who was Miguel kidding? She’d look beautiful in anything. A goddess, bathed in the light of day and the stars of night.

Miguel put a hand against Y/N’s cheek, stroking it with his knuckles. She just sniffed, eyes still closed. Miguel’s eyes flickered down to her lips, and…what would be so wrong with it? She was the one that kissed him earlier. Whatever reasoning didn’t matter. If anything, it was his turn. A kiss for a kiss. And so, Miguel leaned down and pressed his lips to hers once more. And this time, despite her whimper, despite her recoil, Miguel felt this was a true kiss. Something earnest, of his own volition. It meant so much, completely overwhelming Miguel’s senses. He could even faintly taste the spearmint of Y/N’s toothpaste, this time. But he felt her flinch, and he pulled away just barely enough that his lips hovered over her. His breath washed over hers as he glanced up to her eyes. And this time, she was staring. Pure hatred was painted over her face, seething just under her skin, and Miguel sighed. “Do you really hate me that much?” He whispered. “More than anything,” Y/N hissed.

And Miguel sighed. Y/N was proud. He’d always loved that about her, but now it was just an issue. But it was nothing that time couldn’t fix. He gently, slowly, reverently picked up Y/N in his arms, like the bride she’d be one day. She squirmed, but her injuries left her immobile. A day of ignoring grievous injuries save for some faulty bandages meant she was left defenceless. And for once, Miguel was glad. Did he delight in her pain? No. Did he feel she deserved it? Maybe. But right now, she was in his arms and unable to run for the last time.

And that. That was Miguel’s reward.

♱ : my soul, honey

╰･ ⨯・ ⨯・ @ishqani ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @pix-stuff ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @localdepressedvampire ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @cantchoosejust1 ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @tired-writer04 ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @neteyamsbulletwound ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @not-neverland06 ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @nervousd ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @whatsmylife

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #୨♡୧ gothic updates #spider man 2099 #spider-man 2099

192 notes · View notes

bg-brainrot · 2 months

Text

A Bloody Sacrament (Astarion x GN!Durge)

Featuring: Astarion x Evil!Durge

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Series: Fits into A Star in the Dark, AO3 link here

Summary: After fulfilling the Tribunal’s task and becoming Bhaal's unholy assassin, you bathe yourself in a pool of blood. You wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your day doused in red, but lucky for you, you have a lover who is only too happy to clean you up.

Tags: Violence, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood As Lube, seriously a lot of blood like too much blood please be warned, Smut, Voyeurism, Semi-Public Sex, Masturbation, Fingering, Oral Sex, Dom Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Pain, smidge of praise kink, smidge of overstimulation, aftercare sort of, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Evil Dark Urge, gender-neutral smut

A/N: If you follow me for my fun, fluffy stuff, I’m sorry, please feel free to look away c’: This is going dark and bloody (and uh, gross if you think about it too long). But sometimes I need to let my inner Durge out. Seriously mind the tags! Spoilers for all of Act 3. This is a Durge that has gone along with *everything* Astarion says, says the most evil things possible, is manipulating him just as they did him, and fully plans on taking over the world for their father. Naturally this is evil-evil Durge so like, tread carefully!

Word count: ~4k

The Murder Tribunal hums in satisfaction. You, the very slayer of Bhaal, prevail before them, standing in a crimson pool of your own making.

You have butchered the pathetic celestial, a hollyphant who dared play investigator. Now it is time to bathe in her blood, take your place as Bhaal’s Unholy Assassin, and prove yourself every bit your father’s child. Your head pounds, the bloodlust overwhelming as you inhale the scent of her ungodly demise, but you maintain enough focus to step forward.

Yes, your blood sings. Douse yourself in this pathetic creature's entrails, cleanse any remaining part of you that may still resist your calling.

Every stride brings you closer to release, to a greatness you know is yours to claim. When your foot finally dips into the pool of blood before you, you throw your head back in elation – yes, you’ve earned this.

Deeper into the basin you walk, down its slick steps, each one pulling you further down. It seems deeper than you thought possible, though perhaps it’s a matter of perspective. After all, as you surrender yourself, your body, to the cult of Bhaal, it’s clear the depths that you would go for the sake of your father’s unholy agenda are far, far deeper.

You reach the center of the pool, where you release yourself to your very nature. In the eye of the temple’s sacred bath, your body is consumed and into its crimson liquid, you sink– down, down, down…

Fantasies of a world built upon your whims invade your mind. Tears of blood run down soft, pathetic cheeks. A river of red courses through the city, fed by bodies you’ve slain. You see seas of blood that would put this pathetic pool to shame. All of it, every last drop, in the name of your lord, your god, your father: Bhaal.

It feels like years of these beautiful delusions, so when finally you snap out of them you sit up with a gasp. You’re not sure how long you were under, but judging from the unaffected looks of your companions, what felt like a lifetime was truly, merely a moment.

As you rise from your sanguine sacrament, blood drips from your hands, your arms, your legs. Every inch of you is stained red with the sins you’ve committed. It’s a delectable sensation, one that shoots up your spine, brings a heat to your core similar to when you’ve enacted a particularly brutal killing. You feel good.

You almost don’t notice Sarevok’s praise, the gift he bestows upon you– it’s exactly what you need to finally fell that wretch of a changeling you call a relative. You take it, utter some words you’re sure, but your mind is a million miles away, enveloped in images of blood and flesh.

When Sarevok and the rest of the Tribunal leave the room, you’re left alone with your companions: Minthara, Shadowheart, and Astarion. They seem to be speaking to you, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears.

You shake your head– no, maybe there is actual blood in your ears.

“Are you alright?” you hear Shadowheart ask, a hint of distaste to her tone.

Minthara’s low chuckle follows and she says, “They are more than ‘alright.’ That was glorious. When we finally take control of this city, we shall all bathe in blood once more."

Astarion is unexpectedly quiet, watching you carefully with his ruby red eyes. Ever since he completed the Rite of Profane Ascension and took his rightful role as the vampire ascendent, he’d been anything but quiet. He’d laughed and murdered with glee. He’d even killed you, body and mind, only to bring you back more bloodthirsty than ever.

Ever since, you’d felt a connection to him unlike before. The tadpole in your brain ensures that you are not subservient to him, but you still feel tied to him by an unforeseen force. One that pulls you toward him, even now. It tells you that this look is meant for you, and you only.

“It’s as Minthara says,” you answer. “I am more than fine. I do, however, need to speak with Astarion. Alone.”

The two women exchange a glance. They’d grown used to your new relationship with Astarion, just as they’d gotten used to your previous relationship with him. Both had made a few comments, thinly veiled criticism of your choices in Shadowheart’s case, unadulterated mirth in Minthara’s case. Regardless, they know better than to get between the two of you.

“We’ll be at the entrance then,” Shadowheart says, turning away.

“And do hurry. Revenge awaits us both,” Minthara adds, following her out.

Astarion simply continues to stare at you, eyes narrowing to slivers as his lids drop in a predatory gaze. Once he’s given you a full once over, he speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble, “My beautiful, precious consort. You’re quite the mess aren’t you. Luckily for you, I would be happy to help. After all, you look good enough to eat.”

Your body warms, your limbs tingle, as if you’re able to feel every lingering trace of the man’s eyes on your body. Perhaps you can, given your intimate, everlasting bond. “Devour me then, my love,” you respond, beginning to walk toward him.

“Tut tut,” he warns, stopping you with an open palm. You pause, halfway between him and the pool of blood behind you. “You’ll receive my attention soon enough. First,” he licks his lips. “I think you ought to prepare yourself for me. Make my meal worth it.”

“Gladly,” you say, with a shallow gulp, your throat thick with a building desire. This is all part of the new game he likes to play, one you are only too happy to oblige. For you, his closest, most beloved treasure, he would do anything– but only if you showed him how much you wanted it. Begged for it.

You didn’t mind– for now. Let him have his fun and games, you think. It must be nice playing the master. But once this is all said and done, I know who shall wield the netherstones, I know who shall dominate the brain. All in the name of Bhaal.

Standing here, in the midst of your father’s bloody keep, newly bestowed with the title of his most unholy assassin, you strip your body bare.

As each piece of your armor comes off, you maintain eye contact with your lover, drinking in his wicked, openly lustful expression. At the sight of your bare chest, his smile widens. Once your bottoms are off, he takes a step closer, almost within your reach, but not quite.

Your building arousal is evident to him. Killing the hollyphant, coating yourself in blood, and now stripping before him, you certainly feel ready for him– though you know he wants more from you than that. Won’t take that final step until you’re well and truly pleading. You lower a hand between your thighs, starting with a gentle, teasing stroke.

“Good,” Astarion murmurs, eyes fixating on your hand, watching as you begin a more frenzied rhythm, as your fingers, slick with blood, are almost fumbling in their eagerness. Still, he doesn’t come closer, keeps his arms crossed as he watches in interest.

“Faster, my pet.” You go faster, beginning to pant as you work yourself up.

“A bit more pressure, darling.” You apply more pressure, barely muting the groan that comes to your lips.

“Now, now. Don’t be afraid to speak up. You do know how I adore your voice,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in anticipation.

You both know that there isn’t a door to this room, its stone entryway is wide and open to the ghosts of Bhaal’s tribunal. However, you also know that these ghosts are inconsequential, memories of those who were unable to bring glory to your father’s name– they should fear you and your ecstasy.

So you do as Astarion commands, allowing your mouth to drop open, an unrepentant moan exiting your lips as you continue to pleasure yourself.

Surely, this is enough for your lover. Your legs begin to tremble as you work yourself into a fervor and you don’t know how much longer you can last with his lidded eyes watching your every twitch.

But, of course, the vampire ascendent is unrelenting in his power. His next demand comes with a soft purr to his voice, betraying none of the wicked indulgence on his face, “My little love, relax. And make sure that you don’t ruin my meal.”

At first, you’re unsure what he means– how can you relax when the heat within you boils to a fever pitch? But you see the way his gaze drops down your body, tracing the rivulets of blood that have begun to pool at your feet. Ah.

It’s been long enough that the blood from your sanguine bath has begun to trickle off of you, a waste really. So you drop to your knees before the pool, run your hands across its crimson surface, and return to your own aching core.

Your hands a bloody red, coat your throbbing arousal in a few swift motions. Looking back up at Astarion from your reverent position before him, you ask, “Better?”

The low growl he gives you would be answer enough, but he still deigns to offer you a response, “Oh much.” His next movements are smooth, peeling off each article of his clothing as he continues to watch you through hooded eyes. “Consecrated in the blood of innocents, simply dripping for me. What more could I ask for?”

You can tell from the way that Astarion’s hands work his trousers, he’s already grown hard at the mere sight of you. The soft moan that leaves him as he brushes his cock almost brings you to the edge right then and there. Because this vampire lord, ruler of the night and nightmare among men, simply cannot wait any longer to pleasure you.

While he’s become more pristine, more poised in his ascension– he’s also become far more bestial. It shows in the way he tears an enemy in half, and it shows in the way he wantonly tears through you as soon as he's given the chance. So the lord falls, naked, to his knees before you, crawling over your kneeling body with hunger and purpose.

“Astarion,” you start, moving to reach out to him, to capture his beautiful lips with yours. But you're only met with an upheld hand.

“Not yet, my treasure.” His hand lands on your thigh, gripping it, and prying your legs apart. “I must tend to my consort first."

Then his mouth drops onto you.

Astarion's practiced tongue is normally quite an indulgent experience for you, a way for him to tend to you, as he said. But today, his tongue laps in a long, languid movement, capturing every bit of the blood that coats you. He moves so slowly, too slowly. It feels sinful, the way he teases. Your hips buck in response, your legs instinctively clench, but he grips you in place all the same.

“Astarion,” you breath out, barely able to hold another coherent thought as your bloody hands find his head, twining into his hair for dear life. ”Faster, please.”

He tilts his head up, giving you a bloody grin. “I simply must savor you first. Especially when you’ve prepared such a luscious meal.”

You can tell he likes this, your desperation. It gives him a sense of power and control he’s longed for for so long– and you, the chosen of Bhaal, his newly minted unholy assassin, are an utter prize to torment. He won’t give you what you want until he’s satisfied, and you’re starting to believe that this man can never be fully sated, even freed from his sanguine hunger.

So you plead, this time with more need in your voice, “Please, Astarion.”

“Oh, very well then. Whatever my precious consort desires,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on the soft, inner skin of your thigh.

Then he’s back on you, his tongue picking up speed as he circles your arousal. Your breath catches, your fingers tighten on his hair and once more you’re brought to the precipice. Pleasure builds in your core as he begins to suckle, drawing out of you a cry of sheer rhapsody.

The vampire’s fingers dig into your flesh as he sucks hard, and the pressure in you snaps. Your back arches as you come, thighs fighting against your lover’s grip. You hold his head to you tightly as he continues to nurse you in soft, rhythmic draws. Like the precious fiend you are, he cradles your hips to his mouth as he eases you down from your high.

Your vision swims and the blood that you’ve streaked through Astarion’s hair feels like the only thing in focus. It glistens red, whispering to you the sweet caress of blood and gore– in your euphoria, the man before you looks godly in his disarray.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, slurring your words in your stupor.

Astarion lifts his head, looking up at you through his long lashes. “As are you, my sweet.”

You produce a breathy laugh, knowing that you look a mess, still coated in more blood than usual– but also knowing that he means it. Especially as he continues crawling up your body, tongue tracing each line of blood, lapping at you as if a man possessed.

Each stroke of his tongue serves in equal measure to clean you as it does to reignite the fire in your belly. Inch by bloody inch, he licks along every rich ruby rivulet he can reach as he works his way up. The thought of this man, not cleansing you of your sins, but rather drinking them in, relishing them on his equally vicious tongue– well, you're far beyond any amount of shame, and your moans of pleasure cascade off the room's stone walls in a raucous symphony.

Finally, he reaches your face, hovering just above your lips as his tongue licks his own free of blood. "Now, my little love… tell me what it is you want from me,” he commands.

You’re still reeling from the feel of his mouth on you, speech seems too tall of an order at the moment. In fact, right now, the only things you can think of are his red eyes, beautiful bloody hair, and his stiff arousal, pressing into you.

So you reach down, trailing your bloody hand along the length of him, guiding him toward you in a wordless request.

"Use your words, darling," he says, nearly brushing your lips with his as he grinds into your hand to punctuate his sentence.

"Take me," you manage to gasp out. Then you take a deep, shuddering breath. You let the urge overtake you. "Let us sanctify this unholy ground. Show it the depths of our depravity." You squeeze his cock in another silent demand, devouring the groan that escapes him as you cover his mouth with your own.

Losing yourself in his flavor, metallic, and tasting distinctly of your own fluids, you only barely manage to remember to breathe. Your head spins, but he is all you want in your lungs. You’re not sure what triggers this desperation, whether it be the instincts within you or the very nature of the vampire before you, but you do know that it compels you to take every bit of him you can.

So you stroke at his length, consuming each and every noise he makes like the ravenous beast you are. He nips at your lips, a playful reprimand, but one that you take seriously.

You pull away from him, and you're both panting into each other when his next demand comes, "I will give you all that you ask of me. But first, you must lay back."

First one leg, then the other, you lay yourself beneath him. As you roll back into the pool of blood you had been kneeling in, his eyes trail you hungrily. Beneath the man’s crimson gaze, you feel every bit the depraved demigod you are. Like your cruel, tool of a body was made for him to ravish.

Astarion reaches behind you, hands skimming the basin of blood and coming back dripping crimson. To your questioning look, he merely smirks.

It's only a moment later that his hands are back between your legs. Coated with blood as they are, his dexterous fingers move fluidly to work your arousal back up. "Astarion,” you gasp out, still sensitive from his mouth’s earlier ministrations. “I need you, not– not this.”

“Patience,” he murmurs, looking down at you with a deceptively soft smile. His fingers leave your throbbing core, slipping past it to find your entrance. A single gentle, probing finger teases you, as he asks, “How much of me do you desire, my sweet love?”

“More,” you groan out, lifting your hips to meet him in your need. Again, the urge within screams. “Give me everything, and it will never be enough. I would have our very flesh coalesce so that I may be interred within your corpse at the end of the world.”

Astarion slows his finger momentarily, bends down to kiss your hateful lips, and whispers, “My lovely little lunatic, how poetic.” Then a second finger joins the first, and he’s pumping into you. Slowly at first, but his pace picks up as he finds a spot that makes you squirm.

The sound of his blood-slicked fingers entering you, over-and-over, seems to be too much for either of you to bear for long. Soon, his fingers slip out of you, his cock replacing them at your entrance before you can so much as moan his name.

Then he presses into you, truly melding your flesh with his own. He feels harder than he has before, fueled by the basin’s supply of blood. Inch by bloody inch, he enters you, and, but for a moment, your insatiable, bloody lust is satisfied by this man. Your back arches in response and your dark urges fall to much more primal ones as you attempt to clutch the slick stone beneath you. “A-Astarion,” you pant out. “Take me. Please.”

“You’ve been so good,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around each of your thighs as he leverages himself, preparing for what you’re certain will be his finest performance yet. “It’s only right that you receive your reward.”

Then he pulls out, every so slightly, grins at you with a bloody, fanged mouth, and begins pounding into you.

Any normal Baldurian would balk at the force with which the man drives into you. But you are Bhaalspawn. You dwell within a realm where pleasure and pain walk hand-in-hand. And Astarion knows that– knows the limits of your wicked, bruised body.

As such, his savage thrusts are more than welcome. Your eyes close and your head rolls back as you bask in them. You find yourself to be the one issuing orders as he drives into you, again and again, “Harder. Harder.”

His fingers grip your thighs tighter as he strains to pick up the pace, to plunge into you with as much force as his sordid consort demands. The loud, lewd sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, punctuated by your needy cries, your lover’s grunts of exertion.

Yes, you think. Yes, break me, break Bhaal’s chosen, so that I may be rebuilt upon my own bones. Kill me to bring me back. Strip me down to lay me to waste. Cleanse me of this blood only to coat me in your own essence.

You feel your mind slipping away and your urges taking over once more as the peak of your pleasure approaches, as Astarion fucks the last sense out of you.

Eyes shut, hips sore, and mouth calling your vampire lord’s name, your climax comes crashing upon you in a wave of pure bliss.

It’s enough to send the man in front of you into a renewed fervor. Astarion grips your legs all the tighter, dipping his head forward to bite into the meat of your thigh. Fangs buried, he draws a deep gulp, relishing the taste of your orgasm in your blood.

Pulse after pulse, he plunges into you while he sucks from your veins, riding your orgasm to the last. It leaves you lightheaded and breathing heavily, but euphoric all the same.

When he finally releases your thigh from his mouth, his pace grows even more punishing. You’re certain that neither of you are leaving this unbruised, and, by the gods below, you love it. The painful slap of his hips against yours is intoxicating and you're not certain you ever want it to end. The world could collapse around you both right now, and you may not even notice it over the sound of your debauchery.

Then the vampire begins to flatter, his pace cracking as he approaches his climax.

“Not yet,” you moan, unwilling to let the feeling go. “Astarion, please.”

He doesn’t seem capable of responding, his only answer is a quiet whimper. You finally open your eyes, looking down at the man between your thighs– to see the tinge of red on his cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the tension of his neck muscles as he overexerts himself. The vampire ascendant looks utterly obscene in his unraveling.

Enough so that you clench around him, spurring on his release. “Come for me, love,” you urge, panting in anticipation of his undoing.

And he does.

Mouth open, dribbles of blood still eking out of its corners, hair shining silver and red, he looks a vision of rosy marble as he spills into you. His hands drop to your ass as he rolls into you through his climax, softer and slower than before. It’s almost sweet, if not for the bruising indents his fingers have left behind.

When he slips out of you, spent and exhausted, you can’t help but feel that in helping you clean up, he’s become quite the sight himself. You wish you could engrave this image of him into your mind, blood smeared across his face, his body, his softening cock.

You suppose it’s up to you to help him clean up.

“Astarion,” you say, sitting up and reaching for him. “Now who looks the mess?”

He gives you a low chuckle, as he crawls forward toward you, fatigued in his movements. “Oh, it’s still you, my treasure.” His crimson eyes rake across your body as he climbs lazily onto your lap, assessing the damage. “While the color red will always suit you, it wouldn’t do to waste any of this blood.”

“Was the hollyphant that satisfying?” you can’t help but ask, a smidge annoyed. “You seemed all too willing to drink from me, all the same.”

“You are the finest meal a lord could ask for, my little love,” he murmurs, before leaning forward and licking a line along your neck. “There is, however, something quite palatial about an entire pool of blood.”

“I suppose,” you concede, craning your neck for him. “If we ask nicely, perhaps my father will bestow this one upon us.”

Astarion hums into your skin with amusement. "Oh, darling. When we build our palace, we shall need a dozen such pools of blood." He pulls your hand to his lips, slowly sucking each finger clean.

You sigh, allowing the man’s clever tongue to lap at you, allowing his delusions of grandeur to comfort him. After all, when all is said and done, the realm will be decimated, destroyed in the name of Bhaal.

At least for now, you will allow yourself to live in his fantasy. So you simply reply, "And I shall be glad to fill each and every pool with the blood of our enemies."

He continues to lick, as you lavish him with praise. All the while you can’t help but think that you quite enjoy your new position as the unholy assassin of Bhaal. Hopefully father continues to throw me into situations involving such vast quantities of blood.

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #fanfiction #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #astarion x dark urge #astarion x durge #gn smut #astarion x evil!durge #dom astarion

95 notes · View notes